Page 4 of Burn

I drifted like smoke past their gazes and ghosted to the entrance. After a quick twist of the unbolted lever—what a fucking ignoramus, this king—I stepped inside the antechamber. The quarters greeted me like the inside of a tomb, the vast apartment obscured in sooty black and reeking of bigotry.

Papers littered Rhys’s desk, yet the red ribbon I’d left him was gone. Because Summer acted viscerally more than logically, I imagined he’d swept it into the rubbish basket, having assumed a servant dropped it there by accident. Rhys viewed the world with a broader lens and rarely gave credit to the small details, such as the resemblance between that ribbon and my bracelet.

He hadn’t made the connection. I’d wager his pecker on it.

And splendid. The king’s absence meant he was consistent, both in stench as well as routine. Upon confirming the guest suite was vacant, my wolfish lips tilted. I swerved from the room and slipped out of the foyer a second before one of the knights returned to his station beside the entrance.

One corner, then another. Leaning my shoulder against a random wainscoted wall caused a hidden panel to swivel open, through which I passed. The confidential outlet required nocturnal vision, the channel so murky it was impossible to see my hand in front of my fucking face. I counted my steps, then turned west, then east. At which point, the conduit descended farther into the earth and tunneled beneath the castle. Eventually, skylights bled luminescence into the cavity and illuminated exposed tree roots laced in cobwebs.

My boots whispered over the bricks. Thunder clapped through the clouds, the rumble strong enough to penetrate the insulated passage.

At length, the slope inclined and ended at a wall of bark. I pushed against the facade, which groaned open like a door, the motion throwing dust into the air. I stepped through the exit—the partition camouflaged within a tree trunk—and into the maple pasture at the south end of grounds.

The towering trees packed themselves closely together, shrouding certain pockets from being seen by the parapets’ night watch. Nonetheless, my eyes scrolled across the vista. A swatch of wind battered the leaves, sending a hissing noise through the expanse. Normally, fauna grazed in this area, but the resident foxes and their wild kin must have taken shelter from the restless sky.

My gaze sliced across every shrub and creeper, then clicked to a halt on a figure traveling deeper into the enclosure. Well, well. That hadn’t taken long. Indeed, a creature of unlucky habit. The Royal cocksucker had a nasty penchant for behaving as restlessly as his soldiers.

Big mistake, sweeting. One among many.

I choked the edge of the open door in my grip, a pair of leather gloves straining over my fingers. Savagery caused my molars to clamp together, the pressure hard enough to crack enamel.

Since leaving my little token of affection on Rhys’s desk, I had been watching him. From above the rim of my chalice, from across crowded halls, from the back of the throne room—and from the center of it—I’d pinned my gaze on his sneering profile.

I had planned. And I had waited.

I’d kept track of his schedule and studied his patterns. Wisely and understandably, his wife preferred to have her own chambers, separate from her husband. Even so, Rhys hadn’t ventured once to Giselle’s suite for a single night of mandatory procreation.

Nay, but the prick did emerge from his lair to roam the maple pasture like a wraith in the dead of night. Summer’s culture of fitfulness was no secret among the continent, and the turbulent king was rumored to work off his unrest with evening walks so often he threatened to burn holes into the grass.

Perhaps thoughts of Briar and all the brilliant trouble she’d caused had kept him awake. Oh, but I hoped so. It would be just like my tenacious princess to torment this man even in his slumber. She’d accomplished that many times with me, though for very different, graphic reasons involving her moans.

In any case, it had been easy to track Rhys here once before. It would be easier to make him regret it.

My fingers released the door. Without looking away from the retreating figure, I closed the partition behind me and trailed after my prey.

Rhys strode around the trunks, his linen mantle billowing like a goody trail for predators. For Seasons’ bloody sake. I couldn’t help sneering at the fabric’s color palette. Who the fuck paired aubergine with lemon yellow?

From the lower branches, the maple’s maroon leaves trembled above his head. Stringy layers of hair hung like dead slugs down his back, the hue somewhere between tar black and shit brown.

Another blade of lightning pierced the firmament. On a night like this, I should be naked and entangled with Briar. But if she couldn’t be here, safe and sated, the next few minutes would have to compensate. If I couldn’t make my princess sigh, I’d make a king wail. Thus, I quickened my pace whilst drawing flint and a steel striker from inside my coat.

Rhys paused at one tree and ran his palm over the trunk, then proceeded around a bend. I narrowed my eyes. His actions hardly seemed casual. Nay, they appeared intentional.

This wasn’t merely a restless jaunt. He was looking for something.

Pity for him. The fucker would be reduced to a carcass before he found it.

Crouching low, I glimpsed the clouds and noted the seconds that ticked by. One flash of lightning, then fifteen seconds later, another. In The Dark Seasons, such Autumn flashes were as predictable as ocean tides in Summer. I’d gotten to know their rhythm, as I’d gotten to know Rhys’s weaknesses.

Because jesters had timing and kinetics on their side, I clenched the flint and steel in one hand and maneuvered with the other. Snatching a maple seed off the ground, its size as substantial as a pome fruit, I juggled the orb and tossed it to a neighboring tree. The seed bounced off the trunk, catching Rhys’s attention.

His head whipped sideways. Like a proper victim, he pursued the noise and stalled beneath the looming maple.

It happened swiftly and beautifully. I counted once more, hardened my features into stone, and scraped the flint and steel together.

A lone spark flared to life. I flung the sizzling object toward the branches above Rhys’s head. The blaze ignited at the same moment another ray of lightning cut through the heavens.

One instant Rhys festered there like a tumor. The next, the trunk detonated into flames, which snaked down the column and snatched the thin fibers of His Majesty’s very flammable ensemble.

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