Trick (Foolish Kingdoms, #1)

by Natalia Jaster

“I am a princess,” she clipped. “I cannot afford to be myself.” “In that case, you could have at least gotten creative and shapeshifted into a unicorn. Everyone likes a unicorn.”

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.

“Oh, fuck my permission,” Poet hissed, then rounded on me and whisked a finger against my lips. “We’re finished talking, sweeting. So very fucking finished.” Then he grabbed my face—and his mouth slammed against mine.

“The only person who gets to laugh at the princess—” his voice dripped with venom, “—is herself.”

I wanted to pull this female from the roots, expose her for the goddess, warrior, and ruler she truly was.

“You’re a thorn in my side. Also, you’re loyal, courageous, and compassionate. What’s more, brunettes are the soil, blondes the sun. You’re a redhead—every fiery, inflaming thing in between. You’re sheer magnificence.”

“I see you. I see your resilience and strength of will. I see your determination and tenacity. I see your desire for control and your longing to dance. I see your integrity and daring, even when every other fool in a packed room fails to. I see it all, and I want it all, for you’ve bewitched me out of my wicked fucking mind.”

Her own name dangled from my tongue, but I kept it in, kept it close, because she was mine. And I was hers. All hers.

“Princess, I never wanted to kneel before a ruler so badly in my life. My mouth has been parched for you. It’s never been that way with anyone.”

“The greatest courage a person can have is to love another, for there are only two outcomes. Either the love lasts, and our lives are compromised, or it doesn’t, and our lives are emptied. Either way, we suffer more than we celebrate. I’ve enjoyed suffering with you. We are a tale for campfires.”

“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.”

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.

I loved Poet. I loved him desperately.

I kissed her under a beam of sinking light, the force of my lips obsessive, destructive. It wasn’t nearly enough. It would never be enough. I wanted her breath, wanted the taste of her branded on my tongue. I wanted her cries, wanted every sound this woman was capable of uttering. I wanted her loud and soft. I wanted her ruined, burned, and lost. I wanted to step into that inferno with her.