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“We’ll be there shortly,” I clarified.
“It’s not that.” The knight fell temporarily silent, as if bracing himself for an explosion. “There’s been a change. Summer is already here. He arrived privately and without ceremony not ten minutes ago, then inquired after your whereabouts, to which the council notified him of our assembly.” I heard rather than saw Aire compress his lips, anger brimming under the surface. “His Majesty is seated inside, insisting on participating in the meeting.”
A shard of mulch cracked under my boot, and a feral hiss scraped from Poet’s lungs. Slowly, our heads swerved toward Aire.
“Hewhat?” we seethed in unison.
Three seconds later, Poet and I slammed through the shed doors.
36
Poet
Fucking condemnation. I usually enjoyed making an impressive entrance, yet it appeared we’d been upstaged. Hence, this was no exaggeration. The princess and I blasted into the roundtable like cyclones.
The shed doors blew open and smacked the opposite wall with a deafening thwack. Loose blades of straw flitted across the grassy floor. Overhead lanterns punched the walls with a livid orange glow, and trestle table chairs creaked as every occupant swiveled our way.
If the Summer King had made an entrance, we made an extravaganza. With our fingers ensnared, Briar and I sliced a path to the table’s head like a force to be reckoned with.
My eyes sliced from one player to the next. Avalea stood behind a chair at the table’s head. Her fingers grasped the finial posts, and her face reflected barely restrained animosity toward the figures adjacent to her.
Giselle of Summer occupied one seat. Trussed up in a marigold shawl, the Summer Queen’s olive features mirrored consternation. Though not at us.
Nay. At her husband.
Rhys’s obnoxious form contaminated the chair beside his wife. A smug expression turned his features into a caricature, his upturned mouth lifting the shaggy mustache hanging like a cadaver from his face. As usual, I could only guess that a sneer hid beneath all the facial hair, with the outline of his lips struggling to peek out.
“Well if it isn’t The Mad Princess herself,” the wanker announced, his gaze lancing from Briar to me. “And her perpetual, pyromaniac whore.”
Not three seconds into this, and he’d already let our waltz by the fire slip. Too bad the high-necked mantle and knuckle-length bell sleeves concealed the evidence, beneath which I imagined patches of his flesh resembled crusts of toasted bread.
A viper’s hiss skated up my throat. I stalked closer to Briar’s side, ready to plant myself in front of her. My tongue flexed, about to slash Rhys open with the response he deserved, when Briar’s hand clenched mine in warning. Following her gaze, I understood why.
Across from Rhys and Giselle, two additional figures popped from their chairs. One of them clapped his hands and then spread his arms in greeting. “Poet!” Basil of Spring boomed, his voice as loud as a trumpet. “Poet, lad!”
Next to him, Fatima bumped her shoulder into the man. “Too much, too soon,” the queen advised her husband.
Chagrined, Basil’s jovial expression faltered, then smoothed out into a portrait of begrudging formality. “Er, Jester,” he muttered. “You’re looking well.”
Hellfire. Apparently, this showdown had expanded from one Season to three. Like Summer, Basil and Fatima of Spring hadn’t been expected until the day after tomorrow.
The First Knight trailed in behind us, offering me and Briar an apologetic look. Not that we’d given him a choice. Had the princess and I paced ourselves before storming inside, Aire would have prepared us.
The soldier closed the doors and stationed himself there. No need to guess whether he would foresee anyone else coming, for the warrior could detect signs of approach within a mile radius, and his troops were not only loyal but discreet. For this collision, voices could hurl like cannonballs across the room without the added concern of witnesses.
Spring’s presence alongside Summer couldn’t be random. Rhys must have finagled their cooperation, beguiling them to join him early. I knew these jolly, rosy-cheeked, and impulsive Royals well enough to bet they were unaware of any ulterior motive.
And fair enough. Why would they ever suspect Rhys of duplicity?
Briar and I swapped a quick glance, drawing the same conclusion. Not for the first time, we’d have to improvise until catching onto Rhys’s agenda. For a start, Summer coming here early intended to throw us off guard.
Very well. A game and a dance. Challenge accepted.
Minutes ago outside, I’d been tempted to haul Briar against the nearest maple trunk and fuck the irritation out of us both. But now the memory of our feverish argument faded. Time to be the resourceful princess and sly jester. We released one another, our fingers unclasping as the princess strolled to one end of the table, whilst I remained across from her. Like this, we flanked our guests, the better to see everyone. And to be seen.
I bent my features into a mask and bowed to Spring. “At your service, Your Majesties,” I charmed, the very picture of devotion and respect. “Enchanted, as always.”
“Yes,” Briar echoed, plucking her skirt and curtsying. “Your return to Autumn is most welcome.”
