Page 73 of The Queen's Line

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Page 73 of The Queen's Line

"I always said it should've been me," Emory said with a grin and shrug.

Emory might've had better luck if the princess were tempted by elegant looks. Women had never made their interest in me secret, but even I knew that Emory was as beautifulandhandsome, with vivid auburn hair and eyes to match a sky in a prettier place of the world.

"Not if Martin really is one of her Chosen, although we think that might've been a bluff," Jonathon muttered.

"Aric Martin?" I asked, eyes flashing between the two men.

"King of Thieves, proprietor of the Wing and Roost," Jonathon said with a nod and a roll of his eyes.

I'd heard of him but never bothered venturing that far into the heart of Rumsbrooke, especially not after meeting Emory, who more than satisfied my limited interest in thieves and barkeeps.

"King of dusty old pick-pockets," Emory scoffed, combing fingers through his fiery strands. "As if he could get it up and keep it hard long enough to satisfy the Hunger."

"I haven't seen him at the palace," I offered. I debated saying more, that while I'd seen evidence of Princess Bryony's passions, I hadn't seen real proof of the Hunger itself. For all I knew, she was only bedding two of her Chosen, which seemed contradictory to what I knew of the queen's line, but I hesitated and let the others fill the silence.

"Her festival seems to be a hit," Jonathon said.

"For now," Emory added.

"I take it you have a plan," I said, glancing between them.

"Nothing I intend to know anything of," Jonathon said, grinning and raising his hands in unconvincing innocence.

"My court will attend, of course, most of Rumsbrooke will," Emory said, leaning back against the bar. "We'll be…working."

Stealing. They'd be stealing from people attending the festivities.

"Am I…meant to be doing something about the guards?" I asked, frowning.

Emory scoffed, tossing his red hair to the side. "We can manage the guards. You don't need to have a hand in it. However, if you happened toseesomething, undoubtedly it was from one of Aric Martin's men. Not mine. And you can tell Her Highness as much."

"Speaking of the imperious little bitch," Jonathon said, clearing his throat.

"It's in progress," I said, keeping my face impassive. It was an expression I'd learned to wear at a young age when a scowl could earn me a belt and laughter was too spirited and tears were weak. Better to remain blank. "I see enough from the outside. She's only claimed two of her Chosen."

"The others are lovers," Jonathon said, waving a hand through the air. "We knew as much already. What? You think you're our only man in the palace? You're not there to see, Dan, you're there to fuck the princess until she's too busy wetting your cock to think about taxes and festivals and Kimmery. If you can't do the job—"

"It will happen soon," I said, holding Jonathon's gaze, pretending I didn't feel the cold kiss of sharp steel against my throat.

"Good," Jonathon said, eyes narrowing. "You're replaceable."

"He knows," Emory said, his grin stretching wide.

As a younger man, I would've clenched my fists, ground my jaw, and fought the urge to punch them both. That fire had more or less burned out of me by now. Emory was right. My father could pass his name and estate to a different bastard or some eager cousin. Jonathon and Lord Roderick could find another cock to ensnare the princess.

I was going to end up losing my hands at this rate.

24

Bryony

“Close," I whimpered, digging my fingers into Owen's curls as his hands pressed my knees out like wings, his hips rocking into mine, cock gliding wetly inside of me.

"Fuck, the feel of you," Owen rasped, his mouth sucking my collarbone, teeth and tongue scratching and laving every inch of me.

I didn't know where the magic began and ended, or where I was really putting it at this point. It was meant to be outside of us—into the ground beneath us or up into the sky overhead, but there was a heavy charge everywhere our skin touched, flames of power licking between us.

"Owen," I gasped, tugging on his strands, drawing his face up to hover over mine as my body rolled to meet his.




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