Page 34 of Burn

I’d never lie to this woman. My willful thorn could weather a thousand storms and fires, but right then smoothing out that wrinkled chin became my priority. She could handle the nitty-gritty of our family later, once she’d slept peacefully in my arms.

But if I wasn’t careful, Briar would see through my bullshit. Shaping my words carefully, I said, “Your Mother fears for your return as much as she longs for it.”

Briar absorbed my reply, the muscles in her throat contorting. As for the rest, she listened whilst I gave her an abridged version of Autumn’s state, answering each question with the tact of a jester who knew better than to insult his princess with artificial pleasantries. From skepticism amid the court and council, to public unrest and the ongoing inhuman treatments of born souls, I gave these parts to Briar candidly. This, she could endure without being primed.

The wind shoved thin branches against the window, vivid leaves gleamed through the darkness outside, and rain pattered the treehouse eaves. Inside, the foundation creaked, the disturbance reminding me how fucking high we were.

Based on what I’d told her, I sensed Briar’s mind churning. She had been sated and relaxed moments ago, but now she would hit the ground running, pushing herself beyond the limits. Unless she gave her thoughts a respite, time to process everything, the stress would do more damage than good.

Nay. Not whilst I was here.

I staged an intervention by tracing the single braid entwined in her loose hair, the weave accessorized with miniature golden oak leaves. Her tresses glinted red-gold in the muted light. “I favor this little change. The badlands of Autumn look good on you.” Strapping one arm around her middle, I hoisted Briar’s naked body forward and cooed, “Now indulge me and share all the ways you’ve continued to conquer this Season. It appears you’ve established quite an outpost here. A wild castle of trees, suitable for an unruly heiress.”

Over the next hour, Briar told me about her journey. The long and dangerous ride. The wandering butchers and carnivorous fauna she and our friends had managed to avoid. The Lost Treehouses and the wizened oak that bestowed a fragment of itself to her.

It would have been an understatement to admit my jaw had dropped when I first galloped through the mist and saw this place. The sight of cabins suspended countless feet in the air, tucked among a rich tapestry of leaves that glinted like stained glass, had been extraordinary. The vista of decks, winding stairs, bridges, and posts intricately crafted from wood rivaled the talents of Spring’s greatest artists.

And yet. All of it had paled in comparison to seeing Briar’s red hair and stunning face in the rain.

“The Lost Treehouses are gems,” she said, her breath coasting across my lips and her fingers burning a trail along my jaw. “It is a hidden treasure in my land, and yet it’s known far and wide. They say it’s the birthplace of fairytales, in all their dark and macabre ways.” She grinned. “But also in their enchantments and allure. It shows the best and worst of itself, depending on who dares to venture past the treehouse’s borders.”

I hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yet Sinful Spring is the hub of creativity in The Dark Seasons. One would have assumed that’s where this region would exist.”

“Not when it comes to stories. Those are universal and thrive everywhere. Your Season may lead our world in verse, epic ballads, dramas, and most fictitious novels, but every nation has its own hold on books and their contents.” Briar’s fingers skated down the side of my throat. “This enclave was built by craftsfolk—not Masters but misanthropic builders with immense talent, who preferred a life of solitude. They joined forces with those who had magic, back when such beings walked this continent, and lived here until all those cultures died out. As a child, the tales had preoccupied me.” Her eyes dropped to my chest. “I was a different person then.”

I braced a finger beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to mine. “You wouldn’t have fallen for a rakish jester and his son if that were true.”

Briar’s mouth tipped upward, pride warming her complexion. “Sometimes, I’m wary of this place. Other times, I feel honored that it has allowed me to take refuge here. You must understand the woodland, to be granted this access. In many ways, it’s indeed a castle. A fortress of the forest.”

“Reestablished by an heiress of Autumn.”

Rather than animate her, the compliment cast shadows over Briar’s visage. “The only condition for dwellers is to respect this place. Outside of that requirement, I believe The Lost Treehouses would welcome any human, regardless of who they were.”

Born souls too. That was what she meant. It would explain the reverent and somber notes in her voice. By comparison, she resented her own castle’s inability to accept all people, as this realm would.

Briar had spoken in awe. Yet when she fell quiet, I prodded, “But?”

She gripped the sides of my throat, and her eyes clung to mine. “Nowhere is home without you.”

Leaning in, I swept my mouth across hers. “I’m here now, my thorn.” Then I jerked back and lifted a brow. “But no scolding or spanking? Does that mean you don’t regret my explicit entrance, despite the risks?”

Briar’s breath rushed against my lips. “I will never regret having you.” She wavered, her words brittle. “But I’m afraid. My actions hurt Nicu. They hurt you and everyone I care for. I could not protect them.” That steadfast voice broke as if someone had chopped through it with a hatchet. “I failed.”

I seized her cheeks and hissed, “Don’t ever fucking say that.”

“I lost my father, I lost my kingdom, and I almost lost you. Each time was my fault.”

“Hush.” My finger braced against her mouth. “You kept my son safe. You kept every born soul in that dungeon from being used as pawns, and innocent citizens from being slaughtered as part of some elaborate scheme to overpower you. You were betrayed, chased, and stabbed.

“Yet here you are, still alive with a beating heart of steel, with elements of this land strewn through your hair. You, my epic sweeting, are like the maples of this kingdom—enduring, born to withstand the elements through the passage of time.” I skated my thumb across her cheek and then diced my fingers into her damp hair. “You are Autumn’s blade and its shield. I know that determined set of your chin. It has never deserted anyone who matters to her.” My hold on her loosened. “Nay. ’Tis I who failed you.”

Shock blazed across Briar’s pupils. Grimacing, she shook her head. “Poet, no.”

“You don’t think I blame myself every day for what happened to you? My hatred for Rhys is second nature. But most days, I hate myself more.”

“Poet.” She grabbed the nape of my neck and pressed her forehead to mine. “You mustn’t.”

“I know. ’Tis a shame. My vanity is one-of-a-kind.” My gaze clung to the princess, the sight of her shredding my words. “I’m sorry, Briar.”

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