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“I was foolish.”
“You’re foolish now if you think it’s your fault.”
“If I hadn’t been that heedless girl—”
“If, if, if,” he rattled gently. “If many things.”
“I haven’t felt him near in a long time, but I felt him today. It was like I needed to be that tempestuous child again to sense him close, to feel his presence. When I did, I was proud, not guilty or sad.” I nestled into Poet as best I could, my head tucked against his solid chest. “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. As I contemplated the floor stained in torchlight and twilight, a hunch manifested. “Poet isn’t your real name.”
After a moment of silence, he murmured into my ear, “Nay.”
“You won’t tell me.”
“’Tis embarrassing.”
I chuckled weakly, then crumbled apart and glanced at him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what I said in the bell tower. It was horrid and inexcusable, and I’m ashamed. Please believe that’s not how I feel about Nicu.”
His forehead fell against mine. “Thank you for that. What you said won’t be forgotten any time soon, but thank you.”
“I can’t forgive myself.”
“Work on that, my thorn. I’ve dealt my share of blows. I blamed you for what happened at the Peace Talks. I could have tried to persuade the Royals without you, but I fixated on losing your support. I refused to listen, to let you explain. It felt easier to hold something against you, punish the shit out of you. On the hill, I flaunted my friendship with Eliot.” He paused in the manner he often did when measuring the weight of something pivotal. “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.
“Notoh,” Poet said. “I deserve worse thanoh.”
The fact that I needed to ask, that there was a reason I should ask, was excruciating enough. “Do you have feelings for him?”
He thought about that. “Affectionate ones. If you didn’t exist, then someday those feelings might grow. But not once have I been torn or doubted for whom my heart pumps, however futile.”
His words lifted my spirits off the ground. Nevertheless … “So much of me doesn’t want you to care in that way.”
“I would echo that sentiment if it weren’t moot. Visiting my son in secret, deceiving the Crown for his protection. Those weren’t acts of bravery—they were just necessary. What we have here and now? This isn’t necessary. That’s why it’s brave. ’Tis the jester in me, but I have a theory. Are you ready for it?”
“No. Yes.”
“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.” His mouth descended, pressing flush and hot against my own. “That is all. That is everything.”
I shook my head, my lips grazing his. “It can’t end here.”
“Come now. It isn’t that bad. We’re finally allowed to have a fling without hiding it.”
“We’re in a jail cell and on trial for treason.”
