Page 117 of Burn

“Can’t stay where you belong,” the king patronized, glaring at the princess. “Can you, Daughter of Autumn?”

Daughter of Autumn. The rank this court had adopted in place of Your Highness, apart from Aire’s troops.

My sweet thorn refused to swallow the bait. As resilient and sharp as her namesake, she declared, “The court embraced my return. No thanks to you, Sire.”

Triumph resurrected his mood, and he feigned innocence. “For a nation that values honesty, you seem to be implying something atrocious, as if I had anything to do with your conviction. For your sake, I hope the council and your queen mother have educated you on the laws of defamation and treason.”

“No need. I’m familiar with the legislation of my Season. I’ve studied it extensively as part of my upbringing.” The magnificent princess leveled him with a flat look. “Would you care to borrow my textbooks?”

“For shame. Do you hear this, Spring? It’s not my fault if my timing was inconvenient for you that night. I was merely a witness to the courtyard’s calamity.” Like a tenderfoot, he shifted his attention to me and mock-rhymed, “Why, I can’t decide if you look stupefied or mortified.”

“And we can’t decide if you’re a dumbass or a dumbfuck,” I replied smoothly. “That you dare to botch a single line of verse? Now that’s offensive.”

“You converted this nation against me,” Briar contested to Rhys. “Yet here you are, lecturing me about denigration.”

The king gloated, leaned into the table, and steepled his fingers. “Except this isn’t your kingdom any longer.”

“Sire!” Avalea hissed.

“Rhys!” Giselle censured.

A threat snaked across my tongue. “Watch yourself, sweeting.”

Basil glanced from his wife to the rest of us. “Should we perhaps—”

“Stay,” Rhys requested without turning his waspish gaze from Briar.

Aye. It was obvious. The prick wanted Spring here as witnesses whilst he attempted to chew on Briar’s reputation like a termite. He aimed to brand my thorn as an irredeemable, unfit heiress, thus riling her up and calling her sanity further into question.

What’s more, he meant to twist our defenses and make it seem as though we were plotting a devious course. That way, it would irrevocably tarnish Autumn in Spring’s eyes, ensuring we’d never receive support from our fellow Seasons.

So be it. If this pest wanted a verbal battle, he would get one.

Beneath that flapping mustache, his jowls moved, and his mouth continued to make noise, which increased in both speed and volume. “The Mad Princess,” he harassed. “I believe you set that precedent the moment you opened your legs for this heathen—” he flung his arm toward me, “—then adopted his bastard fool of a son. And I haven’t even gotten to the part where you took leave of your senses in the courtyard, ranting and raving, calling me a murderer, and threatening to ‘fucking kill’ me.”

Inevitably, the man got carried away and rose to his sandaled feet. In a flash, I was out of my chair, the daggers in my coat beckoning my fingers. One more inch in the princess’s direction, and this monarch would lose more than his leverage.

Recognizing the look on my face, Rhys huffed but shuffled backward. “Clearly hysteria and guilt caused you to misinterpret,” he ridiculed Briar. “Yet what does it matter, when you’re here now. I applaud your ambition.” Pressing his palms together as though praying, he unpacked his trap. “I’m sure you did a thorough job of appealing to Autumn’s generous nature upon your return. Moreover, the unfortunate sickly spell that followed worked wonders to stoke Autumn’s sympathy, much like a prostitute fondling a cock. Oh yes, my wife and I heard about the poisoning.”

And here, Giselle galled at her husband. The reaction indicated she’d known nothing of the sort, yet the man kept talking. “Such a relief to see you’ve recovered.”

“Do us all a favor and spell bullshit,” I told him. “Take your time. We’ll wait.”

“I say, Summer,” Basil exclaimed, his attention wheeling between Briar and Rhys.

Fatima filed in her husband’s blanks. “Surely, you’re not insinuating the former princess orchestrated an assassination attempt on her own life.”

“As a means to win back Autumn’s approval? Evidently, you’re both forgetting the mayhem these two criminals caused in Spring. According to reports, it’s uncommon for victims to survive a poisoning of that magnitude.” Rhys’s eyes thinned on the princess like a snare. “Where did you get the proper remedy?”

Like a stab of frigid air, another male voice infiltrated the room. “From me.”

37

Poet

Silence frosted the shed. A masculine silhouette ate up the doorway, his head nearly hitting the upper casing. The fibers of his fur coat bristled like needles against the setting sun, and his dark blue hair avalanched over his shoulders.

One time. Only this one time would I allow him to outrival my entrance.

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