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The jester grabbed his son, crushing the boy to him, and the boy clung in return. I heard the flare of nostrils, a great exhale from Poet. I heard a brush of air, a great sigh from Nicu.

The princess joined their embrace, an unbreakable circle of bent heads and twined arms. The moment was too private, yet our company bore witness.

My traitorous attention slid toward the girl who’d deceived me, longing to see her reaction to this turn of events. I regretted it instantly. The knights had hijacked her axes and restrained her, her arms limp in their grasps.

Her worn face had been lingering on me. Perhaps she had been doing thus for the whole duration.

I turned away before I could loathe her further, before her features sunk too deeply.

As for the Royal family, I had predicted the ardency of their reunion.

What I hadn’t anticipated was for the princess to break away first, to march up to me even as I rose—and for the crack of her fist to knock me back down again.

31

Fantasy

Blood-related or not, now I knew where Nicu had inherited his right hook. The princess’s knuckles took Aire down in one beat, the blow resounding through the oaks.

Rumors called Princess Briar of Autumn a reserved but genial woman of one-and-thirty years. A woman of restraint, but also compassion. Little did her subjects know of her good aim, landing punches like a barmaid.

The Court Jester set his hands on her shoulders, tugging her backward into his chest. And if Aire was beautiful, the jester—Poet—was sexy. Beneath a thicket of unruly dark hair, his wily prettiness sprang right at people.

He quirked a brow at the pile of knighthood on the ground. “Well, well,” he murmured, his voice made of three things: satin, sin, and show. “I admire your ingenuity, my princess. ’Tis one way to announce ourselves.”

“We begin with sarcasm, my jester?” Briar gave a distinct, un-princessy smirk. “You’re merely smarting because I’ve upstaged you before you’ve begun.”

The jester’s mouth twitched. “Touché.”

Nicu shuffled their way, a protest bouncing from the ledge of his mouth. “It’s my fault. Aire’s—”

“Peace, Nicu. I deserved that.” Aire clambered up, rubbing his jaw, and inclined his head toward the power couple. “Your Highness. Master Jester.”

“Take care what you say, Sir Aire,” the princess warned.

“Take care to take Briar’s warning with care.” The words juggled off the jester’s tongue. “We’re both a tad cranky. I, myself, would prefer something lovelier to wear, but lo, we’ve been busy.”

“Take care to take Poet’s quip as anything but,” the princess advised.

The jester shed his flippant mask, opting for something more dangerous. “My love knows me too well.”

“I have an explanation,” Aire assured them. “Though I do not seek to acquit myself.”

“Entertain us, then,” Poet invited with a threatening cant of his head, his green eyes visible from where I stood. “We just received your latest tidings whilst searching for our son; the report revealed quite a bit more than the first had. What tale is this, of runaways and thieves? Where is this law-breaking nymph?”

“That would be me,” I blurted. “But I’m bigger than a nymph.”

Every head swung my way. I resisted the urge to shrink back, the princess and jester studying me with ferocious attention to detail, their gazes both intimidating and mesmerizing. It hit me finally. I stood before this renowned couple. I stood at their mercy.

By the looks of it, they weren’t going to like me.

My eyes skated over to Aire. He stared back, his expression chiseled from stone, unmoved by whatever I’d hoped to communicate.

What had I expected? For him to defend me?

He’d turned me in. He’d left the colony and turned me in because I’d lied, because he thought I’d used him. Because I’d hurt him that much.

The Princess approached, her gown sweeping around her limbs. Up close, I lost count of her freckles.