10
Aspen
With my heart clattering like the broken spokes of a wheel, I got the hell out of there. Weaving through the revelers, I rubbed my clammy palms together, struggling to untangle the thoughts snaring in my head.
From the second Briar shared her tale about that oak tree, the motifs in my skin had stung. This only happened whenever I exercised my fighting skills, cried saltwater onto my flesh, or from one other cause. The physical reaction sent my mind reeling.
A possibility. A revelation.
I needed to process this.
Nobles strolled in their fancy getups. Yards of velvet, leather, and tapestry swept the floor. A copper fox dashed across the packed crowd, musicians blew on panpipes, and candles glowed from the windows. It was one of those fine moody nights when the kingdom smelled of damp soil and gingerbread.
Because I violated the formal dress code, a few wardrobe snobs cast my plain hood a disapproving look. I put on a show, sashaying as if the mantle had been custom tailored from satin until they bustled past.
Never mind them. The markings across my skin were pretty, if not painless, and I didn’t hide them for my sake. No, I hid them for Mama’s sanity.
As for the cloak not coming off when she wasn’t around like now, what could I say? When you got used to something, you stopped recognizing who you were without it. Habits like that stuck.
“Miss Aspen,” a nobleman gushed, strolling to my side.
I skidded in place. “Oh, um—”
“It’s a pleasure running into you again.”
Again. Fuck.
I recalled the dimples and square jaw, but it took a moment for his name to crop into my head. Samuel Something. Friendly chap, excellent kisser, inventive in bed, but not much of a conversationalist.
My polite smile widened into an exaggerated one as two other men flanked me.
An off-duty valet and the court’s elite stonemason, who’d been appointed based on skill instead of birthright, unlike how it used to be with the Masters.
Bows and greetings commenced, each of these competitors flashing one another cutthroat scowls.
Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to notice.
“You’re looking enchanting tonight,” the stonemason complimented. “Such a fine, er, hood.”
“Heard you fought well today,” the valet added, shouldering his way in front of the others.
An eclectic group. Then again, I had acquired eclectic taste.
Normally, I partook and compared notes later with Cadence, Posy, and Vale. Speaking of whom, Briar’s ladies noticed the men surrounding me like a prayer circle and promptly made a show of fanning themselves.
I withheld a snort. These blokes were nice, but with a laundry list of dilemmas to resolve, I wasn’t in the mood to cherry pick my flings tonight. Not even if the picking involved Rhun, who knew best how to scratch my itch.
Eyebrows waggling, Briar’s ladies jerked their chins, indicating something. My eyes swerved to a pair of scorching blue irises. From his front-row vantage point, Aire watched the men broadcast themselves, the knight’s pupils incinerating each contender on the spot.
Seasons knew Aire wasn’t a rake. Probably, his genteel sensibilities didn’t care for their forwardness.
As if I didn’t have enough memories of admirers gluing themselves to his muscles to fill a scrapbook.
I’d spent a solid portion of my existence watching him court females before his deployment, my heart in tatters whenever he promenaded with a woman hooked to his arm, my ribs compressing each sickening time he disappeared with a lady into his chamber.
Tonight, history repeated itself in reverse. But whatever grief he had with these males, it wasn’t my problem. Excusing myself, I took refuge near a hedge of cattails.
Minutes later, the scents of amber and vetiver teased my nostrils. It didn’t take a member of the peerage to know that aroma cost money. Lots of it.
I inhaled the sexy essence before its owner murmured, “He’s jealous.”
My head whipped sideways so fast, I nearly cracked a vertebra.
Poet leaned one toned shoulder against the castle’s brick facade.
In the eventide murk, those naughty irises glittered, a dripping black spade decorating one eye.
If any man detected the underlying signs of desire, it was this devil.
The jester was the walking, talking, breathing embodiment of lust. Ask anyone how much they would sacrifice to fuck this man, and the offer would incite a bidding war.
I’d wager some people would donate a kidney for the privilege of getting the Court Jester naked.
Not that Poet cared. He only had eternal eyes for Briar, which made him my favorite male specimen.
But for the first time, I doubted his judgment. “You’ve been watching?”
“Sweeting, everyone’s been watching,” Poet replied, his sexy tenor capable of melting steel.
“His eyes have been following you all night, ’tis a wonder he didn’t cremate each member of the Swoon Brigade to ash.
” To clarify, the jester indicated the dissatisfied suitors I’d left behind.
“Even before then, my epic wife and I beheld your combat foreplay from a window whilst enroute to the meeting.”
“Before or after you pulled Briar into a dark corner for a quickie?”
His sinful lips curled. “Who said it was quick?”
Shameless. I would have teased, but I needed to make one thing clear. “I’m not trying to make Aire jealous.”
Poet gave me a pointed look. “You don’t have to try.”
“Whether or not that’s true, it means the behemoth took his jealousy out on me today. That’s not Aire’s style. And it’s a dealbreaker on my end.”
“Fair. And whilst I can guess the source of Aire’s motivation, I make no defense for it.
I’ve never had to say this, but he handled it poorly.
In the latter respect, I’d expect nothing short of you maintaining those boundaries.
Also, I enjoyed watching you mow the lawn with his toned backside.
It proves you’ve become his fighting equal. ”
I gave the jester a sidelong glance. “But?”
“But alas. As for the First Knight’s uncharacteristic behavior, chemistry makes us do unexpected things, to say little of passion’s effect.
We act and speak out of our nature. Yet that makes the payoff all the sweeter, because it leads to new discoveries about each other.
That’s how you grow together.” Heat seared his gaze as he glimpsed Briar laughing with her ladies. “Trust me, I know.”
I sighed. “Poet, I love you as much as I love my axe. But there’s no comparison to what you and Briar have. Or what Jeryn and Flare have. Besides, I fancy being on my own. Romance isn’t made for everybody.”
“I’m not talking about romance. I’m talking about devotion.”
“You can talk about devotion, commitment, eternity, the moon, and the stars for all the good it will do. But you’ve still got this one wrong.”
“Nay.” He tapped the axe in question. “I don’t.”
Unable to accept anything but the last word, Poet turned. Like a jaguar hunting for his life mate, the jester stalked across the courtyard, his leather pants clutching the continent’s hottest ass.
Apart from one soldier. This much, I would still admit.
I pushed off the wall and took off. Despite his authority on all things carnal, and despite having a fierce bond with Aire, the jester misinterpreted what he saw.
Sentinels flanked every barred threshold. Their capes whipped in the breeze, and their meaty fists clutched halberds, the weapons in dire need of a polish.
With the axe bumping against my hip, I hastened to the tournament arena on the castle’s south end.
The pipe melody and chattering voices faded, silence diffusing all signs of celebration.
Insulated by towering walls, the vacant amphitheater stretched six hundred feet, wrought of bronze stone and chiseled with three-dimensional leaves.
Heraldry banners flapped from soaring poles, fox monuments formed columns lining the entry gates, cushioned chairs packed the viewing stands, and curtains ornamented the Royal pavilion.
I stepped onto the central jousting lanes, running my fingers along the tilt separating each aisle. Someday, I would design lances and quintains for this arena.
Usually at these soirees, I left early to meet Rhun.
At this point, I’d be pinned against the wall, my body jutting up and down to the rapid beat of his cock.
I tended to get loud during sex, forcing the man to stamp a hand over my mouth.
Rhun loved seeing my features break apart when I came around his dick.
I could use a tension release, but no such luck tonight. Not with more important things renting space in my head. To that end, I stopped rehashing the impossible and focused on the plausible.
That oak tree. Briar’s memory of its location.
And Nicu’s verdict about a spy in the clan’s midst. At the meeting, his theory almost gave me a heart attack. I’d gotten supremely lucky until now, skirting the clan’s suspicions. Yet luck eventually ran out.
For all intents and purposes, I’d told Rhys parts of what the clan knew about his budding army, snippets to get him to trust me without dismantling the clan’s progress. But someone else had provided the details about Aire’s mission.
The clan believed the saboteur could be a lost heir of Rhys. While I’d learned of this person’s existence from Rhys, he kept their identity a mystery, so I couldn’t verify if the clan was on the right track.
After picking my jaw off the floor, I’d gotten to work during the meeting. Keeping my mouth shut, when I usually had plenty to say, would seem odd. Instead, contributing ideas about the saboteur’s identity had served me better.
As for our debate over the erratic migration patterns of Rhys’s secret troop, that had been partially my doing.
Although Rhys didn’t name the targets, he’d informed me of the plan to lay siege in certain areas of Autumn.
So I misdirected him every chance I got, committing myself to preventing carnage.