Page 132 of Burn

“Never say never,” he flirted, searing his mouth against mine.

Those lips scattered hot prickles beneath my gown. His devilish fingers burned through the garment. If we did not vacate the premises, I would have my way with him against the mirrors.

A low, masculine purr radiated from the jester’s throat, as if he’d heard my wanton thoughts. “Be careful, my thorn.”

I skated my mouth over his. “Don’t make rules I won’t follow, my jester.”

On a tormented growl, he pulled back to absorb the sight of me, his other hand still clasping my face, his thumb stroking my chin. “You are so fucking beautiful.” And my respirations thinned as he asked, “May I kiss you again, Princess?”

“Always,” I whispered, delirious.

Yet instead of snatching my lips, Poet released me. In a gallant motion, he swept my fingers in his grip. Bowing, the jester caressed my knuckles with his mouth, planting a teasing kiss there.

My hand trembled. I trailed after him as he stalked backward and gently tugged me along. “On second thought, you could delay for a few minutes. Care to watch me get dressed?”

By now, our clan had made it outside to the primary courtyard, where they would delay until we met up with them. “I’d love to—”

“But a certain little fae awaits,” Poet predicted. “They’re likely exiting the castle by now. In which case, I’ll walk you outside.”

I shook my head. “Across a dozen intersections? That will delay you.”

“Ask me if I give a shit. Aire and the rest of Avalea’s security detail accompanied them, so you’re not going anywhere without—”

“I shall be fine,” I assured him as we reached the threshold leading into the corridor. “My own guards are stationed at the end of the hall. They will guide me.”

Poet wavered. His features tightened with objection when I pressed my fingers to his mouth. “I can look after myself for another thirty paces.”

After a moment, the jester relented and dissolved into a smirk. “Stubborn, impenetrable woman. The ribbon, leaf braid, and rose suit you.”

“Yousuit me.” Giving him a wink of my own, I turned and ventured down the passage. Unable to help myself, I glanced over my shoulder once more to where Poet stood admiring my figure. “Don’t be long,” I called out.

The jester gave me a saucy bow and a sinful grin. “At your service.”

I turned away, pressing a fist into my smiling mouth. Behind me, I felt his protective gaze follow my movement until I turned the corner. By the time I reached the mezzanine corridor where security awaited me, I guessed Poet would be heading to his suite, which wasn’t far since the dance gallery was in the Royal wing.

But at the mezzanine railing, I stopped. My brows pinned together as I searched the area, my entourage nowhere in sight. Glancing about, I hesitated and then shook myself. It was rare for the knights to lose track of me unless I wanted to slip away, but perhaps they’d been misinformed about my location.

Quickening my steps, I crossed more passages and trotted down a flight of steps to a lower level. At the landing of another mezzanine, my pace slowed. True, the residents had departed to the lower town, but it seemed odd for the castle’s thoroughfares to be this vacant, even on a night like this. The click of my heels echoed in the cavernous space, and the crinkling of sconce flames reverberated more loudly than usual.

But then my limbs stalled altogether. On a wainscoted wall, one of the sconces fizzled. Then another fixture snuffed out, as if a breeze had blown through the flame. But within seconds, a chandelier dissolved as well.

Not possible. Yet my vigilant gaze traveled, watching as each source of firelight evaporated. One by one, candles, chandeliers, and a roaring hearth died in the level below.

I gripped the nearest balcony railing, bracing myself. This was not a fluke, a blast of wind, or a trick of nature. Furthermore, this seemed to be happening throughout the stronghold, with every globe of light and every channel in the vicinity stamping out. My pulse skittered with foreboding as I thought of the spies we hadn’t yet caught and the confidential passages into this fortress.

Distant halls fell into darkness. Chills crept up my spine.

And the castle went black.

41

Poet

My thumb and forefinger hovered over a taper candle. I stalled in the act of cinching the wick. Crinkling my brows, I stared at the thread of smoke. Before I could pinch the flame and douse it, the tiny blaze had blown out, as if touched by the wind.

Except the windows to my suite were closed.

Perplexed, I snapped my brows together. My gaze swerved from the snuffed candle to the rest of my chambers. The bedroom’s hearth had gone cold, the timbers half charred when they’d been flaring seconds ago. Likewise, the sconces had died.

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