During the trip, Nicu slanted his head between us. His eyebrows furrowed in consternation, but he kept his thoughts private. Otherwise, the landscape’s enchantments distracted him, and we fed his curiosity by describing the origins of different habitats.
As his parents had always wanted, Nicu finally got to see the limitless wonders of this kingdom. That alone was worth enduring the rift between me and the knight.
But despite Nicu’s wonderful company, the tension grew. Because mild animosity was easier than unfulfilled desire, Aire and I reverted to bickering. The disputes ranged from the safest terrain, to the most trustworthy edibles, to reliable battle weapons, to the color of the fucking grass.
Aire’s inconvenienced warhorse kept us in check. The stallion grunted and bucked us in the saddle each time our debates turned into quarrels.
Bouncing atop the courser after a sleepless night, my head flopped forward. Yet as I tumbled into unconsciousness, those rugged arms strapped around me, cradling my weight to his chest.
The next thing I knew, the animal’s cantering hooves came to a standstill.
Aire went rigid, and his breath rushed against my hair. “We are here.”
“I’m awake now!” I blurted, my head snapping up. “I’m... oh.”
Maples, tupelos, and oaks painted the woodland in hues of burgundy and ocher. Shafts of light filtered through the mesh of leaves, casting stained-glass reflections on a community of gabled cabins suspended in the canopy, the dwellings connected by bridges, ladders, and winding steps.
From the ground, staircases entwined the trunks, each one soaring into the heights. Countless nooks and levels had been installed. Open-air decks and vista lookouts. Terraces with benches. A network of crossways that extended between landings, the rails carved from durable hardwood.
“The Lost Treehouses,” Aire murmured with guarded admiration.
The place where Briar had lived out her banishment. Back then, she dubbed it her new kingdom, a refuge for hiding secrets and secluding outcasts. The ancient enclave where my infamous oak tree resided someplace on its outskirts.
History said the residents of these parts eventually migrated to other territories in Autumn. Funny how a refuge one’s never seen could have a personal effect. Like the ruins of The Phantom Wild in Summer, this abandoned site tugged on my chest, the enclave living proof that people eventually gave up on hopes and dreams.
Granted, a setting known to have birthed archaic fairytales wasn’t as romantic as it sounded. If it could be so blessed by the Seasons, it might be doomed too. One false move to offend nature or its landmarks, and you’d earn its punishment.
Between exposed roots and witch hazel bushes, acorns sprinkled the ground. Nearby, a babbling creek wound through the undergrowth.
Superstitious, Aire sat rigid. His arms tensed on either side of me, fingers squeezing the reins.
Halting the palfrey beside us, Nicu gawked. He and I swapped grins, and then he sprang to the ground and whispered to the horses.
After scanning the vicinity, Aire helped me dismount. Because I’d been distracted by the view, I had no time to protest and unsaddle myself. So as I rolled down his body, the inevitable happened. My thighs grazed his pelvis, and my breasts dragged over the rugged plate of his chest, my tits rustling his shirt. Heat detonated across my flesh, my clit skimming the thick outline of his dick.
With a muffled hiss, Aire dropped me quickly. We jolted backward, his features hardening, mine doing somethingequally hectic. Except we could have wedged a mountain between us, and it wouldn’t have erased the aftermath.
Memories fired to the surface. His mouth locking to my own, that slick tongue flexing with mine, which later matched the pumping rhythm of his fingers. My arousal dripping to his knuckles, my pussy clutching his fingers as they pistoned into me, and the unrefined noise that skidded from Aire’s throat as I came.
The turbulence prying me in half. The steady jut of his hand.
Those hooded eyes pinning me down, wetting me all over him.
Aire’s pupils flashed as if he read my thoughts. For a moment, my insides fluttered. But instead of reliving that memory, he tightened his jaw and swerved toward the warhorse.
“We should unpack,” he muttered.
I stiffened at the cold dismissal. If that’s how he wanted to be, then fuck him.
“You’re right,” I spurned. “You’re not a perfect soldier.”
His hand stalled on the courser’s flank. When we said goodbye in front of my home seven years ago, he made this claim. I hadn’t agreed at the time, but the wider this chasm grew between us, the more I understood what he meant.
“You think anybody who does wrong stays that way, and bad people aren’t redeemable,” I disdained to his inflexible spine. “But perfection doesn’t come from avoiding that fate. We’re all flawed in this world. The real problem comes from believing second chances don’t exist. That’s what makes you imperfect.”
The knight whipped around to face me. “And you think lies are a means to every end. With all the names and backstories you’ve invented for yourself, you’re nothing but a walkingforgery.” He tilted his head, and his eyes narrowed. “Have either of us left anything out?”
We glowered at each other.
