Page 162 of Burn
Thank fuck for that. I chuckled like an asshole as the knight stalked in the opposite direction toward our clan, his shoulders level as if he had something to prove.
My lips twitched, and I turned to join them. Then my gait stalled, and my breath stalled, and everything stalled. Across the bonfires and the mass of dancing bodies, a figure stepped into view, firelight sketching the length of her cascading red hair.
She wore a copper gown with a square neckline, a corset bodice, and a wide, flaring skirt. The classic silhouette ended in quilted cap sleeves and swept the ground. Instead of a mask, a laurel of rust and bronze leaves looped across her head, with thorn quills strewn among the foliage and the rose I’d given her peeking from the cluster.
A crown she’d made for herself.
With the scarlet bracelet, gold and brown foliage painted in a crescent around one eye, and her tresses unbound except for that single dangling braid, this woman wasn’t merely a daughter of Autumn, nor a princess of this court.
Nay. She was Autumn itself.
“Briar,” I rasped.
A thousand other words died on my tongue. A thousand rampant heartbeats punched a crater through my chest.
Seasons all-fucking-mighty. My feet stapled to the bricks, unable to move as her gaze floated through the crowd and fused to mine.
A host ofoohsandahhsradiated from the attendants. They bowed and curtsied and murmured, “Your Highness,” then jumped back into the revels.
All the whilst, our gazes never wavered. She erased the distance, intoxicating me with the scent of tart apples.
Her throat bobbed, freckles hopping across the flesh of her neck. “Jester.”
“Princess,” I husked, prowling nearer until our clothing brushed.
We stayed like that, hypnotized as the people spun and sang around us. At some point, shouts broke the spell. Cadence, Posy, and Vale hollered. Eliot and Nicu whistled, the clan beckoning us whilst Aire merely grinned and Avalea materialized with a nostalgic expression.
Pivoting and sauntering backward, I cupped my fingers at Briar in a beckoning gesture. “Can you handle me, sweeting?”
Leveling her chin, the princess cast me a daring look. “Let us find out.”
We threw ourselves into it, letting loose around the bonfire. Spiraling from one pyre to the next, I watched the princess leap from partner to partner, stomping her heels in tune with the revelers, shaking her hips with the ladies and queen, linking arms with Eliot and Aire, and swinging Nicu in circles.
Then as we cycled back to each other, with her fingers clasping Nicu’s, my son used his free hand to point overhead. “Mama, look.”
And for the second time that night, I went still. Briar froze beside me, her eyes riveting on Nicu.
He said …
He’d called her …
Momentarily, the princess’s eyes strayed to mine. Not long ago she’d insisted that Nicu should have the right to choose. However much she had craved hearing the word, she’d wanted to give him that power, to make the decision for himself, to change from being my son—to our son.
“Mama?” Nicu noticed Briar’s glistening pupils, confusion etching his features. “Are you going to rain?”
Was she going to cry?
The princess returned her gaze to him and swallowed. “Not today,” she whispered.
Nicu beamed and pointed. “Look.”
Above, the lanterns glowed with different colored flames to show him the way. We’d installed this lighting effect for Reaper’s Fest, with the orange trail leading home to the castle.
The ladies, queen, and knight swept our son into another dance. Eliot harnessed his lute and strolled across the square, where the nobleman met him halfway. Briar smiled, elated by the sights.
Feeling my ravenous gaze on her, the princess turned, the flames stroking her profile. Sweat bridged a heady trail to her bodice. Those lips parted, the vision robbing me of oxygen.
Fuck. My selfish fingers tingled, and my predatory instincts surfaced.