Trick (Foolish Kingdoms, #1)

by Natalia Jaster

I watched as he deliberately licked his lips clean. Those eyes hooded. The irises brightened as my fingers flitted through his hair, as we gazed at one another. Hush. Too late. I couldn’t have obeyed if I’d tried.

I lifted my head, listening as the knocks lost control and segued into desperation. Nay, urgent hadn’t sent her here. Tragic had. As much as I wanted the relentless Royal to go away, something grieved her. She needed me.

“Poet.” Briar extended a hand, her palm on a dangerous course toward my chest, or toward that beating nuisance inside my chest. If her hand landed there, it would go through my skin and find what it was searching for. Then she would know it belonged to her.

It wasn’t that I’d forgotten the minstrel’s presence. Her presence was simply bigger.

In the half-light, we took a moment to endure one another. If something happens to me … If anything happens to you … Crimson would pool across the floor. Hearts would be ripped from chests. My daggers would maim and nail bodies to the wall for target practice.

I strode to her. Balancing Nicu with one arm and snatching the dagger affixed to my spine, I pressed the weapon into her hand. I curled her fingers around the hilt, illustrating how to hold it. If we survived this, I would teach her later how to impale an enemy. For now, I had two darlings to protect, and this dagger would provide backup in case I failed to rip our opponents in half first.

Nevertheless, he coasted next to me with blithe indifference, straightened his sleeves, and fake-whispered, “Hello, sweeting. I think we’ve been caught.”

“Tell me, Court Idiot. In which manner would you like to die for stealing from a king?” Poet cocked his head. “You’ll let me choose?” “I shall let you choose.” “Excellent. I’d prefer death by old age.”

“Sweeting, if the princess doesn’t want to be touched—” he increased the pressure on the guard’s trachea and enunciated, “—you do not touch her.”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t tell you this.” “We mere mortals all hide things.” No matter what he said, it often sounded like a clue to something else.

“Poet isn’t your real name.” After a moment of silence, he murmured into my ear, “Nay.” “You won’t tell me.” “’Tis embarrassing.”

“Briar?” I tensed. “Poet?” “In my chambers, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.” The confession leached the oxygen from my lungs. He’d spoken tentatively, yet it failed to dull the words. Their sharpness lanced through my chest. My best friend had attempted to enamor Poet. And Poet had let him try. Not that I hadn’t trespassed on Eliot’s desires first or that Poet was mine to begin with. He never had been. “Oh,” was all that came out, my voice too fragmented to say more.

“Almighty Seasons, ’tis not about wanting. Oh aye, I’m afraid of never having more, never making you gasp with every stitch of clothing I peel from your flesh, never tasting every freckle shivering across your skin, never feeling your bare legs wrapped around my unclad hips, never knowing the ecstasy of being inside you, fucking you beautifully, giving you such deep euphoria until your mind is filled with every raw sensation in existence, and making love to you the way my body’s been shrieking to for weeks. I’m afraid of that. From the beginning, I wanted you so intensely it drove me to the brink, and I’ll keep wanting you until the Seasons fade. Alas, we don’t get everything we want. This is it, sweeting.”

“And she’s rolling her hips into him. And she’s falling for him.” “And I’m loving her.” On a helpless sigh, I twisted at the same time he gripped my jaw and steered me toward him. Those clover eyes sizzled before his mouth slanted hotly against mine. At the contact, my insides liquified like a melting candle. “I’m loving her everywhere,” he murmured.

Poet whispers, “Right now, I’m loving her … because I do, and have, and will.” My hands shook as they clasped his face. “Poet.” “I love her,” he hissed, capturing my mouth.

Seasons save me, I did. I loved this devilish man so much it hurt. He was everything that enflamed and emboldened me. He was my craving and my comfort, my abandon and my bedrock, utterly out of control yet safely rooted to the ground.

She licked her lips. “Fuck me sweetly, Poet.”

The vision of her splayed, lost in rapture and taking the weight of my cock, drove me to sheer madness. I might die. Or I might just kill us both.

Quietly, I spoke against her pulse and told her my name. Not Poet. Not the Court Jester of Spring. My real name.

I had given the jester my virginity, and now I wanted to take something from him.

Whirling us around, he switched our positions. He skirted us beneath a lower branch and pressed his spine into the tree trunk. “Grab it,” he panted.

That’s what allies do, if not lovers.” “I don’t want you only as an ally or a guardian.” Briar cleared her throat. “But thank you for wanting to protect me.” “My pleasure.” I quirked a naughty brow. “Always, my pleasure.” Her flush deepened. “The court doesn’t have to celebrate us. But if I prove myself as a Royal, they’ll respect my choices.”

And when the day comes, I’ll appoint an heir, because I don’t have to give birth to one. I’ll be married to Autumn and loving you.” My throat contorted. “That’s not enough.” “What?” she gasped, recoiling from me as though I’d slapped her.

I thought of similar mornings in Autumn, the air laced in fog and the sky dim. However tranquil it seemed, I’d forgotten how such a canopy shielded one’s world right before the turbulence barreled in, whisking everything into a new frenzy. This intermission felt like a quiet before the storm.

“When next we’re alone, I’m going to fuck you on your throne.”

Spreading his arms, Poet inclined his head and flashed me a wicked grin. “It begins with a ribbon.”