Page 109 of Burn

Her mouth twitched like cursive, the halfway point to a glorious smile. “You will not win.”

“Splendid. I like losing against you. It means I’ll have to forfeit something.”

That almost-smile widened, shy but scolding. “We should not flirt in present company.”

“You’re right. How sacrilegious of us. Blame yourself for wearing that color.” I cornered the princess, my shadow touching hers, and whispered, “I could suck on you like a butterscotch.”

A miserable expression scrunched her features, as if I was tormenting her. Briar groaned hopelessly. “I should not have let my ladies and Eliot choose this gown,” she muttered. “I should have opted for the taupe one.”

I scoffed. “A drab and penitent shade—the way brown would look if it had the flu.”

“You’ve given it abundant thought, I see.”

Instead of confirming that, I grinned. “But when I said I’d suck on you like a butterscotch, who said I was talking about the gown?”

Her chest hitched as she registered which part of her body I’d been fetishizing. It would be easy to kneel for my sovereign, slither under the gown, and wrap my lips around her pert clit, tasting it like a delicacy.

Because Briar failed to speak, I pushed that button. “Are you wet under that confection? Thinking about how steeply I bent you the other night?”

The princess’s throat reddened. “I cannot stop thinking about it.” Yet promptly, her straight brows smacked together. “But we must concentrate.”

For if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be able to work our magic among the court, despite the presence of Winter.

After a painstaking moment in which my cock suffered, I backed off. Still, the magnetic pull tightened. We stared, silent and still and so very fucking tempted.

Commotion from near the fireplace broke the spell. Taking Briar’s hand, we hastened from the aisle and spilled back into reality, in which Winter appeared with Avalea. Every figure genuflected to the Royals, with Briar’s mother pasting a genial expression on her face and Jeryn doing nothing of the sort.

Unfazed, Winter merely watched Autumn pay heed, having expected no less. After making the required entrance, the queen separated herself from the prince, nodding to me and Briar whilst heading to her seat.

For his part, Jeryn located us quickly, his attention slashing our way and resulting in a grimace. Resigned, he strode toward us. Lead gray knit layers stretched across his torso, and he’d leashed that dark blue mane into a ponytail. The same vial hung from his throat—albeit now empty of fluid and its exterior cracked—the tips of his boots flashed like spikes, and the blue lines beneath his eyes appeared darker tonight.

By the time he reached us, all eyes had cemented on our trio. Based on that, plus how the courtiers had greeted me earlier, news was indeed making the rounds fast. By now, the details will have reached the outlying villages of Autumn.

I pursed my lips, appraising Jeryn’s garb. “Three out of five.”

He frowned, sufficiently baited. “Three out of five what?”

“Private joke,” Briar atoned whilst covertly elbowing me in the ribs. “Shall we take our seats?”

By way of an actual answer, the prince refrained from rolling his eyes and strode toward the wing chairs reserved for Royals. Every social interaction required a clever balance. Thus, I’d curated the entertainment but wouldn’t take part in it. Too much of a good thing, and Autumn would feel smothered.

Similarly as Briar’s lover, we didn’t hide our bond. Yet nor did we flaunt it, however tormenting the consequences.

On that note, I stole Briar’s hand and brushed my lips across her knuckles. She gasped as my tongue poked out for a naughty lick. Winking, I turned and sidled to the opposite side of the room, where I sprawled myself lazily across the wingback chair nearest to the three ladies, each of whom had observed the scene with relish.

For the performance, we had agreed for Briar to sit with her mother and the prince. Recovering from the aftermath of my tongue, Briar followed Jeryn to their seats, where the queen waited with tense shoulders beneath a plum ribbed gown.

A raised level had been erected, opulently carpeted and garnished in maple leaves for the Royals. Winter joined Her Majesty on the first landing. The princess situated herself behind them on the upper level, the arrangement similar to an elegant theater box.

As Briar sank into her chair, Avalea cast the princess a meaningful glance over one shoulder, eternally checking on her daughter’s wellbeing. Silent communication drifted between them until the queen relaxed and touched Briar’s knee. In kind, the princess reached down to squeeze their fingers briefly, in a gesture of reassurance.

Cadence, Posy, and Vale entangled themselves across their chairs. Aire repositioned himself near the Royals, then rested his back against one of the bookcases. Though his grip was nailed to the hilts of his broadswords, a wistful expression eased his surly features.

Per tradition, the first revel before Reaper’s Fest involved public readings, with each recitation accompanied by music. I lounged in my chair, my eyes tacked with Briar’s from across the library. As the candles were snuffed, the hall darkened like an amphitheater. Even so, we never turned away from one another, my gaze heavy on hers, a fitful current passing from Briar’s end of the repository to mine.

Before the fireplace, a dozen nobles took turns narrating from historical accounts, ancient journals, folktales, fables, and myths. Eventually, Briar forced herself to concentrate. Her head swerved toward the readers, and her profile alighted, rapt by the performances.

Yet I watched her. Always, I watched her.

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