Page 15 of The Poison Princess and the Lord of Misrule

“Yes, here in the garden room,” I confirm. “I prefer the light here, and the view. It’s where myhappinessmight have the opportunity to bloom.”

The steward blinks, hesitating, clearly weighing whether this falls within the bounds of his instructions. Then he nods, unwilling to deny the princess her wishes. “Very well, Your Highness.”

After he departs, I try to focus on the book, but I can’t concentrate on a single word. A restlessness stirs in mychest, some nervous flutter provokes my belly, and I wonder if I’ve just made a mistake.

I glance over at Isolde. She’s sitting on a lounge, her attention on her own book in her hands. She says nothing, simply raises an eyebrow without looking up.

“I prefer the private, sun-warmed chamber,” I say aloud, squaring my shoulders. “The glass doors open onto the garden, and I have to keep an eye on it.” I tend this part of the garden myself, the area where the wolfsbane and nightshade grow, poisonous and patient. “It’s where I feel most myself,” I add, her silence forcing me to validate my decision.

My pulse quickens as I turn toward Isolde. “You think I’m being improper for this court.”

She flips a page slowly. “You are simply choosing a space for your comfort, no?” she says without looking up.

“Exactly.” I turn forward. “Besides, you’ll be here.” I flip a page in my own book. “It’s not as though I requested to receive the jester alone.”

“Precisely,” she agrees, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

I say nothing more, letting the silence stretch. Thinking about the pure love and adoration that shone for his sister as he told her story, the grief I felt buried just beneath, and how it made my heart ache.

The way he sent me a wink—how that one small gesture sent my heart racing.

I put it all out of my mind until Ren arriveslater in the afternoon. I hear him before he enters, his bells jangling down the corridor like a warning.

When he steps through the door, he abruptly stops. Looks around the garden room, taking in the warm stone walls, the cushioned window seat where I’m curled with my book, the glass doors standing open to the garden beyond. Sunlight pours through in gold and green, filtered through the climbing vines, and the air smells like earth and growing things and something darker beneath, the faint bitter sweetness of the nightshade in bloom.

Ren first bows to me, then nods in acknowledgement to Isolde. He hovers in the threshold, leaning a shoulder against the doorpost. I can’t help but take in his toned build, that I know is strong despite his leanness. It’s in the corded tension held there, the will not to break. Like if he gets his hands on the thing he wants most, he’d hold on. Never let go.

And the scar that runs through his eye, his beautifully chiseled features it doesn’t detract from but rather seems to emphasize. It makes him look far too dangerous despite the colorful motley.

“You may enter,” I say in a low voice, giving him permission. “And address me directly,” I add, trying to keep the smile from tipping my mouth.

He does so, striding into the sun-lit room. “This is different,” he says as he glances around.

“The king is occupied with matters of state,” I say, setting my book aside. “I’ve been given latitude to choose alocation for our…” I stumble, searching for the right word. “Entertainment.”

There’s the slightest twitch of his lips. “Entertainment,” he repeats, and the corner of his mouth pulls into a grin. “That’s a generous word for it.”

“I’m a generous princess.”

The look he gives me—half amused, half knowing, like a secret—makes the back of my neck flush. I almost reach for the book again, just to give my hands something to do.

His eyes sweep the room once more before settling on me with an intensity that makes me uneasy. Then he wanders the room, restless in that contained, coiled way of his, like he’s never quite comfortable in any room of this palace. He pauses at the glass doors, looking out into the garden. The wolfsbane grows tall along the wall, its violet spires trembling in the breeze, and beside it the belladonna hangs heavy with dark, glossy berries.

“This is, uh…an interesting garden,” Ren says.

I tilt my head. “I happen to find it beautiful.”

“Beautiful,” he echoes, “and deeply unsettling.”

“Unsettling…” I say questioningly.

“As most beautiful things are.” He turns to look at me, and I feel the weight of his eyes as his gaze skims my face.

I hold his gaze, because looking away would be some kind of an admission. “Please sit,” I finally say, nodding to the cushioned bench near the window, a careful distance from me.

He takes a seat, and the silence pressesagainst me. I peek over at Isolde, who is minding her own business. “Would you like tea?”

He only nods.