Page 5 of Burn

The shriek that ripped from his lungs played a melody in my ears. Summer bleated like a juvenile, his wail shearing through the pasture. Alas for him, thunder swallowed the noise like candy, so that no one heard him but me.

Fire licked his clothing and scorched his hair. He scrambled back and forth whilst slapping his skull. “Fuck!” he growled. “What the fuck!”

Narcotic pleasure fused through my veins. I stood and witnessed the king scurry across the pasture, the charred stench of his mustache filling my lungs.

He would melt and then flake to ash. And when it was over, I’d scatter the cinders across the nearest trough of pig shit.

“Never steal from a jester,” I hissed under my breath.

My eyes blurred from the sting of smoke. Regardless, I relished the sight of Rhys’s form broiling like tomorrow’s dinner, the pyre roasting a path from his scalp to his arms. One blessed fact about that atrocious choice of fabric he wore. It burned easily.

My nostrils flared. Satisfaction thickened my blood.

It would appear an accident. Lightning had struck the tree, they would say. That had created a string of flames that turned His Majesty into a pan-fried steak.

If every court had one thing in common, it was their belief in the almighty Seasons. No one questioned the will of nature. If it had decided Rhys’s time had come, despite being in his prime, so be it.

They would not doubt his death or place blame on those with obvious motives. They wouldn’t suspect sympathizers of Autumn’s princess, nor her lover or mother. They’d have no cause to.

Still, the night watch would make the rounds, patrolling this corner at any moment. Seeing the fire, they would sound the horn alarm and rush to the king’s aid. Alas, to no avail. He’d be unrecognizable by then, but I shouldn’t be around to answer questions.

As much as I fancied the show, I forced myself to stalk backward, to leave him there. Yet as I did, Briar’s features swam before my eyes, and memories invaded my head like a gruesome vignette.

Her face in the courtyard, when she had witnessed the carnage of her people. Her face moments later, when Rhys had appeared and she’d tried to attack him. Her face in the Royal suite, features twisting in fear as she worried about what would happen to her. Her face in the bathtub, flushing and slackening with pleasure whilst I pistoned my cock into her tight wetness. Her face the next morning, creasing in anguish as her title was stripped from her, along with everything she held dear.

This king had done that to my thorn.

My boots halted. Nay, burning wasn’t enough. My dagger would peel the raw, singed, blistered flesh from his bones. I would make him feel a wild agony the likes of which he’d never thought possible. For my princess, I would make him weep.

Instead of retreating, I felt my limbs stalking toward the smoke, approaching the burning tree, drawing nearer to Rhys’s howls. My mind bellowed some type of objection, some form of warning. Yet I couldn’t hear the precise words, couldn’t hear anything lucidly above the sound of my own growls.

For a moment, the king’s voice dissolved, and the pasture faded, and everything in my vision turned red. The scarlet of a ribbon and a rose. And then like a trap, Rhys leaped from the inferno, and his scorched hands launched around my throat.

4

Poet

Several unfortunate sensations followed. Oxygen drained from my lungs, the deprivation singeing my flesh. Smoke stung my eyes, and the neighboring blaze flung embers into the atmosphere, its temperature scorching my profile.

All the whilst, fingers clamped onto my neck like a noose. At once, the heinous sight of Rhys’s face popped from the combustion, a stubborn motherfucker who just refused to die.

The king’s features contorted. Black pupils swallowed his irises and flashed with recognition. “You,” he snarled. “How dare you!”

“I dare rather easily, sweeting,” I gritted into his face, squeezing out the words in between slices of air. “The problem is you keep failing to cooperate and fuck off.”

“The audacity! To think a flame against Summer would work.” His drool flew into my face as our foreheads mashed together. “Hasn’t anyone educated you, peasant? Of all Seasons, Summer cannot burn. We are the blood of our ancestors, born of heat and flames.” Rhys curled his digits into my throat, cutting off all remaining threads of oxygen. “We can’t burn because wecreatedfire!”

Nice to know this usurper hadn’t lost his sense of supremacy, even while being fileted. If I didn’t want his heart and cock roasting on a spit like appetizers, I would applaud the fucker’s vanity.

Nonetheless, this paltry excuse for a ruler was right. How else to explain how little the fire had touched him? Not a single inch of the blaze had scalded his features.

Rhys burrowed his fingernails into my trachea. My lungs failed to pump, and looming trees grew hazy around the edges, maple leaves reducing to blots of color as my vision swam. As it did, the king wheezed into my ear, his respirations choppy.

“Decided to avenge your sympathizing autumn heiress like a faithful lapdog, did you?” he gloated. “Haven’t learned your place yet? Whores like you eventually lose their luster, but kings are forged of gold, and their legacies reign for eternity. You will never know that glory.” His visage crinkled like cheap papier-mâché. “And now, neither will Briar. Your worthless cunt of a princess isgone.”

Her name on his lips blasted through me, and the mention of gold tipped the scales. Memories of that courtyard battle crashed over me. I saw my princess collapse as Vex jammed a dagger into her gut, the Master goldsmith attacking under Rhys’s influence, acting on the king’s command.

He had made her suffer. He’d made her cry. He made her bleed.

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