“Fair. And whilst I can guess the source of Aire’s motivation, I make no defense for it. I’ve never had to say this, but he handled it poorly. In the latter respect, I’d expect nothing short of you maintaining those boundaries. Also, I enjoyed watching you mow the lawn with his toned backside. It proves you’ve become his fighting equal.”
I gave the jester a sidelong glance. “But?”
“But alas. As for the First Knight’s uncharacteristic behavior, chemistry makes us do unexpected things, to say little of passion’s effect. We act and speak out of our nature. Yet that makes the payoff all the sweeter, because it leads to new discoveries about each other. That’s how you grow together.” Heat seared his gaze as he glimpsed Briar laughing with her ladies. “Trust me, I know.”
I sighed. “Poet, I love you as much as I love my axe. But there’s no comparison to what you and Briar have. Or what Jeryn and Flare have. Besides, I fancy being on my own. Romance isn’t made for everybody.”
“I’m not talking about romance. I’m talking about devotion.”
“You can talk about devotion, commitment, eternity, the moon, and the stars for all the good it will do. But you’ve still got this one wrong.”
“Nay.” He tapped the axe in question. “I don’t.”
Unable to accept anything but the last word, Poet turned. Like a jaguar hunting for his life mate, the jester stalked across the courtyard, his leather pants clutching the continent’s hottest ass.
Apart from one soldier. This much, I would still admit.
I pushed off the wall and took off. Despite his authority on all things carnal, and despite having a fierce bond with Aire, the jester misinterpreted what he saw.
Sentinels flanked every barred threshold. Their capes whipped in the breeze, and their meaty fists clutched halberds, the weapons in dire need of a polish.
With the axe bumping against my hip, I hastened to the tournament arena on the castle’s south end. The pipe melody and chattering voices faded, silence diffusing all signs of celebration. Insulated by towering walls, the vacant amphitheater stretched six hundred feet, wrought of bronze stone and chiseled with three-dimensional leaves. Heraldry banners flapped from soaring poles, fox monuments formed columns lining the entry gates, cushioned chairs packed the viewing stands, and curtains ornamented the Royal pavilion.
I stepped onto the central jousting lanes, running my fingers along the tilt separating each aisle. Someday, I would design lances and quintains for this arena.
Usually at these soirees, I left early to meet Rhun. At this point, I’d be pinned against the wall, my body jutting up and down to the rapid beat of his cock. I tended to get loud during sex, forcing the man to stamp a hand over my mouth. Rhun loved seeing my features break apart when I came around his dick.
I could use a tension release, but no such luck tonight. Not with more important things renting space in my head. To that end, I stopped rehashing the impossible and focused on the plausible.
That oak tree. Briar’s memory of its location.
And Nicu’s verdict about a spy in the clan’s midst. At the meeting, his theory almost gave me a heart attack. I’d gotten supremely lucky until now, skirting the clan’s suspicions. Yet luck eventually ran out.
For all intents and purposes, I’d told Rhys parts of what the clan knew about his budding army, snippets to get him to trust me without dismantling the clan’s progress. But someone else had provided the details about Aire’s mission.
The clan believed the saboteur could be a lost heir of Rhys. While I’d learned of this person’s existence from Rhys, he kept their identity a mystery, so I couldn’t verify if the clan was on the right track.
After picking my jaw off the floor, I’d gotten to work during the meeting. Keeping my mouth shut, when I usually had plenty to say, would seem odd. Instead, contributing ideas about the saboteur’s identity had served me better.
As for our debate over the erratic migration patterns of Rhys’s secret troop, that had been partially my doing. Although Rhys didn’t name the targets, he’d informed me of the plan to lay siege in certain areas of Autumn. So I misdirected him every chance I got, committing myself to preventing carnage.
On that score, the clan’s verdict about Rhys targeting Autumn troops in small batches made sense. He wouldn’t attempt something vaster. Not while trying to recoup his losses in Spring and Winter; the fellowship had kept that chess move under wraps successfully for a while.
Behind the scenes, my lies to the king helped there. But eventually, Rhys figured out why half of his secret army really toppled. Maybe he’d gotten wind from his secondary informant, because it sure as hell hadn’t been me.
I circled back to my latest dilemma. Now with the clan on the lookout for a spy, this would be an ideal time switch course. I’d been contemplating that when Briar reminisced about her encounter with the oak tree and then revealed its location.
This newfound twist changed everything. It handed me an opportunity I didn’t want to take.
Spinning, I rammed my back against the jousting barrier and sucked in great gulps of oxygen. My stomach gurgled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the meeting, regardless of all the savory goodies floating around on those engraved platters. A daft mistake on my part. Hunger was nothing to trifle with, and food wasn’t to be taken for granted.
What’s more, I could have brought one of those cranberry tarts to Mama. Whenever I did, they made her smile.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“I always said someone should cut out your tongue,” a masculine voice observed.
I whipped toward the source. A knight’s silhouette reclined sideways against the tilt’s head, a rare grin nudging one corner of his lips.
