Page 48 of Burn

Eliot and Cadence shuffled. Poet watched me keenly.

Autumn’s forces, Summer could handle. Perhaps Spring as well. But if there was one court that could take down Rhys with a single icy flick of the wrist, it was the glacial court of Winter. That, he would not risk.

“Even volatile Rhys would not squander his forces, much less instigate a continental brawl without being pushed to his limit. That cannot be his objective.” I stared at Poet’s lethal expression. “There must be more.”

“Something less conspicuous that also won’t point the finger at him.” He glimpsed me sideways through the blazing light and read my expression. “But first, he’ll wait to see how long we last apart.”

“And what move we make from there,” I finished. “How long do we have?”

“I do love the sound of vengeance on your tongue,” he cooed, then flattened his tone. “Reaper’s Fest is in four weeks.”

Four weeks to reclaim my place, vindicate the union between Poet and me, discover Rhys’s next move, and burn that man’s agenda to the ground before he had the chance to act.

A princess does not retreat.

A princess bides her time, recovers her strength, then rises from the ashes.

That time had come. It wasn’t just my fight; it was ours. I wouldn’t target Rhys alone.

Poet had waited for me. Then he’d come for me. No matter that I had been stripped of my title and forsaken by the court, we had known better. It hadn’t been the end of us, nor our crusade. He’d understood I would never leave with no intention of returning to him, Nicu, or Mother. Or to my home, my people. Eliot, Cadence, and I had survived, trained, and planned for this purpose.

Time to light a match. Time to go home.

“That man will not take action unless he’s certain he won’t suffer the consequences,” I declared to the group. “Not unless he has a guarantee that Spring and Winter will remain on his side.”

Across the firelight, Poet and I consulted one another in silence. Then after a moment, I took a fortifying breath. “And not unless we stop him.”

Slowly, the jester’s mouth tipped upward.

17

Poet

Brilliant, willful woman. How could I not relish the sound of Briar vowing to take back what was hers? Least of all, the sight of those steely irises reflecting nightfall and firelight. She could be an heiress one moment, a temptress the next. Had we been alone, my greedy fingers would have ripped the clothes from the princess’s body and fucked her right there, until she was shouting through the woodland. Instead, I forced my cock to behave and gave her a look that promised anarchy later.

Despite our animated sexual history, Briar flushed such an intense red that it rivaled our scarlet bracelets, as well as the blaze thrashing from the pit. Our blood’s combined temperature threw a different kind of heat across the deck. I granted, there was a certain enticing perk to fury.

We stared for so long that a lithe shadow moved in my periphery, and someone else cleared their throat in amusement. Briar and I blinked out of the haze, twisting to find Cadence and Eliot gazing our way with the sort of indulgent glee only citizens of my Season could muster.

Damnation. Since when did plotting treason turn me on? Since the moment I’d cornered Briar in a dark Spring castle hall. That was fucking when.

Alas. The minstrel and lady’s reverie was short-lived, as was the colorful bloom in Briar’s complexion and the lift of my cock. The princess got a hold of herself first, squaring her shoulders whilst I clamped my canines together. Back to the plan, for devil’s sake. The rest of the night, we tamed ourselves. Conducting our next move became the main objective—how to ensure Briar’s return without it amounting to a public demand for her execution. In which case, I’d be forced to go on a killing spree. We would achieve nothing if we couldn’t get her through the front gate, to say nothing of backing the queen into a political corner.

Like me, Avalea would sell her soul for Briar. However, the people might not give either of us that chance. There was no way I’d let the princess near the point of a single blade or arrow, let alone a firing squad of them. Far be it from me to ever undermine this woman. Yet to keep her safe, I would chain Briar to the nearest tree first, a feat worth every curse and scowl she’d throw my way.

We worked around that possibility, scheming through the night, planning tactics carefully and meticulously. After that, our clan spent more hours brushing up on weaponry skills. Eliot and Cadence proved remarkably fast learners with his garrote and her knife, especially since they’d taught themselves a few nifty maneuvers. The minstrel and lady had each previously engaged in love affairs with knights of Spring, which had yielded some combat lessons. Purely for a lark back then, but Eliot and Cadence had remembered the instruction, even if it was given to them whilst naked.

What Eliot lacked in momentum, he made up for in strength. What Cadence lacked in brawn, she made up for in stealth.

We crossed weapons on the ground level, in a clearing between the oaks, routinely switching opponents. Briar and I sparred, her thorn quills against my staff and daggers. We prowled around one another, our feet swishing through the grass.

The second we paused, Briar narrowed her gaze, those freckles shifting in tandem. “Do not hold back.”

My sly lips curved. “Don’t be gentle,” I muttered, reminding her of last night at the colony’s highest peak, when she’d whimpered to me. Though internally, I added my own vulgarity to the request.

Don’t fucking be gentle.

Her breathing hitched. My own respirations twisted into a growl.

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