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“Ah, but I believe we can find a way around it. We’re quite the rebellious pair.”
Because I couldn’t disagree with that, I took his mouth again. Poet hummed and licked into me. The kiss dissolved every shred of fear and trepidation that had been creeping in and out of my consciousness for days, leaving only desire, elation, and strength in their wake.
Whatever dangers lay ahead, and whatever gambles we took when the sun rose fully, those worries vanished for the ride. Right now, only this existed—the jester’s firm mouth folding over me and his naughty tongue stroking mine.
Once more, Poet pried his lips from me. “Briar,” he husked. “The tale.”
“Hmm?” I exhaled against his own stunted outtakes. “Oh, yes. You were telling me about a story.” I looped a stray lock over his ear. “How does it begin?”
Those trickster irises glinted. “Allow me, Your Highness.”
Both of us had been touching mindlessly. But now he took my hand and kissed the ribbon encircling my wrist. And although this man preferred being the centerpiece, he drew the window draperies of the carriage door shut, blotting out the passing woods as though he were about to impart a forbidden tale.
He really was incapable of doing things simply, I thought in amusement.
Spreading his arms, Poet inclined his head and flashed me a wicked grin. “It begins with a ribbon.”
Epilogue
Poet
As you see, the tale didn’t end in that Spring forest. It went on, and it shall go on if I have anything to say about it. You know, I always have something to say.
There’s more ahead for us—some of it entrancing, some of it ruthless. There will be violent dangers, ruinous secrets, and dark passions.
Let it happen. I’m ready.
For I’m not the same fool who started this story. I’m still devastatingly pretty, ever a glittering and devious thing, but also whole. I’m of a new Season, new Crown, new purpose.
I’m a superior father for the world to see. I’m a lover to only one.
To many, my name is Poet. To others, it’s something else.
I like to think I’m improving with age. ’Tis mostly your doing. You’ve slayed me, bested me in a stunning way. My silver tongue has lost this sinful battle—for now, at least. You’re a pleasure to spar with. And I’m not done with you yet, my sweeting.
My thorn. My Briar.
In fact, I shall never be done with you. For our story has only begun.
The first time I spun this tale, you’d been naked and sleeping beside me in that secluded forest bower. Thus, I’d replayed the heated story quietly in my mind, a prelude of sorts.
Tonight, it will be revealed to an audience beside a blazing campfire, from unknown enemies to unspoken allies. It shall be a stepping stone, the first spark of what’s to come. But you’ll always be the one who knew first how it began, long before they did.
I could promise to withhold privileged details, to keep them purely between us. I could promise to be humble and discreet, to restrain myself from bragging.
But you’re not afraid of the truth. And I’m not that good of a liar.
***
