Page 17

Chapter Seventeen

SYLVIE

N erves twisted through me as Tanyl led us through the escape tunnels under the castle. Built as a last-resort escape route in the event of a siege, they were cramped and damp with mold.

Sunlight made me squint when we emerged onto a flat, grassy plain. Horses waited for us, nickering softly as they tugged at the grass. Tanyl handed us bundles of clothing he pulled from a basket.

Briar’s face was a mask of disapproval as he shook out plain trousers and a merchant’s jacket. The disapproval deepened when a brown leather cap fell to the grass.

“To hide your ears,” Tanyl said.

Briar gave him a dark look. “I gathered that.”

Tanyl helped me swap my court finery for a modest, dove gray gown. My fingers trembled as I tucked my hair under a linen wimple. There were just three horses, which meant no guards. Not even a man-at-arms. If the Scarrok attacked, we were on our own.

“We’ll pass for ordinary travelers now,” Tanyl said, pulling leather trousers over his hips. “No one will bother us.” He swung a plain brown cloak around his shoulders and drew the hood over his hair. Then he unwrapped a pair of plain, sturdy-looking swords from a bundle on the ground. He tossed one to Briar, who caught it easily.

“Just in case,” Tanyl said, winking.

The sun climbed the sky as we rode, following wheel ruts cut into fields by farmers’ carts. Wildflowers burst from the ground in a riot of colors. We stayed away from the rivers, and my shoulders slowly relaxed as birds trilled and a soft breeze stirred the jumble of flowers and tall grasses that lined the cart path.

Just as my stomach began to rumble, we picked our way up a hill.

“Slow,” Tanyl said, covering my hand on my reins. “This should be a sight worth seeing.”

Curiosity tugged at me as we crested a small overlook. My breath caught, and all my misgivings melted away.

A large village sprawled below, its thatched cottages painted in colors as bright as the wildflowers we’d passed. They nestled like jewels among shops with striped awnings and sparkling windows. Smoke rose from chimneys in slow curls. Cobbled streets formed a neat grid. Music drifted on the air, the lively sound of fiddles and drums mixing with the chatter of a growing crowd.

“It’s some kind of festival,” I said, eyeing the bustling village square. Lanterns and ribbons draped from sturdy posts at each corner. Merchants’ stalls bursting with fruit and other wares formed neat lines. People moved among them, carrying their treasures or pulling them in small carts.

“The Dredging Festival,” Tanyl said. “This village is known for its excellent silt, which they put in everything.” He pointed to a large building that bordered the square. “For a copper, that hotel will pack your whole body in it. The smell is horrendous.”

I jerked my head toward him. “You’ve been here before?”

“Once. As a lad.” He smiled. “I dug silt from under my nails for a week.”

The scent of roasted meat reached me, and my stomach released an angry growl. As I clapped my hand over it, Tanyl laughed.

“Come on, my lady. Let’s find you something to eat.”

As we descended the hill, laughter and the occasional cheer joined the thumping beat of the music. We left our horses at a stable and then plunged into the crowd. Children darted between the merchants’ stalls, their faces painted with bolts of lightning.

After a few minutes of wandering, Tanyl darted to a merchant’s stall. When he came back, he handed me a pastry tucked in a piece of waxy paper. Butter glistened on the surface. Steam rose from diamond cut-outs in the crust, and the rich scent of meat and vegetables made my mouth water. I looked toward the merchant’s stall as Tanyl returned with two more pies.

“What is it?” he asked, handing one to Briar.

“I need a spoon.”

Tanyl grinned. “You eat these with your hands, love.” He blew on the surface of his pie and then took a hearty bite. Sauce dribbled from the corner of his mouth, and he juggled the pie in one hand as he swiped at the mess with his thumb. He sucked his thumb into his mouth, his eyes sliding shut as he groaned. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Briar stared, his own pie seemingly forgotten. His throat bobbed, and a flush stained his cheeks as Tanyl took another bite. When he caught me looking at him, he ducked his head, red spreading down his neck.

Humor twinkled in Tanyl’s eyes as he chewed. I bit into my own pie, flavor flooding my mouth. The buttery crust flaked between my fingers as tender meat, carrots, and savory herbs pulled an appreciative sound from my throat. The simple fare was better than any court feast.

“This is amazing,” I mumbled around the pie.

“Told you,” Tanyl said, sucking butter from his thumb. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, his simple brown jacket and dark cloak giving him a rugged look. He was nothing like the polished, savvy king I was accustomed to. But his changed appearance didn’t diminish his allure. Like the pie, he was a different flavor but no less appealing.

A little girl with dark braids rounded the corner of a stall and crashed into Briar. He moved swiftly, tucking his pie against his chest as he steadied her with a big hand on her shoulder.

She stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes, her mouth ringed with what appeared to be pink sugar. More smeared her fingers, which clutched at Briar’s jacket. Her tiny tapered ears peeked from her braids. She seemed to realize she held onto him, and she quickly jerked her hand away.

“S-sir…” she began. “Forgive?—”

“Whoa, little one,” he said, crouching so their heads were level. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I apologize, my lady, for being in your way.” He touched the edge of his leather cap. “I humbly beg our pardon, madam.”

She broke into a giggle, a dimple appearing in her cheek. Her braids shivered as she gave her head a vigorous shake. “I’m not a lady! I’m just a girl.”

Briar narrowed his eyes. “So, you’re a princess, then. I should have known.” He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head. “My apologies, Your Highness. I am your servant.”

The child giggled again. “You’re funny.”

Tanyl’s expression was inscrutable as he observed the exchange. But I knew to look harder, and I did, seeing the flash of tenderness before he blinked it away.

“Miri!” a woman’s voice called.

The little girl gasped, her braids swinging as she looked over her shoulder. “That’s Mama! I have to go. Bye!” She turned and ran down the line of stalls. Then she skidded to a halt and spun back. “Perun protect you!” She took off again, her braids bouncing.

“And you,” Briar said softly, still in his crouch. I went to him and offered my hand. He looked startled, then he took it and let me help him rise. His long lashes swept his ruddy cheeks as he cleared his throat. “Thank you, Your?—”

I pressed a fingertip to his lips. “Sylvie. I’m not a lady. I’m just a girl.”

Our gazes held. His lips parted under my finger. When I lowered it, he gave a small nod. “Sylvie.”

I smiled. “Briar.”

Tanyl appeared, and he tugged a corner of my wimple before bumping Briar’s shoulder with his. “Eat your pies, and I’ll buy you something from the sweet shop.”

Briar and I exchanged a look. Then, by some unspoken agreement, we bit into our pies.

We spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon exploring the festival. Tanyl bought us thick cakes dusted with powdered sugar and layered with jam. We entered a large tent and watched men rush across a rope suspended in the air while the crowd below cheered.

When we exited, we found villagers dancing in a clearing while a troupe of musicians played. Women’s skirts flew as the men spun them in wide circles. Onlookers clapped and tapped their toes to the sound of the drums and fiddles. When I looked at Briar, he clapped and tapped his toe, too.

Tanyl noticed, and he shoved Briar into the clearing. Briar protested, and then snapped his mouth shut when Tanyl pushed me into his arms.

“Go on,” Tanyl ordered, clapping his hands. A pair of villagers spun toward us, and Briar grabbed my arm and twirled me across the cobblestones.

I stumbled, but Briar steadied me with a warm palm at my waist. The musicians played faster, and he whirled me among the other dancers with surprising grace for such a large man.

My skirts swished around my ankles as we twirled among the villagers. The drums beat faster, the thumping rhythm quickening my blood. Laughter swelled around us, and faces blurred as we spun. But Briar’s stayed steady above me, his gray eyes holding mine.

“You dance well,” I said, my voice breathless.

His lips twitched, and amusement glinted in his eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised.” He darted a look around, then spun me to the center of the square. Tugging me closer, he spoke in my ear. “The Rivven sometimes escort Vetran ladies to galas in the cities. I learned a lot by watching.” He hesitated, and I pulled back so I could see his face.

“What is it?”

“I practiced sometimes. By myself at night.”

My heart squeezed. I looped my arms around his neck. “The practice paid off.”

He dipped his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. The music swelled, and he guided me through the rapid steps, both of us laughing when we messed up. When the song ended, we stood hand in hand in the center of the clearing, our chests heaving as we tried to catch out breath.

The villagers applauded the musicians, who bowed over their instruments. Something drew my eye, and I turned my head to see Tanyl leaning against a post draped with fat, colorful ribbons. His arms were folded, and his eyes gleamed with possession inside the dark frame of his hood.

But the look wasn’t just for me. His gaze touched Briar, too, the heat in the glowing blue searing even from a distance. Briar’s tightened his grip on my hand, and I looked up to see him staring at Tanyl.

Tanyl said nothing, but his command reached us all the same.

Come here.

Hand in hand, Briar and I obeyed. When we reached him, he straightened from the post. “That was pretty. You move well together.”

Heat licked through me, and desire put bold words on my tongue. “You should have joined us,” I said, swaying toward him.

He brushed his knuckles over my jawline. “I liked watching.” He shifted his gaze to Briar. “This time.”

Color reentered Briar’s cheeks, but he didn’t look away. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he lowered his gaze to Tanyl’s mouth. This time, however, there was no dribbled food. No excuse to stare. But he did it anyway, and the moment stretched between us, tension taut as a bowstring.

The first strains of a new song split the air, and the moment passed as villagers tugged their partners into the clearing. As the musicians launched into a new song, Tanyl looked at the sky.

“If we leave now, we can reach the manor house in time for dinner.”

“Manor house?” Briar and I said together.

“Dinner?” I added. I glanced around, then lowered my voice. “You said this outing was just for today.”

Tanyl straightened his hood, a wicked look dancing in his eyes. He spoke just as softly, a current of dark promise in his voice. “That was before I saw how pretty you and Briar are together when you dance.” He stepped close and adjusted my wimple, and I shivered as his breath grazed my cheek. “My two pretty things. And I haven’t even unwrapped you yet.”

* * *

The manor house looked like something plucked from a painting. And it was nowhere near the water.

Three stories with stout towers at each corner, it nestled at the edge of a lush forest, ivy climbing its faded stone walls and dark blue shutters. Candlelight twinkled in the windows as the sun sank behind it.

Tanyl’s posture was relaxed, his hands loose on his reins as we rode into the small courtyard. He surveyed the estate and its adjoining stable, quiet satisfaction in his eyes. This wasn’t a spontaneous stop. He’d planned it from the start.

A servant strode from one of the towers. He bowed and led our horses away, disappearing into the stable like a ghost.

Another servant greeted us at the main doors. Like the first servant, she was quiet and composed. She gave no sign she knew our identities as she guided us upstairs.

A small but beautifully furnished dining room waited, its polished table groaning with food. Colorful tapestries lined the walls. A merry fire crackled in the stone hearth, which was carved with suntrout and lightning. Wildflowers burst from a green crystal vase in the table’s center. A decanter of lyssop dripped with condensation on the sideboard.

Tanyl seated me and then took his place at the head of table. Briar settled on his left, and the servant filled our glasses with lyssop. When she finished, she bobbed a curtsy in Tanyl’s direction and then left.

“Where are we?” I asked him, turning my gaze from the doorway. “What is this place?”

He sipped his lyssop, and he didn’t answer at first when he lowered his glass. “It’s called Siltmark. And the servants have been paid a fortune to forget they saw a king tonight.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Or a queen,” Tanyl said. He looked at Briar. “Or a priest,” he added softly.

Briar’s chest swelled as he drew a deep breath. Desire crackled between them. It had built all day—a storm gathering on a horizon. And now the three of us sped toward it, the coming tempest inevitable. Because we weren’t just dining at the manor. Tanyl intended to stay. He’d planned that too, maneuvering us exactly where he wanted us.

My pulse quickened, and a restless ache built between my legs. As always, the game was Tanyl’s, and Briar and I were pieces he rolled between his fingers. We either decided to play by his rules or not at all.

“The food grows cold,” Tanyl said. “We should eat.”

He served us himself, filling our plates with slices of tender, seasoned meat, butter-glazed vegetables, and bread so soft it fell apart on my tongue. Without his cloak, his hair spilled over his shoulder, the fire behind him turning the glossy strands the color of honey. The tendons in his hands flexed as he worked, and my throat went dry as I recalled all the times he’d put his hands on me. They were flexible hands, capable of careful violence and the softest, most devastating restraint.

Briar sat stiffly in his chair, the vein in his neck jumping as Tanyl filled his glass with lyssop. He jumped when Tanyl’s sleeve brushed his cheek, and he closed his eyes when Tanyl shook out the white cloth napkin and draped it over Briar’s lap.

“Wouldn’t want you to get anything on you,” Tanyl murmured, resting a hand on Briar’s shoulder. He squeezed, and Briar’s breath hitched.

The air buzzed. I squeezed my thighs together under the table.

When Tanyl settled back in his chair, he placed his own napkin in his lap. Then he looked at Briar. “Will you bless our meal, Father?”

Briar’s nostrils flared as Tanyl’s request echoed through time and space, throwing the three of us back to our first dinner at Storm’s Hollow. I hadn’t realized how much it cost Briar to say the prayer then.

But I did now, and I waited, forbidden desire swirling through me as he clenched and then unclenched his jaw.

“Why do you do this?” Briar whispered, pain and longing in his eyes.

Tanyl propped an elbow on the arm of his chair. Eyes on Briar, he answered in the same tone. “Why do you like it?”

“I hate it,” Briar rasped.

Tanyl’s smile was tender. “Sweetheart,” he said, his tone gently chiding, a hint of exasperation peeking around the edges. “It’s the same thing.”

Lust thickened, and it was almost visible. It clung to my skin and slipped beneath my gown as I waited for one of them to move. To speak.

“Go ahead,” Tanyl said, his voice as gentle as his smile. “Say your prayer, Briar.”

Briar flushed. Then he looked at his plate and obeyed, the words low and clipped. He kept his gaze on his food when he finished, the pulse in his neck beating a little bit faster.

“Good,” Tanyl said. He turned his smile to me. “Eat, Beauty. I’m eager to hear what you think of the quail.”

We ate, and the food was as delicious as it looked. But I barely tasted it as the tension wound tighter. The fire crackled, and the room grew warm. My nipples tightened under my borrowed gown. Need built between my legs. Tanyl didn’t ask me what I thought of the quail. But he watched me, his blue eyes darkening as he stared openly at my breasts.

“Are you wet, Sylvie?” he asked, the question delivered in the polite, conversational tone he used in Council meetings and discussions with his steward.

Briar lowered his knife, a little muscle ticking in his jaw.

My gown was thinner than my court dresses, and my nipples were hard, aching points under the gray fabric. Both men could see them. Their eyes on me made everything between my legs hotter. Wetter. Denial was pointless even if admission was humiliating. But Tanyl knew that. Which was precisely why he’d asked.

“Yes,” I murmured, shame squirming through me. As always, it fueled my need, stoking fires I had no hope of smothering.

“I thought so,” he said, his voice just as polite, as if we discussed the weather or a bit of court gossip. He continued eating, and the moment passed.

But my need remained. And the tension thickened.

Tanyl refilled my glass once…twice. He placed more bread on Briar’s plate. Every movement heightened my awareness. Every knowing look and brush of his sleeve against mine made me ache.

The leaping fire put red highlights in Briar’s hair. Stubble shadowed his firm jaw. He reached for his glass, and his sleeve rode up, exposing the chain around his wrists. Our eyes met across the table, and a current passed between us. Memories flooded me—his mouth between my legs, his fingers gripping my thighs, his tongue lapping at my center. Lapping at his release mingled with Tanyl’s, his gray eyes like clouds heavy with rain.

Tanyl set down his glass, the sound soft but final. When I looked at him, not even the merchant’s clothes could dull the aura of command that hovered around him.

“Each of you has a room across the hall. Get ready for me and then wait in the master’s chamber. I want you both on your knees in twenty minutes.” He rose and went to the door. Hand on the latch, he turned back. “Don’t make me wait.”