Page 37 of The Poison Princess and the Lord of Misrule

Slowly, Ren rises to his feet, the king’s crown cocked slightly askew on his head. My heart thunders at the sight.

Aldric slings an arm across Ren’s shoulders—too heavy, too possessive, turning Ren toward the chairs that have been placed before the high table.

Aldric shoves Ren into the one on the right, then lowers his face next to Ren’s, having a brief, whispered exchange before he straightens and strides around the table. I only have a moment to question the king with my widened eyes before he’s grabbing me by the wrist and pulling up me to stand.

“Come, my love,” he says curtly to me. “You must join your king for the celebration.”

I clench my skirt, lifting it above my slippered feet as I’m dragged to the chair on the dais—the one right next to Ren, who sits there stiffly, his hands gripped to the carved armrests. Aldric maneuvers me into the chair, not so gently, and I see Ren’s shoulders stiffen.

Ren looks at me, his jaw locked tight. Iwiden my eyes, shake my head, imploring him not to speak to me—not to say a single word my way until this is over.

The court is screaming with delight. Aldric is grinning. He claps Ren on the shoulder, hard, then turns to address the hall in a booming voice about folly and the great inversion of tradition, and through all of it Ren sits perfectly still, his fingers gripped to the armrest.

When the speech is done, Aldric turns to his mock king, a devious light blazing behind his cool eyes. “Enjoy your moment, fool.”

My chest constricts at what that sentiment implies, that it may be his last.

If I don’t find a way to mollify Aldric and his mercurial nature, this night of folly very well could end in bloodshed. Kings have cut down men for far lesser offenses than garnering the attention of the woman they want to possess.

Aldric circles Ren slowly, the metal of his cape catching the torchlight. He has stripped off his crimson mantle and tossed it across Ren’s lap. He snatches the small jester’s hat from Prineus, placing it crooked atop his head.

“Behold,” Aldric shouts. “Your humble fool.”

The court roars.

Aldric stops in front of Ren and bows low, sweeping his arm in faux deference. “How may I serve my new king tonight? A jest? A song?” He straightens, his grin sharp. “Ah, of course.” He turns to the hall. “A dance. What is a court without dancing? And what is a coronation without a dance for the king’s new queen?”

The court cheers, encouraging their king on as Aldric strides to me before I understand what’s even happening. His hand closes around my wrist, rough fingers banding tight, and he hauls me up out of the chair and into his arms.

“My Lord—” My protest is cut short.

“Smile for me, love,” Aldric whispers harshly into my hair. “Your foolish king is watching.”

My stomach dips, pitted out with dread. I force my lips into a fake smile, and when Aldric pulls back a measure, his face looking down into mine, his mouth twists in disapproval.

The court parts for us. The minstrels strike up a song too fast for a proper court dance, a tune coarse and pounding. Aldric pulls me closer, the press of his toned chest hard against mine. One hand settles at the small of my back, the other splays possessively across my hip, and he begins to move?—

Obscenely.

His leg presses between my thighs through the slit of the crimson skirt. His hand at my hip slides lower, over the curve, and grips. He spins me and pulls my back against his chest, his arm banding across my collarbone, and his mouth drops to my ear.

“You’re going to dance for him, Seravyn,” he murmurs in a grating tone, and my gaze snaps to Ren, to his clenched jaw and narrowed, darkened eyes. “You’re going to dance for your jester the way Threnmere womendance,hm? The way I hear they worship their dark goddess in your little temples with your little gyrating hips and your little bare feet on the altar.” He twirls me to face him. “Show him. Show us all the way you worship.”

“Aldric, please?—”

His hand collars my throat loosely. “Give me a true smile, Seravyn.”

“No,” I seethe, refusing him even as his ringed fingers tighten just enough to limit my next breath. Even with the entire court watching, I hold my chin high, not giving him the slightest lift of my mouth.

Aldric sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, his heated gaze absorbing me. “My, what fire our queen wields. So hot… Oh, to be burned by your touch, Princess, a fool could dream.”

He spins me away before bringing me close, his hand finding my hip again, fingers spread wide. He laughs into the crook of my neck, loud enough for the front rows to hear.

“My friends,” he calls over my shoulder, never taking his hand off me, never stopping the cruel, slow grind of his thigh between my legs. I can’t see Ren from this angle, but I can feel his gaze hard on me. “Did you know, that the women of Threnmere worship a goddess of appetite? Yes, they’re taught to indulge. And I’m told, on good authority, that the daughters of the Thorn Court will fuck a man beneath the moonlight, out in the wild—fuck a man so good he howls at the moon.”

The court howls in mock calls.

I can feel my pulse in my teeth, rage simmering beneath my skin.