“Destiny,” Lyrik translated. “I can work with that.” He tapped ash into the pit, embers shooting into the eventide air. “The princess and jester’s son, eh? So I guess that makes you a prince after all?”
My eyes narrowed. “It also makes him your superior. As such, you will address him by title.”
“I was asking the songbird.” Lyrik flashed his pearly teeth. “In other words, piss off.”
My snarl could be heard across the four kingdoms. I would wring this shithead’s neck until it popped off his shoulders like a fucking champagne cork.
Aspen raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you knew about Nicu.“
“I hear what I hear.” The ruffian shrugged. “Not nothing, not everything.”
“I can speak for myself,” Nicu protested. “I have my own words.”
“Yeah? Enlighten me, then. Sing me a song, Songbird.”
Nicu perked up and chose a ballad about dreams, the passages chimerical and befitting the atmosphere. The quizzical choice of words failed to overshadow his dulcet voice, which tolled like liquid silver.
I smiled in appreciation. No one could deny his gift for producing symphonic melodies. Verily, he put every wind instrument, hymnal choir, and hermit thrush to shame.
Lyrik propped one foot against the fire pit’s edge, rested his head against the banquette, and sucked on his cigarette, venting more smoke than a fire breathing dragon. Flames sketched his profile, which showed no reaction to the music.
Aspen and I applauded, commending Nicu’s unparalleled talent. Lyrik, by contrast, offered a belated response. He jabbed the tobacco roll into his mouth, his applause lagging, clapping lazily at the treetops. And because the prick’s expression remained unchanged, unmoved, and unimpressed, Nicu’s expression faltered.
Wrath stoked my blood. But however much I wished to lobotomize this knave, I kept the impulse at bay. Once more, my liege would not appreciate an intervention.
As for the woman beside me, her glare burned holes into Lyrik’s hide, both of us united on this front. No one wounded Nicu. Ever.
Confused disappointment stretched across my liege’s features, then cemented into a dignified scowl. He leveled his chin, his illustrious tenor sharpening. “The fool who says too much is the fool who doesn’t know how to listen.”
Lyrik’s gaze snapped to Nicu. Not quickly enough to sever the heathen’s vertebrae, though his stunned expression compensated for this missed opportunity.
Amusement cooled my temper. Aspen’s mouth tipped sideways as we witnessed our friend taking this bastard down more than a few pegs.
After a nonplussed moment, Lyrik inclined his messy head of hair. “You win.”
Nicu quirked an eyebrow. “I know.”
To which the rogue’s mouth slanted. “Okay, then. So where did you learn that excellent singing trick?”
“I didn’t learn it. I was born with it.”
“Gifted by the Seasons, were you?” From across the fire, Lyrik leaned forward. “Tell me about that.”
I hesitated, then left them to their conversation. As the fire dimmed, I reached for another log from the pile, my fingers brushing a pair of slimmer digits.
Aspen and I vaulted upright at the same time, our hands jolting from the timbers. Between us, the blaze crackled and sputtered. Overhead, the firmament threw shadows across the deck.
We regarded one another like rivals on the battlefield, ready to strike or deflect. Indeed, discord was safer than theopposite, as we’d learned twice in the forest. Back when my mouth crushed against hers, then as my hands pumped into her sleek cunt until she ruptured.
It was easier to regard one another with conflict instead of camaraderie. Or worse, longing.
26
Aspen
Beams of starlight leaked into my cabin. Vines snaked across the lintels, and the bed posts needed a polish, unlike the foundational upkeep some other lodgings required. Otherwise, this cabin was pure heaven with its down pillows, gingham-patterned quilt, and glowing hearth. After days of dust and grit, the rewards of a cooked meal, fresh clothes and a hot soak in the bathtub, and a private retreat with a comfortable bed were sublime.
I changed into a nightdress from the enclave’s wardrobe storage—preserved by the trunks’ ancient wood construction—and sank into the mattress. Something with tiny claws scuttled across the roof. A restless breeze stirred the curtains. Despite the exhaustion, my mind cranked like a wheel, churning from thoughts of Mama’s safety, to the clan’s safety, to Nicu’s safety, to the traitors hiding in this legendary forest, to fantasies of Rhys burning at the stake until he reached well-done temperature, to memories of a certain knight and the skilled pump of his fingers, to the uncharted world outside my door.
