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Some varieties of roses intoxicated people to the point of sexual gluttony, which could be a kink or a danger, depending on the person’s restraint.
Whilst others had protective effects, such as mending broken hearts.
Or the blossoms yielded even more potent benefits.
Most Spring blooms infused with sinful magic, the princess would disapprove of. But this lovely gem, she would feel differently about—were she here.
I draped the rose on her pillow, taking care to keep the thorns from puncturing the textile. Like ribbons, masks, and crowns, the flower was a weapon. For each relic hid its true nature. Each was a force to be reckoned with.
Beyond the balcony doors, clouds rumbled, and thunder grumbled over the maple pasture. Lightning split the sky like a thin, white knife. It cleaved through the firmament whilst fog hung over the wheat fields, yet the earth remained as dry as a husk. It wouldn’t rain. Not tonight.
Just as well. That would cut short the fun.
With slow purpose, I stood. Extending my arm, I slid the back of my finger over the rose’s stem, then hissed as one of the thorns bit into my flesh.
The blood came easily, beading to the surface like a ruby. Oftentimes, the people of this virtuous kingdom overlooked how exquisite pain could be. All but one Royal who’d been taught the raptures of it.
Still. If I wasn’t careful, the fluid would dribble onto my silk shirt. Bringing the droplet to my lips, I swiped my tongue over the wound. Savory salt dissolved on my palate, and I closed my eyes, envisioning myself smearing this tiny bead on her lower lip and then licking it clean. How I would enjoy that privilege.
More thunder rasped from outside. Like a well-timed cue, it erased the fantasy, taking that rare moment of bliss with it.
In its wake, black hatred flowed through my veins, enough to numb the ache. A muscle ticked in my jaw. Inclining my head at the empty bed, I whispered, “Forgive me, Your Highness.”
Though I doubted she would do such a thing. No matter my reasons, and no matter how ferocious she’d felt the night of that battle in the courtyard, my princess had more sense than I did. She wouldn’t forgive what I was about to do. Not even for the price of a perfect rose.
The coat buffeted my calves as I whipped around and stalked to the door. The heels of my boots fell silent against the area rug. I moved without sound, without breath, and without mercy.
Outside her suite, eventide cloaked the wood-paneled corridor in the Royal wing. My eyes clicked across the passages, scanning for guards or nobles. None, as expected, for I’d memorized the patrol’s schedule.
Like a jester, I bled into the darkness. Like a specter, I maneuvered quietly and slipped into corners unseen. Like a man experienced in treason, I prowled toward a forbidden, felonious place.
No need to worry about making a sound. The restless, thundering sky was doing enough of that. And soon enough, when it was over and I was finished with my latest prey, the shouts would blot out my departure. I was hardly a fool without a plan. To that violent end, the racket would be so loud, no one would hear me leave. For I intended to make this newest target scream until their lungs shredded.
My booted feet moved quicker, carrying me from one end of the Royal wing to another, where guests from visiting Seasons resided, sleeping deeply and unaware of my approach. As I charged across the passage, my chin dipped, and I slit my eyes like the daggers strapped under my coat. Precautions, really. On this night, I had another type of weapon in mind.
You’re mine, bitch.
Those words from several days ago returned to me like an infection—noxious and deadly. Before Briar was banished, I’d stood at a Royal’s desk in one of the guest chambers and made that brutal promise.
Time to make good on my vow. Time to make a king burn.
3
Poet
I flattened my back against an adjacent wall and glimpsed the mezzanine located off the guest foyer. Summer’s security detail migrated from one end of the wing to the other, unable to keep their asses still. This temperamental brood was notorious for their antsy nature, which tended to make them careless. As they were hardly known in The Dark Seasons for being prone to idleness, they paced the hallways like deep-sea creatures, constantly in motion despite the glazed looks in their eyes. Even at midnight, these fools were wound more tightly than barbed wire. It was difficult to tell whether they feared an attack or were spoiling for one.
Then again, every soul in this castle was on edge. The courtyard battle between Autumn’s knights and the Masters, not to mention the spectacle of Briar’s departure, had achieved the bare minimum in terms of settling the kingdom’s nerves. The court had been walking on glass shards, the residents casting one another dubious glances.
No thanks to the miserable fuckwit at the top of my kill list. He’d done a superior job of injecting doubt into the public’s mind about where to place their loyalties. Benevolent Autumn proved no less susceptible than any other nation. Trust had become a forgotten virtue. Now everyone was a potential adversary, not the least of all the Court Jester of Spring.
Even more reason to be careful during the next thirty minutes. Before stealing into Briar’s suite, I’d checked on Nicu to make certain he was sleeping, only to find him and Tumble snuggled in bed between Posy and Vale. The ladies had taken quickly to coddling and pampering my son with the attention he deserved, seeking to divert him.
As for a certain First Knight, it wasn’t Aire’s turn in the watch rotation. That made it easy to come and go from Nicu’s chambers without being questioned.
The agitated Summer soldiers continued to wear out the polish in the wood floor, their burnished capes trimmed in reptilian skin and snapping like sails, and their curved swords flashing in the dark. Regularly, they vacated the immediate vicinity, and all the better for this jester. I wasn’t in the mood to wait, much less—worst case scenario—be forced to either flirt with these bastards or slit their necks quietly.
The knights stomped around the corner. One glance from the king’s suite, one mere second of neglect. That was enough.
