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Primping aside, I got to the throne room early, where I poured myself a chalice from the trestle table laden with flagons of wine, carafes of nectar, and trenchers of pomes, grapes, meats, and cheeses. Ever the jester, I refused to wait for the Royals to assemble before drinking.
Mid-slosh, Briar entered the room with her mother. I glanced up—and my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth.
She wore an off-the-shoulder emerald dress with short sleeves and simple, clean lines that allowed the shade to flourish on its own. The style was classic, elegant, and confident. Not to mention, it allowed her flaming hair to explode with color. Her tresses hung partially down, the upper layers swept up loosely and threaded with tiny wildflowers.
Her wide eyes, a clear sky. Her freckles, a constellation.
She had the glow of someone recently and repeatedly licked, rubbed, and sated. Her jester did that. His tongue would do it a million times over, until his knees embedded into the floor.
Briar’s gaze leaped across the room and landed on me. Visibly, she tried to remain placid, but it proved an evident chore. Her complexion warmed, and a grin fought to break through her lips. In the library, numerous moans had softened that mouth, and—
Fluid splashed onto my sleeve. I jolted as wine overflowed from the cup in my left hand, whilst the tipped flagon arrested in my right poured claret liquid all over the fucking place.
“Shit,” I hissed, jerking the vessel upright and dropping it onto the table, where it teetered for a second before settling in place.
In my periphery, I caught the humorous flash of Briar’s teeth. Two incisors dug into her lower lip, stifling her mirth.
Oh, I knew other ways to make those teeth sink into that lip. However, that was the bloody problem. I had been mentally stripping her to the point where I’d forgotten the vessel in my grasp, and now the page closest to me hastened to wipe the mess.
Impulsively, I reached for the cloth. “It was my fault. Let me.”
The lad gawked. “It’s my pleasure, Court Jester.”
And it was his job. Denying him would insult, discredit, and mortify the servant.
I could flout the rules. I could take care of the spill myself on the pretense of arrogant pride, and it wouldn’t shock the monarchy. But I couldn’t invalidate the lad’s position.
Only in moments like these did I feel the remorse of being pampered. There was nothing gratifying about watching someone prostrate themselves to clean my mistakes, as if I were an emperor and the servant a peon. Dammit, I couldn’t even thank him audibly without causing controversary among the staff, who would hear about it and sneer at the lad.
Nevertheless, I inclined my head to the page. Then I turned and stumbled into the piercing gaze of Briar’s mother. Based on her narrowed eyes, the Autumn Queen had seen my lapse.
As did the Spring King, who entered behind them, along with the remaining Royals. Though, Basil interpreted the cause differently. The man grinned like a happy asshole and ribbed, “Gracious, Poet. Intoxication and clumsiness entail drinking the wine first.”
“Very wise advice, Sire,” I answered with a phony slur, to everyone’s amusement.
The Royals were in prime spirits at this final assembly, all of them eager to celebrate and then get the hell out of here. In addition to kinship, weeks of conference had produced its share of animosity and hissy fits.
The princess’s throat bobbed. Her anxious gaze flitted my way and received the most imperceptible of nods from me.
Beguile them, Your Highness.
She nodded back. Henceforth, Autumn and I became invisible to one another. That was the impression we gave as the Royals took their seats. I leaned against a column and noted the princess’s wistfulness as she settled into her late father’s chair. As she did, Briar traded meaningful looks with her mother.
Basil and Fatima wiggled their rumps to get comfortable, then the king slammed his paddle palms together. His peers jumped in unison, as they always did.
“I declare this the final gathering of The Dark Seasons,” he said. “And a novel occasion, for not only do we culminate these proceedings and go forth in peace once more, but we enhance tradition by having Autumn’s heiress as our guest. A new branch of custom that my queen and I have proposed, and we Royals have agreed upon and hope to continue with the sum of our offspring over the years to come. From this day forth, our successors will be invited to attend the closure of the Peace Talks. Princess Briar, you are most welcome.”
To their applause, she beamed.
To that beam, my chest warmed.
“A hasty overture,” the Summer King grunted behind his flaccid whiskers. “But tolerable, I suppose. My queen and I will be pleased to have our son bred with this tradition. It’s a misfortune that other proposals regarding appropriate attendants were denied this year.”
I rolled my eyes. A travesty for him, indeed. I had made him snicker like the rest of them, yet this hypocrite—this ignoramus who wouldn’t know a true fool if they pissed in the king’s tankard, much less if I flashed a mirror in front of his face—remained set on banning me from the Talks.
“I must say,” Fatima’s rather spacious mouth bragged, “it behooved us to set such a precedent, but arguments were made in favor of it. It never entered our minds until a conference with Poet—”
My head whipped in her direction.
