58
Jeryn
Two weeks later, Flare nestled into my chest as we sat in a private courtyard with our clan. Distant maple trees rose into the sky, and copper foxes skulked across the pasture. My little beast marveled, pointing at every detail with excitement. Each time she did this, someone in the group explained what she was seeing.
I would have assisted, but the sight of her awed face and the gold dress hugging her curves distracted me. I tilted my head, watching those eyes glow in wonder at the colorful leaves, the harvest fields, the library-style castle, everything. We’d been in Autumn for three days, yet her amazement had not waned.
Wrapping my arms tighter around Flare’s waist, my mouth tipped sideways. Then my grin flattened into a glower when I noticed Poet from across the blaze. Lined in smudges of kohl, his green eyes glinted with amusement. The fucker enjoyed my besotted expression and was deciding how best to antagonize me about it.
His wife rested in the same position as Flare. Wearing a cerulean gown with a short standing collar across the back of her neck, Briar lounged into the jester’s torso, her husband’s muscles visible beneath a fitted jacket.
Briar’s ladies—Cadence, Posy, and Vale—engrossed themselves in conversation with Flare, who wrote her responses down for them. The women talked over each other, eager to hear about our year in the rainforest. More than once, they murmured suggestive comments that included terms such as survival smut and jungle porn, then gestured at me when they thought I wasn’t paying attention. Whatever else they said made Flare chuckle, because she’d never been shy.
Eliot joined us. Flames illuminated the minstrel’s scruff jaw, the blond bun tethering his hair, and the lute tattoo extending down the side of his throat. He indulged Flare’s music requests, a stringed tune from his instrument filling the air.
As for my unexpected metamorphosis, it had taken a while for the minstrel and ladies to believe it. Flare’s presence, as well as Poet and Briar’s endorsement, had swayed them more than I had. Despite my attempts at congeniality, their expressions had made it clear: I knew shit about how to be friendly. Only after watching me with Flare had they accepted my change of heart.
Aire returned from patrolling the vicinity. Despite this courtyard being restricted to Royals, one could not be too careful. My arrival with Flare had caused a stir, whispers among this court flowing like wine, which would only increase in Winter.
Briar and Poet had arranged a celebratory gathering, replete with candlelight and sumptuous fare. But first, essential matters needed discussing. After several days of rest, it was time. Yet another reason for this location, away from witnesses.
A curvaceous figure entered the courtyard, her red hair arranged atop her head. Everyone rose, curtsied, and bowed. Queen Avalea glided our way with a convivial smile, her body swathed in a violet gown.
Reaching out, she grasped Flare’s hands. “You make a welcome addition to this band.”
Flare bobbed her head, then used her leaflet and quill to write, Thank you, Your Majesty.
Before taking her seat, the queen scrutinized me and whispered, “Spend your life deserving her. That’s an order.”
The inclination of my head satisfied Avalea, who settled beside the princess and jester. Then a final shadow entered the courtyard, the hooded female causing Aire to frown in trepidation, as he sometimes did in her presence.
Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a chair for Aspen. She faltered, the skin of her neck flushing under the mantle before she lifted her chin and sidled past him, which made the knight sigh as he reclaimed his seat.
“Behold, the comic relief has arrived,” Aspen declared while perching on Cadence’s chair arm. “In case anyone missed the town crier’s announcement, I’ve inherited Poet’s vocation, minus the orgies and kink fests. I’ll be training with him as the next jester celebrity, with a talent for livening up treasonous roundtables.”
Poet’s nefarious grin belonged in an erotic novel. “Careful, sweeting. I’m a hard act to follow.”
“How hard?” Cadence wondered, then shrugged innocently when Briar pruned her lips. “What? I’m just saying.”
“Well, don’t,” the princess scolded, albeit good-naturedly. “You have enough consorts to keep you entertained.”
“A lady can never have enough,” Cadence boasted. “Credit my Spring origins, but I’m enjoying not having to choose. Multiple love affairs are fun. Anyway, I was only teasing.”
“I mean, your husband also left himself open for that one,” Posy chuckled.
“I never leave myself open for anything,” Poet remarked. “For I’m always intentional.”
Ugh. Seasons forbid.
In any event, the stowaway wasn’t serious. Her lies had increased in frequency over the years, especially when the fraudulence discomforted Aire, who valued honesty as if it were scripture. At seventeen, not only had Aspen grown as tall and voluptuous as Her Majesty, but the female’s tongue had gotten even snarkier.
Safety aside, another unspoken quandary dismayed the knight. His brows crimped as he watched Aspen, hunting for something he couldn’t locate.
The conference proceeded. To start, we still lacked intelligence about Rhys’s plans and conspirators. Considering how much time had gone by, and accounting for the skills of every member present, this should not have been the case. Yet even Queen Giselle hadn’t uncovered anything, despite having the misfortune of sharing the man’s bed.
Poet consulted a chalice of merlot, which he circled lazily. “That motherfucker can’t be working alone.”
“With the right manipulation, he needs only to light a match,” Briar contributed, her expression daunted. “Reaper’s Fest proved that.”
“One of the Seasons’ elites?” Cadence wondered while twirling a lock of dark green hair around her finger. “It’s not like he hasn’t gone there before.”
“That’s too simple.” Eliot set down his lute, propped his elbows atop his knees, and counted off his fingers. “He already went after the crafters of Autumn, the scholars of Winter, and the performers of Spring.”
“Then he got greedy and broadened his reach,” Posy said while balancing Vale’s limbs on her thighs. “The general public came afterward.”
“Commoners and courtiers,” Vale summarized. “What better group to incite for a riot?”
“Okay, so who’s left?” Aspen wondered.
“This is where you jump in, handsome,” Cadence prompted Aire. “Aren’t the elements sending you any of those creepy signals?”
The knight had been contemplating something in the atmosphere. “My abilities are not without their limits.”
Flare cocked her head toward the flames, then her wide eyes swerved my way. Our thoughts converged, drawing the same conclusion.
We spoke in unison. “Defenders.”
Every head swung toward us. From their perspectives, Flare had mouthed the word, reacting too viscerally to write it down for the group. Nonetheless, my voice and her slow pronunciation made it clear.
Flare had spent almost a decade under lock and key, whereas I merely needed to remember Indigo. To this day, the knight overstepped and underestimated, thinking I didn’t notice him auditing my every move. Dismissing the soldier would have been circumspect. Instead, I kept him close.
Knights, soldiers, guards. This stood to reason. Rhys had recruited spies, then used his influence to mobilize citizens. Now he would go after the defense, enlisting trained fighters from within every border.
A chunky ring glinted from Poet’s finger as he tapped the stem of his chalice. “A Seasonal army.”
Vigilance creased Queen Avalea’s features. “Do you have evidence?”
“No,” I replied. “But we shall.”
“To amass a Seasonal army without the courts knowing would require years of effort,” Briar deliberated. “That would explain why it’s taken us this long to discover anything.”
“An underground operation,” the jester surmised. “In the meantime, he’ll wait until we believe we’ve won. ’Tis likely when the fucker will strike—once peace is within our grasp.”
“Would he risk waiting that amount of time?” Posy doubted. “An intermission would give the Seasons an extended window for change.”
Flare took up her leaflet and quill, holding up the paper for everyone to see. Not that amount of change.
“Not to that extreme,” I agreed. “Laws have loosened, practices have been altered, and a percentage of captives have been liberated. But freedom in totality will take longer.”
A generation. Perhaps multiple generations.
Between medical, educational, and social reform over the recent years—four thus far, if we counted from our initial meeting in the rainforest—we had made tremendous headway. But not yet on the scale we intended. To say nothing of how the populace treated liberated born souls like lepers and death targets. At least, in Spring and Winter, where progress was still vulnerable.
Avalea’s gaze slid across each face. “Provided this is Rhys’s true course of action, we must be certain.”
“We’ll continue spying,” Briar petitioned. “But we do it through his budding army.”
“Whoever they are,” Poet said. “Wherever they are.”
For however long it took. Which could be a decades-long investment. The king’s endeavor would likely require even more years than had already passed, so whoever took on such reconnaissance would have an abiding commitment ahead.
One voice murmured through the grim silence. “I will do it.”
We glanced at Aire’s taut features as he stared into the fire. Being the First Knight made him the ideal candidate. As an informant, he would blend in with the troops. Avalea gave her approval, followed by Briar and Poet.
Aspen’s attention jumped from him to the queen. “What about me? How do I help?”
“By staying out of it,” the knight snapped.
Although the hood concealed the female’s expression, there was no mistaking the offense in her smoky voice. “I’m a fighter too.”
“But not an advanced warrior,” Aire corrected.
Offended, Aspen rose from her perch beside Cadence. “Give me a target.”
The knight raised his brows, as if daring her to say that again, to command him as if he were of a lower rank. “Excuse me?”
“Give. Me. A. Target.”
Aire wavered, then mellowed his tone. “You have already proven your worth, Aspen. That’s not what this is about.”
She bristled. “And I don’t need your supernatural intuition doing me favors.”
The knight’s jaw locked while searching her face for a second time. His expression struggled with something, as if pushing against a blockade. “This is not intuition, it’s common sense. You’re too inexperienced.”
“Don’t treat me like a rookie.”
“And don’t undermine my rank.”
“Just because you lead an army doesn’t mean you can order everyone else around.”
“Why do you constantly fight me about this?” he grated in exasperation. “I took a vow to serve this nation. It’s my duty to safeguard this clan. I’m protecting you!”
Aspen swerved and flung her axe toward a lowermost branch. Her weapon hacked through the ligament, which crashed to the floor. Focused. Capable. She’d barely had time to register her target before aiming.
Eliot whistled. Flare and the other women grinned in admiration. Lounging like a panther, Poet raised an eyebrow.
Validated, Aspen swerved toward the knight. “Can an advanced warrior do that ?”
Everyone watched as Aire reclined on impact, as if the blow had struck him instead of the branch. The pair fell into a staring contest. Until suddenly, the knight’s mouth clicked upward in bemused resignation.
“Brazen creature,” he relented.
Aspen gave a start, taking that response as an acknowledgement. After another moment, her voice turned saucy. “Why, thank you.”
The group broke into chuckles, though Aire ruefully shook his head. “Nonetheless, I must take this path alone.”
“I agree,” Avalea said. “I’m sorry, Aspen.”
Each of us concurred. She was no longer a child, had gained experience by playing an involuntary assassin for the Masters, and brandished her axe like an extension of herself. Thus, Aspen’s ambition wasn’t unwarranted. But while the female had excellent skills in sleuthing and had begun training with the troops, she wasn’t a veteran soldier. This level of risk necessitated only the most qualified participants.
Aspen flinched, but lifted her chin with dignity. “Raincheck, then.”
The First Knight hesitated, yet a faint grin tilted his mouth. “Brazen and headstrong.”
Nonetheless, he didn’t succumb to her request. And I suspected she would have argued for a guarantee, had the man’s smile not disarmed her.
A sheet of paper materialized in my periphery. Although Flare could have spoken the words to me and not been overheard, her handwriting stretched across the surface, indicating she didn’t want to get everyone’s attention.
Aire has a premonition about Aspen.
My countenance tapered. After taking a second look at the individuals in question, I recalled the talk between me, the jester, and the knight in the rainforest four years ago. At one point, Aire had glanced at the door where Aspen had disappeared, then he’d made a comment.
My senses provide a service to others. Not to myself.
I glanced down at Flare, who had twisted to meet my gaze. She shared Aire’s intuitive nature, though on a different level, so something in his demeanor must have struck her.
Duty aside, this explained Aire’s vigilance toward the girl over the years. I didn’t exactly subscribe to omens, but I understood how others reacted to them. Possibly, the knight weathered some type of superstition regarding the female.
Whatever his precognition, it could be innocent. Or it could not be.
It could have something to do with the group. Or it could only be about her fate.
If the honest knight anticipated this would affect the clan negatively, he would speak up. Otherwise, it wasn’t our place to investigate this theory. Not unless we saw a clearer reason to probe.
Borrowing the quill, I wrote my reply. We’ll wait and see.
To which, Flare nodded after reading the words.
The clan scheduled another conference to address details of this new phase in our plan. Once that was settled, Cadence vacated her chair with Posy and Vale, the trio venturing to the banquet table. The meeting having adjourned, Eliot joined the women.
Avalea left to retrieve a young boy who bounded from the Royal wing’s exit. Dark, shaggy hair that swept his shoulders. Defined cheekbones. Wide-set, green eyes that leaped from his face. Vocal cords that chimed like a silver bell. The youth sprinted across the bricks and followed a garland installed from the door to our fire pit.
Nicu. Poet and Briar’s son.
At the age of ten, the boy required color-coded ribbons to aid his sense of direction. With practice, the need had lessened, though the jester and princess suspected this would never fully abate.
Their son crashed into Flare, who welcomed his hug. “Sun empress,” he greeted. “Your eyes have lit a fire.”
“And yours have given it warmth,” she gushed, having discovered Nicu’s inherent skill for reading her lips.
The boy launched my way, expecting the same treatment. “Frost king!”
“No,” I said, the word stalling him from coming near.
Poet rolled his eyes as if I were useless. While children did not intimidate me, I’d hardly ever claimed to be a doting individual.
Not that it ultimately dissuaded Nicu, who pasted himself to my side anyway. “Do you have a fallen star for me?”
“He means a snowflake,” Flare explained for my benefit.
While no one else heard her, they grasped the nature of our exchange. Frowning, I glanced at the princess for aid, who pantomimed and encouraged me to hug him back.
Awkwardly, I patted the boy’s shoulder. “Er, there there.”
Poet pointed toward his son and disclosed to Briar, “He did not get his taste in kings from me.”
Stimulated by everyone’s presence, Nicu unpeeled himself from my arm and shouted, “Party!”
“Ah,” the jester gloated. “Now that , he got from me.”
The boy raced to Aire. “Come spin, but leave your wings here.”
Apparently spin meant dancing, and wings referred to Aire’s broadswords. Unsheathing his weapons, the knight set them beside the pit. “At your service, my liege.”
As Nicu yanked on his sleeve and dragged him away, Avalea sighed. “Nicu shall miss him.”
Aspen’s head veered between the queen and knight. “Miss him?”
“When Aire’s gone,” Briar clarified with a wistful expression. “Gathering intel on Rhys’s budding army means traveling for a long time.” She twisted toward her husband. “We must do something special to bid him farewell. Once the time comes.”
“Aye.” Poet grinned like the devil. “Aire loves being the center of attention.” He jutted his chin at me. “Much like Mr. Personality over there.”
Flare’s shoulders shook with mirth. My gaze skewered the jester, but Aspen’s voice cut off my chance to retaliate.
“For how long?” she asked.
“Months,” Poet guessed. “Years.”
“It’s too soon to tell,” Avalea informed.
Aspen went still, her expression impossible to gauge beneath the hood.
The queen abandoned her seat and approached the group as they formed a circle dance. The jester purred something into his wife’s ear and pulled her into the fray. At the last minute, Briar snatched Flare’s arm and hauled her with them.
Twisting over her shoulder, my little beast gazed at me with bright eyes. “Come,” she said.
“Soon,” I rasped.
I wanted to watch her first. Happy. Free. Like this, I could stare at my woman for eternity.
As Flare melted into the revels, the corner of my mouth lifted, then dropped as Aspen approached her axe, its blade still affixed to the branch. Witnessing Aire grin at something the ladies said, Aspen ripped her weapon free and charged through an abutting gate.
But while the girl’s sporadic departures were common, Flare spotted her leaving. She caught my eye, worry creasing her face and resurrecting our earlier exchange. Silently, we communicated. It didn’t hurt to know more.
I nodded to Flare and strode in the female’s wake. Halfway down a neighboring lawn, I located her retreating form. “Stowaway.”
With a sigh, she wheeled around. “Assassin. Stowaway,” she listed. “It’s my fault, I know. I used to make everyone call me Someone. Naturally, people got creative after that. But I do have a fucking name.”
“Aspen.”
“Thank you.”
“Aspen.”
“What?”
“Dry your eyes,” I advised.
A discerning pause. Her defensive voice wobbled. “I’m not crying.”
“Clearly,” I stated dispassionately. “Otherwise, the salt from your tears would leach into your skin. Which would hurt.”
Yet another pause, confirming my speculation. Not only that, but she had forgotten to include “Brazen Creature” among her assigned monikers. Though, I doubted this had been accidental.
This route led in two directions. One, toward additional courtyards. Two, past the barbican, then down the brick road carving through the maple pasture, lower town, and harvest fields before bleeding into the beech forest. Though, I could not say which path she would choose.
Aspen kicked her toe against the ground and feigned nonchalance. “So what’s the cost for medical advice?”
I would not be a competent doctor if I didn’t know where this was going. Stepping forward, I instructed, “Show me.”
Aspen wavered, then rolled up her sleeve and held it aloft for my examination. The lacy pattern reminiscent of wood grain, plant vines, and blossoms scrolled across her skin. Similar to tattoos yet textured in certain places like scars. It looked as though she’d been born from roots instead of a human womb.
Questions were essential. No, they did not hurt. No, they did not impair the girl’s movements or give her adverse symptoms. Yes, the pattern covered the rest of her. And yes, she’d been born this way.
Following my inquisition, Aspen pulled back and shoved down her sleeve. She lifted her chin despite the split in her voice, like a twig about to break. “Can you fix it?”
The wellspring in The Phantom Wild might erase the markings, as it had from Flare’s throat. However, that body of water presently resided too far away. And that was not the point.
I’d never been a coddling man and would not start now. But I could offer reassurance. “I cannot fix something that is not a problem.”
She deflated. Hazel eyes flickered beneath the hood, gazing to where the open gate revealed the knight. Ducking her head, Aspen adjusted her cloak, smoothing out the wrinkles as if cognizant of its drab brown color and humble stitching.
“Must be nice to be a courtier,” she said. “To have attributes.”
Aspen lacked nobility. Yet she possessed the latter—curvy, tall, feisty—irrespective of what she thought about the pattern entrenched in her flesh.
Be that as it may, physical traits were irrelevant to Aire. He had never given Aspen’s skin a second glance, much less any part of her anatomy. He was not a satanic being who preyed on innocents.
Strictly, he did not see Aspen that way. No honorable man would with a young girl. And although pity took me by surprise—doubtless an influence of Flare—I would not endorse Aspen’s hopes. Regardless of the knight’s upcoming quest, Aspen’s seventeen years to Aire’s twenty-seven made this an impossible discussion.
Rejected. Resigned.
That was how this female sounded. Whether toward her condition, the view, or both, it was hard to say.
The wind buffeted a tail of crimped hair that dangled from her hood. She spoke while staring into the courtyard. “What does it take to prove you don’t need something?”
I squinted. “Tell me why you’re asking.”
“No reason.”
“There is always a reason.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Why would I do that?” I deadpanned. “You have a name.”
Under the cloak, her pupils flickered to me and gleamed. Walking backward, she shrugged one shoulder. “Much obliged, Winter King.”
So indeed, she was leaving the premises. “You need a carriage.”
“Actually, I’ve never needed much.” Sauntering away and raising both arms in a what-can-I say gesture, she bullshitted, “I’m secretly a vampire who shapeshifts into a bat. No one will bother me in my dark form. How else do you think I completed missions for the Masters?”
“Rather tough to carry an axe that way.”
“The axe shifts too,” she called over her shoulder, not missing a beat.
I watched Aspen vanish down the lawn. She was hiding something. But whether it was related to Aire’s undisclosed sensory perception wasn’t clear.
Boots cut through the grass, the swagger familiar. I restrained a hiss as Poet materialized, his hands buried in the pockets of his leather pants.
Halting at my side, the jester’s silken voice inquired, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I scoffed. “Is it possible for us to share the same thought?”
Considering Aspen’s penchant for disappearing acts, Poet must have noted her absence.
Staring into the distance, he murmured, “Everyone has their secrets.”
And not every secret was nefarious. Likely, Aire had foreseen some manner of doomed fate for the girl. All the more reason for him to look out for her.
Though, Poet grasped something else about Aspen. “Broken hearts. Faults and fools.”
“It is a crush,” I dismissed. “She will recover.”
“Did you, sweeting?”
“Fuck off. What I feel toward Flare is not a passing fancy.”
“In which case, anything’s possible.”
I grunted. Fair enough.
Candles pulsed from the castle, with its brown masonry and shutters. For several minutes, Poet and I studied the landscape beyond. The Wandering Fields shivered, their pathways capable of leading intruders astray for an eternity, swallowing them whole until delirium and death came knocking. An effective yet macabre form of natural defense, especially for Autumn.
“Anything is possible,” Poet repeated. “Including whatever else you think Rhys is hiding.”
I almost respected the man’s shrewdness. Because we consulted each other before anyone else, I had spoken to Flare about this first. As for the clan at-large, I’d been pacing myself, waiting to be certain. Yet I had forgotten not to discount this jester and his resourceful wife. Likely, Briar suspected the truth behind my silence as well.
Not for the first time, I thought back to that day in Summer, when I’d met with Rhys in his throne room, and he’d emphasized a point that shouldn’t have needed emphasizing.
I have no other spawn.
In the rainforest, I’d neglected to share this comment with the clan because I hadn’t taken it seriously. The recollection had only prompted me to vocalize the broader notion of Rhys’s penchant for keeping secrets. But lately, I’d been thinking better of this.
“An heir,” I said.
Poet’s head whipped in my direction. “You mean, his son.”
Shaking my head, I drew out, “Not that one.”
A beat of silence followed. “That’s … not what Briar and I saw coming. You’re saying he has an illegitimate kid.”
“I’m not saying. I’m speculating.” I turned to face him, my fur collar scraping against my jaw. “If so, he doesn’t want the world to know about them. The enigma is why.”
It could be fear of his wife’s retribution, because perhaps Giselle didn’t know about the man’s infidelity. It could also be his pride for maintaining an untainted dynasty.
Except I knew about guarding familial secrets. As did Poet, who’d hidden Nicu from the Spring Crown for years.
Following my recap of Rhys’s comment, Poet debated. “’Tis a matter not handled lightly.”
Indeed. Of all people, the jester understood the vulnerability of this subject. As far as we knew, the king’s mystery offspring had done nothing wrong and hardly deserved to pay for their father’s crimes.
Still, this could be an advantage. Or it could be a lost cause.
Time would tell. For tonight, we let it go.
Poet glanced in the courtyard’s direction. “Before I snatch my wife, drag her to the nearest corrupt spot, and fuck her senseless, allow me this.” He gave me a sidelong look. “You deserve Flare.”
I still loathed this pain in the ass. Yet the words closed their perceptive fingers around my chest. The place where all things related to Flare existed, a gear that needed only to be twisted for the rest of me to respond automatically.
The jester relished my speechlessness and smirked. “I always get the last word, sweeting.”
Before I could retort, he sauntered back to the courtyard. Trailing him, I watched the scene unfold.
Briar’s ladies gyrated against the minstrel. Avalea spun with Nicu and Aire. Occasionally, the knight craned his head to search for a member who wasn’t there, his brows furrowing.
Poet snuck up behind Briar and spun her to face him. She chuckled as he pressed his forehead to hers and brandished a wicked grin, steering the princess backward until they slipped around a corner, likely to Briar’s private grounds where the fucking would commence.
Later, I would confide in Flare about Aspen and Aire. Just as we would talk about many things we’d need to prepare ourselves for.
Until then, the rest of this night was about us. No one else.
Sensing these thoughts, my little beast agreed with me while twirling like a flame and catching the heat in my gaze. Jutting her hips, she crooked a beckoning finger and lured me with those golden eyes. I stalked after her, pursued her, chased her. When I seized Flare’s ass and jerked her into me, she gasped with laughter.
We swayed, not caring who saw us. Her warmth melted through me, her pussy covertly rubbing against my cock in a destructive way.
Skimming her palms up my torso, Flare spoke against my lips. “What are you thinking?”
“That I love you,” I murmured. “That I must have you.”
She nipped my jaw and teased, “Only if you ask nicely.”
“I shall never be nice,” I hissed, digging my possessive fingers into her flesh.
Flare sashayed while guiding me toward the door leading into the Royal wing, where we shared a suite and a very large bed. “Except to me.”
I followed her steps, because I would follow her anywhere. “Except to you.”
Always, my exception. Always, my undoing.
And tonight, I would fuck her amid the fire.