Page 83 of Thorn Season
“Hypothetical, of course. There’s something tragically beautiful about the forbidden.”
“Public urination is forbidden. Is that tragically beautiful?”
“Oh, you take the fun out of everything. Some of us don’t have monarchs lusting after us like puppies in heat. We must make do with our fantasies.” She sighed wistfully, and I couldn’t tell if she was thinking of the man she’d secretly met at Backplace, or—oddly—if she wasn’t thinking of him at all.
“Maybe a foreign ruler will sweep you off your feet,” I said, watching for her reaction.
Carmen just swigged her wine, smearing red across the rim. “Why play a king’s bride when I could play king? Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go and charm the breeches off Rupert. His new scotch collection is in desperate need of pillaging.”
I waved her off and plucked up a wine flute. Keil’s eyes landed on me instantly, like he’d been waiting for Carmen to leave. He peeled away from the noblewomen and swaggered to my side, a red cummerbund adorning his white shirt this evening.
“Someone’s popular.” I nodded toward the lipstick marks crowding his face.
“Don’t worry.” He pulled at his collar, exposing the bare neck beneath. “I can find an exclusive place for you.”
“Is that placein your dreams?”
He grinned. “Not even for tradition?”
“Not even if you paid me in lemon cakes.”
“Ouch.” He laughed around a sip of wine. “I heard some of the noblemen competing for the most kisses, and I like a challenge. A few ladies are offering dances to the victor.” He glanced down at me, eyes bright. “Care to add yourself to the prize pot? I’d try twice as hard to win.”
“You seem to be trying hard enough already,” I crooned. “I wouldn’t want you to overexert yourself.”
He laughed again—a deep, sultry sound that curled my toes. “Do you know,” he said, swirling the bubbles in his flute, “I still haven’t heard an explanation for tonight’s peculiar customs.”
I gave him a scathing once-over. “Yet you’re enduring them like a hero.”
His smile widened until that dimple flickered in his left cheek. And with sudden conviction, I knew I would’ve placed my first kiss right there. Right over that wicked little crease.
But my second kiss, I would’ve savored along the column of his throat... trailing low enough that he really would need to pull down his collar.
If only to distract myself from the abrupt flutter behind my ribs, I said, “The tradition started with King Emory, the most irresistible ruler of Daradon, whose cheekbones could cut glass. The noblewomen constantly squabbled over him.”
“With cheekbones that sharp, who could blame them?”
I smothered a smile. “One night during Rose Season, the ladies decided to end their bickering. They each donned a different lip color and declared that whoever marked the king with a kiss could have him. One by one, King Emory took the ladies strolling under a sky so dark they had to remove their heels to keep from falling. When the ladies congregated at dawn, they each claimed they’d seduced him. Of course, Emory’s face would reveal the truth. But when they located him, his cheeks and lips were spotted with every shade of red. ‘Why pick one,’ he asked, ‘when I could have you all?’”
“What a dreadful king,” said Keil.
“The women weren’t any better. They thought to own him with a single kiss.”
“Are all the characters in Daradon’s stories so unpleasant?”
I peered up at him. “I suppose Ansoran tales are brimming with do-gooders?”
“Far from it. Our most famous tale is that of the First Emperor Saxon, who conquered every kingdom on the continent with his sword, the Unbreakable Blade. Legend says Saxon imbued the sword with an unknown power—a power so great that his enemies trembled in fear when they beheld it.”
I chuckled into my flute.
“You think it’s far-fetched?” Keil asked.
“Not at all. For a children’s tale, I think it’s perfectly proportioned.”
“In that case”—he deposited his flute on a passing tray and offered me his hand—“would you do me the honor of celebrating suchbelievableimmorality with a dance?”
My specter tingled at my fingertips, as if to carry my hand into his.
