Prince of the Arena (Beasts of the Briar, #1.5)

by Elizabeth Helen

“You know,” I say, snatching his jaw with my hand, “that glare would be a lot more intimidating if it wasn’t so cute.”

“I wouldn’t call myself an artist,” I say, creating a sun on his chest, “but you make the most striking canvas.”

Fare. Or should I say Farron. Prince of the bloody Autumn Realm, and heir to its Blessing. I can’t believe he kissed me. Can’t believe without even a single drop of alcohol, I lost as much reason as if I’d drunk five pitchers of ale and threw myself at him. Threw myself so deep I was drowning—drowning in the crisp scent of his skin, the rich brown of his hair, the constellation of freckles over his nose.

I don’t want to belong to myself. I want to belong to him.

He is like a precious rose, blooming toward the sun. And I’m the typhoon that will come in and uproot it.

can’t remember a single conversation I had with anyone tonight, but I can remember every word he’s ever said.

Farron kisses me, lips of salt and sea. An Autumn boy tasting of Summer. A taste I would drown for all over again.

“Let’s go get our treasure,” Farron says. I don’t respond, only capable of nodding. Because damn if I haven’t already found mine.

“Here?” “Here,” I breathe. “Anywhere. Any time. Any weather. Any season. As long as you’re you.”

“A deal. I promise to always be me. And you’ve got to promise me you’ll always be you, okay?” “It’s a promise,” I whisper.

I’m like his dual swords, and he wields me perfectly.

Oh, but you did. You stole my sense, my reason, the very breath from my lungs. You stole the peace from my soul and every thought that dared not be of you.

Everything we do is in sync, in rhythm. Two shards of sea glass, the broken pieces fitting perfectly together.

I stroke his wavy hair and stare up at the stars. Which one did he come from? Which one did I? Why does it feel like we came from the same one?

“When they are with one another, it is to me as if they are part of the same constellation. Living starlight.”

I won for him. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for him. And damn to the gods if that isn’t more frightening than fighting to the death in the arena.

“Roses, Fare?” “Hmm?” He sits up and looks over at me. I gesture to the myriad of swirling roses drawn in the sand. “Is this your way of hinting you want me to get you flowers?” He flushes as pink as the setting sun. “They’re my favorite flower. I’ve always thought they were the most beautiful.” “Roses grow inside of Castletree,” I tell him. “I’ll get you one next time we go.”

I’m in love with you, Daytonales, Prince of Summer. All the stars and the sun and the moon could vanish from the sky, and you would be all the light I’ll ever need.