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At dawn, we stood before the threshold. Avalea, Briar, and me, each of us contemplating the doors to the library wing’s council room. Books lined the inset panels, patterned rugs cushioned the floor, and the distant sound of pages turning filtered through the repository.
The moment we’d stepped into the castle, Briar and I had reveled in private time with her mother and Nicu, mainly listening to my son’s stories and answering his questions about Briar’s “adventure.” And after that, we tucked in my son and passed out for the remaining hours before sunrise, knowing what awaited us in the morning.
Guards flanked the entrance, their attention fixed ahead. Yet I scrutinized the faint twitching of their jaws and the restless flashing in their eyes. Clearly, they were eavesdropping. They wanted to glance at us, to judge the defamatory couple who kept raising hell in their nation and getting away with it.
The women beside me sensed this as well. Intentionally, they nodded toward the guards, who faltered before awkwardly training their attention elsewhere.
Unlike other monarchs of this continent, these two Royals showed their servants respect, plus a genuine desire to earn that respect. See the value in a ruler not by how they treated their equals, but how they treated their subjects. That was Briar and her mother.
Avalea clasped her daughter’s hand. “Courage, my dear,” she said, attempting to sound nonchalant. “It’s only a nation of millions.”
“Two million, two-hundred thousand, and thirty-three souls,” Briar whispered. “Give or take.”
“A small audience,” I remarked. “Enough for us to handle.”
Avalea swerved and framed Briar’s face. “No matter what happens, I’m proud of you.”
The princess gripped her mother’s fingers. “As I am of you.”
Smiling, the queen regarded me with wry admiration. “Relentless man. You have my utmost gratitude.”
For finding Briar. For bringing her back.
I inclined my head. “I appreciate your commendation, but it wasn’t me.” Jutting my head toward the princess, I remarked, “This one brought herself back.”
Briar’s eyes snapped to mine, those gray orbs glittering. “Smart answer.”
The queen’s mouth split into a grin. “Excellent answer.”
“But you’re also wrong,” my thorn admonished me fondly. “We brought each other back.”
Those words set me aflame like a match. We stared at one another until Avalea shifted, jostling us out of the spell. She winked, then wheeled toward the threshold. “Shall we?”
That, we shall. Like a fucking magnum opus.
Avalea had chosen a regal sapphire frock. Briar radiated grace in a hazel silk gown paired with chandelier earrings. For myself, I’d shaved until my jaw felt as smooth as marble, then painted the edges of one eye in spidery whorls and selected a fitted coat of ebony damask that made me look as though I’d been resurrected by a reaper.
Aligning ourselves side by side, we formed a unit. Curvaceous, honed, and brilliant to behold. Much like a weapon.
The doors flapped open. The advisors rose, their movements stunted as we entered.
Avalea glided into the wainscoted room like a naval ship ready to do battle against an armada. Briar stepped inside as though prepared to dominate an inquisition, with her shoulders squared. I sauntered behind them, my mouth caught between a smirk and a snarl. The former, relishing the princess’s return. The latter, a protective alpha tendency that had sparked from the moment I met her.
Our footfalls resounded in the quiet space. Briefly, my thorn’s gaze swept across the book-lined shelves and the bronze leaf inlaid across the floor. Nostalgia brimmed in her pupils before her attention settled on the advisors and cemented with purpose, plus a hefty dose of modesty for their benefit. We’d plotted this, for the committee needed to see their heiress humble.
Avalea sailed past the men and women who bowed and chorused, “Your Majesty.”
As the queen took her place at the table’s head, Briar covertly reached behind. My fingers caught hers, our digits brushing, the contact electrifying my skin and sending a heady buzz through my head.
I leaned forward, my voice draping like satin across her nape. “Sharp as a thorn.”
Her conspiratorial whisper injected a hot rush through my veins. “Clever as a fox.”
Awkwardly, the council tipped their heads our way. I swaggered in, the very picture of reincarnated triumph, with a dash of depravity for good measure. Inside though, my blood simmered, primed to extinguish any figure who so much as frowned in Briar’s direction.
Echoes of “Jester” resounded from the ensemble’s mouths, then a moment of indecision flooded the space as they fumbled over how to address Briar. Despite the troops’ acknowledgment, the prospect of greeting her by rank fled the advisors’ tongues.
Yet like a gracious Royal, Briar took the initiative. She curtsied and said, “Your Excellencies. It’s my honest pleasure.”
