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389 pages, Kindle Edition
Published February 21, 2019
“Sing me a song, Songbird.”
Later, they would flaunt the Royal event that everyone expected. The showy one where a boisterous population of thousands would crowd the Autumn streets, tossing maple leaves into the air and cheering. The extravagant one where the jester got to splurge, juggle—and wear a crown. Seasons help us. With Poet at the helm, that platinum day was going to stress the lot of us. As it was, we’d already been subjected to the planning for this intimate affair. In the past month, he’d been a high-maintenance brat to everyone within whining distance, lamenting about food, music, pastries, and his hair. Speaking of the bride from hell, Poet arrived.
He hummed to the flocked trees, to the fringed trees, to the frostbitten trees. Their needles threaded and shivered, his voice ruffling their edges, making them chuckle. Funny, since he’d been told that few things chuckled in this kingdom.
Making me notice. Making me look at him, too. But what had made the biggest difference was his voice. It used to flutter like a butterfly, while I’d swatted the air like a jackass, trying to catch something too bright to be caught.
“Ah, Your Majesty,” Poet said. “’Tis been months since I heard your vixen call.” Jeryn grimaced. “I suggest we forgo your compliments and break our fast.” “Such a pity, for you haven’t yet complimented me. Don’t I look ravishing? I wore this coat just for you.”