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Briar
Father used to say that change took time, but he was wrong. It did not take any time at all to change me.
The glimpse of a family. One parent’s death and another’s embrace.
A child’s tears. A confession. A wound.
An honest opinion. An unintended betrayal.
A touch—an instant that burned until you remembered to jolt away.
Those quick moments changed people. And what took time was accepting that change.
Standing on my balcony, I thought about revelry, sensuality, and recklessness, about being human and being a leader. I thought about the scarlet ribbon, which I no longer had, because I’d left it in the woods, tied to a bush.
I dragged my fingers across my lips. I still felt the heat of his mouth and the solid plains of his body. The shape of his cock growing for me, its outline rubbing skillfully against my folds through our clothing, the hardness probing my clitoris. The hysterical pleasure, the crash just before it went too far, before the sensations had a chance to erupt. The lasting aftershocks of unfulfilled hunger.
I may have stopped it. Yet I still felt the jester everywhere.
***
Mother refused to leave my side. She kept encircling my waist or smoothing down my hair. Each contact threatened me with tears to match the ones prickling her eyes.
She doted. She shooed the maid away and readied my bath herself.
Was I hungry? Would I like my favorite steamed plums?
How was my leg? Would another pillow help?
Whenever I thought to brush Mother off, her eager face changed my mind. I was famished. My leg would survive. Yes, another pillow, please.
When I retired, she pulled a chair beside my bed.
“I am fine, Mother,” I insisted.
“I know,” she said, draping a fur blanket over her seat. “I’ll stay for only a few minutes.”
“Mother—”
“It’s no trouble.”
At dawn, I awakened to find her still there, slumped over with her mouth open and her eyes closed. I allowed myself a private smile, chasing it away with a frown of disapproval once she stirred.
***
Eliot met me at the ruins. He rushed into the space, and we charged toward each other, crashing into a hug. As we became a sloppy heap of arms, he ranted into my shoulder. Imagining Poet and I were lost to him had been sickening. The monarchy had been in an uproar, questioning everyone about our disappearance.
Eliot asked how I fared and whether he was crushing me with his embrace.
My heart thought,I’ve had what you desire. I’ve tasted his tongue and wrapped myself around his body. I’ve felt the rhythmic pulse of his erection against me, and I’ve wanted more ever since, wanted it so badly I shook from the need of it. And I still want it, still envision it, still crave it. And none of this was supposed to happen, and I can’t talk to you about it, and I’m sorry for stealing him from you, if only briefly.
Please. Forgive me.
We burrowed into a corner on the grass, with our fingers entwined and our bodies huddled together. My cheek took refuge against his sleeve, which had achieved a dreamy softness from years of repeated washing.
Eliot lifted the hem of my skirt, exposed my thigh, and whistled at my stitches. With anyone else outside my intimate sphere, showing this much skin would have been indecent.
“How many times have I told you, you’re not an immortal?” he teased.
