Page 108 of Burn

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Cadence faltered, at a loss for how to respond. By way of gratitude, she finally said, “I wasn’t serious.”

My lips slanted. “Yes, you were.”

It was the least I could do. I had sworn I would repay her and Eliot, and while I planned to do better than a mere bauble when this was over, I hoped the accessory would suffice for now.

Slowly and sheepishly, Cadence traced the priceless belt. Then she curtsied. And when she rose, the lady batted the hair from her face and scoffed. “Okay, so what the fuck are we waiting for? Let’s make our princess look as beautiful as a weapon.” She beamed wolfishly. “And let’s make sure it’s something the jester has never seen you in.”

With that, my friends sprang into action. I chuckled as each occupant rushed to the alcoves and hunted through the options.

34

Poet

Libraries were the last places that Spring would think to throw a soiree. Yet sauntering into the Autumn’s repository that evening, the Season proved me wrong. In a matter of hours, the library wing had transformed from a studious and orderly place to a dark cavern of mysteries and folklore.

Amid five boxy levels of wainscoting and mezzanines, built-in shelves glinted with natural orange light from leaves that had been strung together, the garlands woven among leather and cloth-bound volumes. Some of the glowing cords cascaded from the railings and bookcase trimmings. Between exposed beams, bronze chandeliers pulsated with garnet-dyed candles, and more tapers pumped additional light from candelabras.

Chrysanthemum arrangements decorated the communal desks and reading tables, most of which were occupied by nobles deep in conversation whilst they sipped from chalices and goblets. Other guests sat in wing chairs, with tartan blankets draped over their laps and pedestal tables nestled between them. Each surface bore a study lamp that illuminated their faces from below.

I’d helped plan tonight’s revelry, the first event preceding Reaper’s Fest. Yet my task hadn’t involved aesthetics. Rather, mine had been a matter of plotting out the diversions with Eliot, which hadn’t taken long. The minstrel knew on his own how to captivate a room.

After that, he’d gone to Briar’s suite, and I’d left to bid Nicu goodnight. Unlike the rest of Reaper’s Fest, this event started too late for children to attend.

Knowing Briar would tuck in my son once she was dressed, I had read Nicu a few pages of verse, then departed to change at the last minute. I may have sulked at having only a half hour to achieve perfection, but Nicu was my greatest exception to the rules of fashion. Gladly, I had surrendered any bonus grooming hours in favor of more time with my little fae.

Compared to Spring’s glitzy, marbled extravaganzas, the library gleamed with a hushed sort of luminescence. Everything about this celebration screamed of Briar.

Though some of the revelers mingled throughout the aisles, most courtiers gathered in the main quarter. Pointed arch windows lined the sprawling room, and the mouth of a nine-foot-tall fireplace roared from the east wall.

Although Spring reigned when it came to artistry, every Season possessed musicians. Situated before the blaze, a cellist strummed her instrument, the sound rich and heavy as it carried along the bookshelves.

A considerable number of heads veered my way as I entered, numerous eyes dipping up and down my form. A few balked at the studded leather pants and long brown paisley jacket with its rolled-up sleeves, whilst admirers overlooked those infractions and favored instead the smoky eyes, fingerless gloves, and exceedingly low neckline.

Aire stood guard at the far end, opposite the fireplace, and tolerated a flock of women and men who couldn’t resist vying for his attention. Cadence had lured a few council members into conversation. Posy and Vale accomplished the same with a clique of nobles near the history stacks, and Eliot’s renown as a musician seemed to be luring another crowd. Our friends did their utmost, promoting their jester and princess.

The rest fastened their gazes on me. I stalked past the courtiers who ducked their heads and uttered “Master Jester” without a shred of hesitancy. Picking my battles, I forgave the odious title of Master since it appeared our ruse with Winter was working. At least enough for my observers to regard me with more than repentant lust, intimidated resentment, or bitter speculation. Now they addressed me willingly.

Still, my gaze burned past them, knowing she was already here. The princess would never arrive late to a library, especially on this evening. Prowling past the desks, I disappeared into the candlelit aisles, aware of which route to take. My boots thudded against the floor, my mouth tilted when I reached the botany section, and I caught a whiff of her scent. Notes of tart apples and parchment wafted from the narrow lane, with books crammed along the shelves.

When I found her, my damn breath caught. Briar was waiting for me, poised between the tomes, with her manicured fingers clasped. A medallion-colored, off-shoulder dress accentuated her slender clavicles, long fitted sleeves ended in points at her wrists, and a wide skirt flared from her hips. Whilst the revelers had shackled their tresses in netted headdresses, escoffions, crespines, hennins, veils, and gabled hoods, Briar’s red hair hung loose, embellished only with a jeweled headband and that single, dangling leaf-strewn braid.

A curse cut across my tongue before I had the presence of mind to muffle it. If we were alone, I would spoil this woman rotten with all manner of vulgarities and obscenities.

But fuck. She had no business looking that proper, in this very proper place, and still managing to drain me of intellect. I could pin her to these bookcases, flip up the gown’s skirt, and cover her mouth. Together, we could make the shelves quake until the whole wing crumbled.

Briar flushed, interpreting her jester’s wily thoughts. As she glimpsed my unadorned chest peeking beneath the jacket, I stalked up to her. Matching the princess’s pose and draping my shoulder against the books, I tipped my head down. “Soooo,” I purred. “Are you thinking about the last time we christened a bookshelf?”

Spring’s archive library. My words and the fantasy I’d murmured in her ears. Briar’s hands tucked under her skirt, her sharp little fingers plying her cunt to the sound of my voice.

Her complexion deepened like a ripe piece of fruit. “No,” she confided. “I’m thinking about when the next time will be.”

Bloody hellish fuck. My cock responded to that. “Alas. ’Tis unfair of you to admit that during a formal event. I might cause some trouble for you.”

“You already have.” To illustrate her point, Briar indicated my outfit, cognizant by now of how frequently we tried to outseduce the other. “I see you’re aiming to compete with me tonight.”

“Just tonight?”

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