AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So he was real, and I was alive. Even dreams could not measure up to the reality of this view.
Such an impeccably disheveled mess. So glorious.
My equal. My jester.
“My Poet,” I breathed.
As if struck by a mallet, Poet jolted awake. His eyelids flew open, those irises flooding the room in a spectrum of green, reminiscent of bottled glass. His head whipped in my direction, and he shot forward to hunch over me.
Relief washed the haggard expression from Poet’s features. “Briar,” he hissed, squeezing my fingers with one hand and clasping the side of my face with the other. A whimper curled from my lips as his shaky mouth captured mine. I grabbed his own face and spread my lips, opening for the urgent flicks of his tongue, the kiss equally sweet and ardent.
Unable to keep still, Poet veered back and planted kisses over my jaw, my cheeks, my forehead, my eyelids, and my chin. “Wicked hellish fuck, Briar.”
On a reassured sigh, I arched into him. Poet misinterpreted the motion and pulled back, releasing my mouth, heedful of overwhelming me.
After a moment’s recovery, I licked my lips only to discover they were as cracked and brittle as bark. “What … where are … who …”
Despite his subdued tears, the jester’s expression alighted, twisting with mirth. “Barely cognizant but already requesting the facts.” He cocked his head, haunted but amused. “You are a unique creature.”
“I am no creature.”
“Aye, but you are.” His thumb stroked my cheekbone. “Only someone with an unearthly willpower could have survived the last three days.”
I lunged halfway off the bed, the exclamation shooting from my mouth. “Three days?!”
“Hush,” he intoned, urging me back down.
“I am no creature,” I repeated, exhaustion mellowing my tone as I reclined against a mountain of pillows. “And I will not hush.”
“I’d expect nothing short of defiance, but it was worth a try.”
“For three days, I’ve been incapacitated?”
“Seasons eternal.” Laughter boomed from Poet’s mouth as he threw back his head. “The healthy scowl on your face. Woman, only you would express outrage at being rendered unproductive whilst on the brink of death.”
I watched as he migrated from the chair to the bed, then proceeded to fluff the pillows and anchor my back. Silence descended but for the rustle of my childhood quilt—strewn over my lap—and the caw of a falcon from outside. After inventorying the details of my suite, from the music box on my nightstand to random stacks of books, I resumed studying the jester. He concentrated on the pillows far too much for my peace of mind, his attention fixating on the task.
My eyes trailed Poet’s every gesture, and I registered each unspoken word. Because it was rare for him to keep things from me, I puckered my brows. This man was not distracting me from the truth, so much as distracting himself, purely to contain his wrath.
Sarcasm, mockery, and flirtation were Poet’s coping mechanisms. Yet he was employing none of those tactics, as though they wouldn’t work for him. Not this time.
Then I remembered. The lingering zest of herbs. The bitterness of burned foliage and smoke, combined with the flavors of spiced pears and savory game.
My octave lowered. “They tried to poison me.”
Poet froze, then his gaze cut to mine. “Aye,” he ground out, his mouth twitching with a hint of pride. “Emphasis on the wordtried.”
To feel surprised would be ludicrous. What Royal did not live with this threat daily? Yet it had only taken one instant, one bite to incapacitate me.
Scooting forward, I moved to loop my hair behind my ears. My fingers encountered a thick weave, skillfully managed. It might have been Mother, but the self-congratulatory look on Poet’s face as he admired the plaiting told me it wasn’t. “You braided it,” I marveled.
Poet gave me a slanted grin. “Let no one say the Princess of Autumn never looks her best.”
My heart broke. Scrambling onto his lap, I straddled Poet’s waist, grabbed his face, and tugged him to me.
He reacted at once, launching forward and seizing my mouth. We gasped, emitting slices of air in between kisses, until he shuffled back. Reading my expression, the jester nodded to himself and stood, extending his palm.
Grateful, I set my fingers in his and let him guide me to the athenaeum. Books packed the built-in shelves, perfuming the room with the smells of old parchment and vellum. My illuminated manuscript collection glinted in the daylight, and the final book in my favorite series finally stood beside the other installments.
