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Biting back a chuckle, I played along. Puffing up my chest, I gave them a smoldering look.
In unison, they pretended to swoon. Mirthful, I left them to it. Our clan would revel with the guests while keeping alert eyes from our respective corners. Ignorant of their princess’s proximity, the members of Rhys’s cult would let their guard down and possibly expose themselves. With skill and luck, we would hear or see something out of the ordinary.
Aire patrolled the grounds with his troops. Every so often, I glimpsed his ashy hair, the flash of his vambraces, and the wingspan of his broadswords.
As for Winter, the prince hadn’t yet made an appearance. Though he would, as part of our agreement.
I moseyed through the masses. Even if a few revelers registered my presence, the billowy men’s breeches and loose shirt would be no surprise.
Like myself, many attendees sported costumes as part of the tradition. Most of the garments honored figures of Autumn, with revelers draped in makeshift cuirasses and helmets resembling ancient armor, the tasseled gowns of wheat goddesses, and fauna whiskers.
Throughout the congregation, I searched for that small figure whom I thought I’d seen prior to the market roundtable. Among the buoyant children racing around the trees, I sought out a youthful frame wrapped in a cloak, but none fit the vague memory. Truly, I must have been imagining them.
Nonetheless, seeing the people at ease lifted my mood. To be among them simultaneously filled my veins with warmth yet pinched me with sadness. I hated the thought of Nicu missing this, but after what had happened with Rhys, there was no way Poet or I could allow him to join the festivities. It stood to reason the king’s cult had somehow learned of the meeting’s outcome. Who knew what vengeful state of mind they would be in tonight, provided they were here. As much as it broke the jester and me to deny him this night, we would not leave Nicu’s safety to chance.
Presently, he was with Mother and Tumble in the nursery. The queen had shoved me and Poet from the room, commanding us to attend the night market while she got to soak up the evening hours with Nicu and his furry familiar. Since the event took place out of view from Nicu’s chambers, we did not have to worry about him experiencing the sorrow of being left out.
My gut twisted. Now I understood what Poet must have felt all those years in Spring when he’d been separated from his son, unable to show Nicu all this world had to offer, the brighter spots of this dark continent.
But someday, he would get to see and partake of these wonders. Together, Poet and I would ensure a future for him.
As the night progressed, other emotions unfolded. Namely frustration that our enemies seemed to be evading our clan. And anticipation because there was one person I hadn’t yet found.
We’d parted ways to get ready after visiting Nicu’s chambers, agreeing to meet at the market. Though we’d never designated a location.
Traveling down gourd paths nestled within the maple thickets, I scanned the mesh of bodies. I sidestepped noble couples, roaming servants, and laughing tradesfolk. Beneath the hat’s brim, my eyes scrolled from one face to the next, yearning and annoyance clutching my chest.
Where are you?
Tingles rushed up my spine, the sensation electric as if he were answering.
Find me.
Any other person familiar with this man would conclude he intended to make an entrance. And they would otherwise be right. Yet intimate experience had taught me the jester would never allow hours to lapse on such a crucial night.
Neither would he leave me to fend for myself. Not for an instant.
No. My jester had been here for a while, a protective shadow observing the details.
Watching the crowd. Watching for enemies.
Watching me.
At the pasture’s center, revelers formed two rows and struck a dance. Unlike the glamorous performances that were customary in Spring, the music here was rustic, especially when it originated from the outlying villages and lower town. Fiddlers plucked, pan flutists harmonized, and Eliot kept pace with the melody, perfecting a brisk tune that allowed the couples to sweep across the grass and wheel their partners.
The number of revelers in this area increased, either to clap with the beat or to participate in the jamboree. The pounding of feet shook the earth. And before I knew it, a pair of manicured hands grabbed mine.
“What—,” I sputtered as Cadence yanked me into the fray.
“Shut up and get your ass in here,” she demanded.
Posy and Vale were already at it, grinding their hips in an exuberant Spring fashion. Yet only on this occasion did revelers fail to notice or balk. As the line dance continued, I yielded with a laugh and paired with Cadence. The ladies proved knowledgeable about Autumn’s footwork, acclimating quickly.
Having been raised on these steps, it was one of the rare dances I could manage without faltering. Even then, a certain male figure had inspired me to stop fretting over my lack of rhythm, so that I no longer cared and simply let the tempo guide me. The ladies and I hopped, looped arms and spun each other in circles, and clapped while shimmying our hips.
Pins kept my hair from tumbling, although a few errant tendrils broke free. Perspiration dashed down my nape. My skin heated with exertion and exhilaration, and my pulse skipped because I knew.
Oh, how I knew. He was staring. I felt it, the thick and intoxicating force of his gaze, like a gust of humid air.
