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I said goodbye to my son, and he wailed. This was our fate every week, because our world saw him as a crime of nature, and I served the court heartily and hatefully. That was our story.
My jokes had no effect on Nicu this time. Why? Because the princess was leaving as well. My son cried that she couldn’t go, because she was his friend, and he didn’t want to lose her.
Briar did the wrong thing. Her gaze flickered to me in indecision, requesting guidance.
Nicu would not see her after today. Not if I had anything to do with it.
So what did this female do to further confound me? She knelt before my child and achieved the impossible, quieting him with a balmy smile and a speech bred from empathy.
“I miss my father, too. But I must be brave about it,” she said. “And I think you can be brave. Let’s try together. Before you know it, your papa will return. He’s always done so, isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Nicu hiccupped whilst fisting her sleeves and resting his profile in the crook of her neck.
“Then you are lucky,” the princess admitted, her misty expression betraying her.
On the dusty floor, she let his tears drizzle down her bodice. No one, not even my masterful self, had relaxed my son so swiftly and with so little effort. The princess had magic. Her performance demanded my respect, reaped my envy, and infused my blood.
I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to do more than kiss her. I wanted to target her for reasons other than ridicule. I wanted to drag her to a shadowed corner, wrench up her skirt, and take her until she combusted. I wanted to make her beg, to make her plead for more. I wanted to ply her slowly, deeply. I wanted to shred her moans to pieces. I wanted to make her come long and loud with my name on her lips.
I wanted to show her just how much I was capable of. For she had no idea, apart from that fleeting taste in the meadow.
More than that, I wanted to dismiss this feeling. I wanted to mock it, reduce it to a joke. I wanted to resent her for interfering, to punish her for being here, for doing whatever the devil it was she was doing to me.
Then I wanted to have her all over again. I wanted to make her pleasure my sole ambition, to fit myself inside her until she branded my skin.
My jaw clenched. I caught Jinny staring and snapped out of the haze.
“Tell the briar patch maiden a story,” I suggested, kneeling beside the pair. “Something she can take with her.”
Nicu perked up and dazzled us with nonsensical beauty. The princess embraced and thanked him, then pried herself from my son.
Letting him go took visible effort on her part. I knew the feeling.
I kissed my son’s face until Jinny hinted I should leave before he started crying again. I tightened the ribbon on Nicu’s wrist. Just one more kiss, one more clasp.
I left. For the thousandth time, I left him.
The forest consumed Nicu’s face huddled with Tumble in the window, the overgrowth screening the cottage from view. I guided the horse through the hedges. At the sound of Briar’s huff, I smirked to myself and mentally counted to three.
“I can walk,” she protested. “A horse was an unnecessary expense.”
“I do appreciate a frugal princess,” I remarked. “However, aren’t you forgetting something?”
I glanced over my shoulder, to where the Briar sat astride the animal. A strip of cloth shielded her eyes, and another cloth secured her wrists to the saddle’s pommel, lest she should get ideas about removing the blindfold. But although my gut knew Briar wouldn’t divulge the cottage’s location, I took no chances when it came to my son.
Nonetheless, my decision was backfiring. Normally, I reserved such instruments for erotic pastimes, among the other trinkets in my collection. Consequently, seeing the fabric stretched across Briar’s steely orbs evoked visions of her tied up, ribbons tethering her as she arched off my bed, with a mask concealing her eyes and her mouth open on a silent, shocked moan.
“I meant, I can walk if you take off this thing,” she clarified. “I won’t tell anyone about the cottage.”
The hitch in her voice sounded wounded. I choked the rein and twisted ahead. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. Hence, call me a paranoid father.”
The princess absorbed that. “Fair enough,” she conceded, her words reinforced by logic. “But a horse was still too extravagant for this trip.”
I scoffed. “As opposed to all the princesses and court jesters who arrive at court saddled on a mule?”
“You know what I meant. A stout pony would have sufficed.”
“Go ahead. Deny me the chance to be a hero.”
