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A spark ignited in me that perhaps … Perhaps together we could …
We could nothing. Not when I’d be leaving court at the month’s end.
I paid attention and did the same, which earned me several incomprehensible looks from his father.
No one marks me unless I want them to.
Something must have unspooled across my face, because Poet broke from his position. With deliberate slowness, the jester released the counter and sauntered my way like a panther.
With his eyes nailed to me, Poet extended his arm past my shoulder. The telltale scrape of earthenware breached the silence, and only briefly did he look away to concentrate on something, the action bringing his profile into sharp relief.
briar stronger than me because I would have gotten on my knees and prayed like he was jesus
“Need something to wet your tongue, do you?”
“So do I.”
Never had a man made me feel so keenly aware of the shape of my mouth or the weight of my breasts, which hung heavily and erect under the nightgown. Never had a man visibly devoured me like this, like I was somebody to crave, to consume. Never had a man made me feel desired, beyond all measure of civility.
Poet’s chest inflated, his abdomen hitching. “Have you had your fill?” he whispered. “Or would you like more?”
I shall only say this. Had we been alone in the cottage, that night would have turned out differently. Had the princess given me a trace of permission, the counter would have been swiped of its dishes. Had she given the slightest indication, she would have been hauled off the ground—and that fucking water glass would have shattered to the floor.
There was Poet, utterly enamored with his son. There was me, utterly stricken by it.
“Be foolish with me, Briar.”
“There’s nothing bad about Nicu. He’s spectacular, yet his condition endangers him, and that’s my fault. For I’m the one who made him.”
“You’ve told me what you believe a fool is,” I said. “But there’s more. A fool is a man who sees his worth in a mirror, and in the faces of a crowd, but is oblivious to it elsewhere—where it counts above all, in the eyes of those who matter the most to him. Don’t insult yourself that way.”
He had the stomach to make the world laugh, when that same world would laugh at his son.
Poet had seen me loud. And now I’d seen him quiet.
“We’re finished talking, sweeting. So very fucking finished.” Then he grabbed my face—and his mouth slammed against mine.
“I didn’t know you cared,” he murmured.
BRIAR STRONGER THAN MEEEEEEEE
Yet it would be effortless for my head to loll back and find relief on his shoulder. To grant him permission like every other admirer, consort, and virgin he’s had.
“What are you doing?” “Everything,” the jester husked. “And if you wish, everything I wanted to do to you last night.”
“Sweet Thorn,” he whispered. “We both know better. Give this another few seconds, and neither of us will give a fuck.”
“How dare you presume to tell a Royal who she is. I don’t need you to dissect or fix me!”
and I'm happy 4 u. Briar stronger than me
And I didn’t say you needed fixing. I’m denying you’re broken to begin with.”
“But enough about me,” he exaggerated. “What I see is a woman with bandages on her leg, not a crown on her head. She defended the jester whom she despises and befriended the child whom society expects her to shackle. She dances in front of mirrors. She cherishes a minstrel. That makes an authentic heart, and that’s what makes a leader.
“She began as the jester’s target but ended up tricking him instead. That’s what makes her stunning, and that’s why I can’t stop myself from obsessing over her. Too bad for the world, she’d rather let people believe her as cold as a block of marble.”
“You lead two lives, yet you have the gall to accuse me of pretending. You have no right!” “My excuse is three feet ta...
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My excuse had my eyes, too. But ...
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And in my weakness, I found a new type of power—the means to shut him up.
I have no words for it. Remembering those days, I can’t think straight.
as one should
The princess, comforting my son and, hence, beating the shit out of my heart.
In my haven, the princess was no longer a princess. In my arms, she became the most painful of thorns. Against my mouth, she became Briar. Briar, fucking kissing me …
This barest of touches did more to ruin me than any plunge into a wet and waiting body ever had.
“You’re playing a treacherous game, Princess.”
“Then play it with me,” she dared.
Wicked. Hell.
Fuck me. I was done for.
as you should be
I wouldn’t release her until I had drained that precious sound for all it was worth, until I’d tasted every bit of it, until she was mine. Mine.
a kiss that makes a mockery of reason.
I braced my hands on my hips, and a corner of my jaw ticked.
*cue bald man looking at the camera in disappointment, with hands on his hips meme*
I translated that look. It was the approximation of, I didn’t raise you to be a shithead.
My eyes clamped onto hers and stayed there. If I so much as glimpsed her mouth, which was still inflated from the kiss, I wouldn’t have a chance in hell of leaving this room in one piece. Neither would she.
I wanted to take care of her.
Then I wanted to have her all over again. I wanted to make her pleasure my sole ambition, to fit myself inside her until she branded my skin.
I left. For the thousandth time, I left him.
“Go ahead. Deny me the chance to be a hero.”
She nodded back. Good princess. Bad jester. I still wanted to take her, ruin her, make her burn.
“Anything that matters takes time.”
On the other hand, this woman had me pegged.
Protectiveness curled my knuckles. If anyone wounded her, I’d be forced to do bodily damage to them. Inflict the slightest harm to Briar, and I would tear them to shreds.
