Chapter 11

Rhosyn wouldn't have thought she would grow used to sharing a bed with another body in just a couple of nights. When she woke to late afternoon sun beaming in through gaps in the tent panels, though, her body instinctively stretched towards a form that wasn't there. As her fingers brushed against scratchy blankets, Rhosyn wrinkled her nose, scrunching her eyes shut.

She supposed privacy was an improvement on grinding herself sleepily on Ansel's thigh, but her body disagreed. After all, she had admitted she was staying, giving up an opportunity to leave Ansel and the Foxes behind, a sly voice in her mind reminded her. If she was already breaking the rules, what was the point in refusing to break this one? Especially when this transgression was so particularly enticing.

With a jerk, Rhosyn sat up. There was no point dwelling on things that might have been. She had slept alone, and it was likely to remain that way given that she was no longer a flight risk in Ansel's eyes.

Now, she needed to turn her attention to more important things, like the apparent army of Talented Mr. Gower had hired as household staff. The startling discovery was why she had sent Kristoff on his way, and she needed to focus on unraveling that mystery. It was how she would serve this city, even if she was betraying the Royal Police.

Rhosyn's boots lay where she had taken them off, haphazardly kicked aside as she collapsed face first onto the borrowed cot. With a groan, she shoved her feet back into them and began lacing them up with practiced fingers. Once they were on, she stood. Tilting her head side to side rewarded her with loud cracks, and she twisted her spine, adding a series of pops to the symphony as her vertebrae unlocked. Two days of forced rest had done her more good than she cared to admit, but her body still protested the previous long night. It had gotten a taste of a good night's sleep and now seemed to crave more. However, there was work to do right now.

Rhosyn poked her head out of the tent flap. The straw-strewn paths that had been relatively unpopulated this morning now carried a steady stream of people between tents, some bearing bundles, others chatting with each other easily. They seemed to be getting ready for another night of merriment and entertainment.

None paid her any attention as she stepped out fully onto the path. After Ansel had handed her off to a gruff man, who apparently ran the roasted nut stall, he had disappeared to get some sleep himself. Rhosyn had no idea where he might be or who to ask.

Instead of imposing herself on the busy performers, she meandered towards the largest tent again, where she and Ansel had sat this morning. It seemed like as good a place as any to start, and if he wasn't there, perhaps one of the Merry Men would recognize her and point her in the right direction.

The buzz of life in the city of tents bolstered her, adding more of a bounce to her previous trudge as she walked. Nobody shot her wary glances as she walked, and she felt light without the weight of a baton at her hip. To the tide of performers and staff, she could be anybody—certainly not an officer of the Royal Police or a notorious Lion. Just a woman, going to talk to a man. A man who had a tendency to tie her insides in knots.

The shade of the large central tent fell over her face as she approached, dulling the bright afternoon sun and cooling her skin. Rhosyn slipped her fingers into the gap in the closed tent flaps, which would be tied back to leave a wide entrance when the circus was open for business.

Pulling it open a few inches, she glanced inside for any signs of an occupant. A sudden whoosh almost had Rhosyn jerking back, before her eyes registered the blur whizzing through her vision.

Ansel swung from the trapeze over the stage, momentum slowing as his arc reached its peak. At the height of his swing, he let go, flipping easily in midair and twisting before catching the bar right as it started to descend again.

Rhosyn found herself unconsciously slipping into the tent, letting the flap close behind her. She stood transfixed with her back against the canvas, wide eyes following Ansel's dizzying dance. This next time he released the bar, he arched, head coming towards his feet as he flipped backwards, body making a perfect "c" shape in the air. The breath whooshed from Rhosyn's lungs as the trapeze swung away from him, out of his grasp. He was going to fall.

Instead, he caught an adjacent bar, weight landing on the tips of his fingers with little effort. Watching him, Rhosyn internally hit herself for ever thinking one of the Merry Men might have been the Hood. As skilled as they were, none of them held a candle to Ansel's ability…his Talent.

Now that she saw it, she didn't know how it hadn't been obvious to her from the first time she saw him flipping across lower city rooftops. Then again, many people thought Rhosyn's lockpicking and Kristoff's sharpshooting were Talents, when they were actually born of years of practice, interspersed with countless failures.

A particularly daring swing on Ansel's part snapped Rhosyn from her thoughts. She gasped audibly as he swung on a different trapeze, this one dipping so low Rhosyn feared he would crash into the ground. Instead, his toes just brushed the wooden platform that served as a stage, before he rose into the air once more.

In the cavernous and nearly empty space, her squeak of fear echoed. Ansel's head snapped up as he reached the height of his swing, and he caught her eye—although she had no clue how he could find his bearings so easily while hurtling through space.

He let go, floating as lightly as smoke on the wind before landing on one of the platforms at the top of the arena. He turned, looking down on Rhosyn from on high and smiling.

"I didn't know I had an audience." He raised his voice to be heard easily from such a height.

Rhosyn drifted forward, stepping up on the stage so she was nearly beneath him. "And I didn't think you performed anymore…not acrobatics, at least."

Ansel shrugged, and despite his usual bravado, something in the expression seemed sheepish. "I still practice sometimes, when nobody is around. It helps clear my head."

"Hurtling through the air at breakneck speed clears your mind?" Rhosyn propped her fists on her hips.

"I'd think you of all people would understand the appeal. After all, it seemed like throwing some punches at me the other day helped you think straight."

Rhosyn shrugged but couldn't deny that he was right. Letting fists do the talking tapped into a part of Rhosyn she spent so much time pushing down, because that brawler wasn't what London needed. Right now, though, maybe it was.

Instead of saying any of that, Rhosyn cocked her head in challenge. "Are you sure you don't like perching up there because it's the only time I have to look up to talk to you?"

"Bringing my height into it? I've never heard that before," Ansel scoffed, but his tone was playful. "I'm willing to level the playing field though."

Before Rhosyn could ask what he meant, Ansel cartwheeled, propelling himself backwards off the platform. Rhosyn clapped a hand to her mouth, seeing that his hands were nowhere near the closest trapeze. Instead, Ansel caught it with his legs, knees hanging over the bar.

Absorbing the momentum of his jump, the bar swung in a spiral around the stage, circling lower and lower around Rhosyn, making her pivot where she stood in the center of the platform. As if he had planned it perfectly—which he probably had, but Rhosyn was loathe to give him the credit—the trapeze drifted to a halt right before Rhosyn.

Still hanging from his knees, Ansel folded his arms, gaze level with Rhosyn's eyeline. She propped her fists on her hips, glaring at his upside-down smirk, just inches from her nose.

"Show off," she muttered.

Ansel's smirk only grew into a grin. Then he levered off the trapeze, righting himself as he did so, to land on his feet before her.

"I guess I can't help it. I'm—" In perfect juxtaposition to the easy confidence of his showmanship, Ansel looked to the side and pushed his now unkempt hair from his face. "I'm just happy you're still here."

It was Rhosyn's turn to look down at her feet. "I am too, although I'm not sure I should be."

Ansel's gaze snapped up at that. "Why not?"

"I just…" Rhosyn grasped at words that seemed to allude her, her frustrations always better spoken with actions than breath. "Who am I anymore? I'm not really a Lion, but that part of me isn't gone. I'm not really a police officer anymore either, am I?"

"You're…" Ansel gestured at her incomprehensibly, but fervently as if it were of the upmost important that she understood his meaning. "You're Rhosyn."

Her frustration flared, and she thrust her hands into her hair. "Who even is that?" she demanded. "How am I supposed to know what I am when I've spent my whole life being whatever it was people needed most? A sister, a nursemaid, a lockpick, a thief… I became these things because that's what Nate and Kristoff—my family—needed, and the Lions needed somebody to care for them. Then I became an officer of the Royal Police because Contessa and Nate needed somebody they could trust. Now…I fear this city needs something else, and I will become whatever it requires of me. I just wish I knew what was really me."

The tirade poured out of her, unbidden. By the time Rhosyn finished, she was breathing heavily, as if the words had ripped free of her chest with great effort. The heat of embarrassment at such an emotional outburst began to compete with the burning of tears behind her eyes, until she met Ansel's gaze.

His face held compassion but no pity. And deep in the pools of his emerald eyes, she found what she hadn't even realized what she was searching for—understanding. After all, hadn't Rhosyn known that both the Hood and Mr. Blakely were masks Ansel wore? Parts of him, but not the whole truth of the man beneath?

A breath shuddered out of her, goosebumps dancing over her skin at the thought that Ansel was looking at Rhosyn and truly seeing her and not just the role she filled. In that moment, she saw him too.

He took an intentional step, the sparse distance between them shrinking to nothing.

"I can tell you one thing you are," Ansel said. His breath puffed across her face, warm and sweet.

Rhosyn's eyes drifted to his lips, and for the first time since they met, Rhosyn didn't fight the way her body pulled her to him.

"What's that?" she prompted, nerves drawn so taut that she could barely follow the thread of the conversation but needing to know what he would say regardless.

"You're everything I want."

The words were spoken nearly against Rhosyn's lips, and she closed the rest of the distance between them so quickly, he barely finished his thought. Close as they had been, Rhosyn dove into the kiss with such force that it knocked him back a step. He took it in stride, arms wrapping around her back and crushing her nearer still.

Her hands braced on his shoulders, fingertips digging into his shirt, slightly damp with the sweat of his earlier exertion. Rhosyn wanted to taste it. She groaned, and it gave Ansel room to deepen the kiss, tilting her head and delving into her mouth with a singular focus.

It was far from gentle and sweet, but neither was it the rapid, selfish kiss of a man seeking a vessel for his own pleasure. No…this was the kiss of a man who wanted to devour her piece by piece. To learn exactly what took her apart, from the way she whimpered when his tongue slid against her own to the way her legs began to shake when he nipped at her bottom lip.

Ansel's hands traveled up and into her hair, pulling free what remained of the haphazard braid she had slept in. His blunt nails raked against her scalp with none of the shyness of his previous morning explorations, and she whined unconsciously.

Fisting the roots of her hair, Ansel pulled her head back, gently but insistently. Her eyes fluttered open to stare sightlessly at the striped canvas of the ceiling as Ansel's lips traveled down the column of her throat. His mouth was so hot against her skin, she imagined it would burn marks into her pale skin. She almost hoped it would.

Not one to let Ansel have all the fun, Rhosyn pushed her pelvis forward, grinding into the growing hardness against her hip. The choked grunt that rewarded her actions pulled a mischievous smile from her. She dragged her hands down his chest, nails catching on Ansel's shirt as her fingers traced a path to his belt. Before she had struggled with it for more than a few moments, one of Ansel's hands flew to her wrist to stop her.

"No." His tone was firm.

Rhosyn began to pull away in stinging confusion, but his hand in her hair pinned her firmly where she was.

"No," he repeated, softer this time. "You just said you have spent your life doing things for other people. I don't want this to be about that. I just want you to feel."

Rhosyn stilled, one of her fingers still stroking the notched leather of his belt. She itched to push him back, rip off his belt and drop to her knees, just to show him she could give as good as she got. And he would let her. If that was what she truly wanted, Ansel would let her control this encounter and take her pleasure from him.

Instead, she paused, a shiver running up her spine at what he proposed. Just feeling. She was no stranger to sex, but even in her brief encounters, she had found herself drawn into being what her partners desired—normally the untamed spitfire that treated everything, even pleasure, like a competition.

But with Ansel…the was as terrifying as it was delicious. And Rhosyn wasn't one to scare easily. Slowly she nodded.

She was rewarded by the movement of Ansel's lips curving into a smile against the hollow of her throat. "Good girl."

A shudder trailed down Rhosyn's body in the wake of Ansel's hands, trailing over her flanks towards her hips. She let her own hands fall to her sides, clenching into fists as she endeavored to do as Ansel asked, and just feel what he was doing to her.

So slowly that Rhosyn thought she might scream, Ansel inched her shirt up, sliding his warm, rough palms against the planes of her stomach. She sucked in a sharp breath, wanting to pull away from the all-consuming heat that ran through her, while also craving more.

Ansel continued to lift her shirt until he pulled it off over her head and let his fingers trail back down from her shoulders to her clavicles.

"You even have freckles here," he murmured as he traced over the swell of the top of her breast.

"Comes with the territory." Rhosyn intended to joke, but the breathless rasp of her voice detracted from the effect. Any further teasing gave way to a gasp as Ansel's lips replaced his fingers on her sternum.

He dragged his mouth sideways, tongue darting out to taste her skin until his mouth latched around the peak of her breast. Her mind fixated on the exquisite pleasure so adamantly that she barely even noticed his hands drifting lower to the button of her pants.

He switched his attention to her other breast, and she couldn't help herself. She plunged her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer at the same time she arched towards him, not sure what she was chasing except more.

He pulled back, looking up at her with already glassy eyes, lips red and wet in a way that almost undid Rhosyn right there.

"You really can't stay still unless I tie you to a bed, can you?" Ansel asked. His tone was teasing, but with the hoarseness in his voice, Rhosyn couldn't help but picture what it would be like to be tied in his bed again, this time in a completely different context.

Already flushed, a fresh wave of redness rushed down from Rhosyn's face to her chest. Ansel's gaze flickered over her, taking in her visceral reaction to his words. His eyes darkened as he looked up at her through his lashes, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her sternum.

"Maybe some other time," he murmured.

Rhosyn refused to wonder if they would have a chance for some other time. Not when her mind was occupied being melted by the heated expression on his face.

"For now, reach up and grab the bar."

Momentarily confused, Rhosyn glanced up to find the trapeze Ansel had descended on so gracefully dangling over her head.

"I'm not much of an acrobat," she huffed.

"I know, but it'll give you something to do with your hands," Ansel murmured into her skin. "Be good for me and grab the bar."

When he put it like that, Rhosyn was of no mind to disobey. Her arms stretched above her, fingers wrapping around the solid wood of the handle, the grain against her palm grounding her. She didn't have to go on her tiptoes to reach, but only just, the position leaving her fully stretched out and vulnerable.

"Perfect," Ansel murmured, so low it might have been more for his own benefit than Rhosyn's. Then, he proceeded to systematically drive her towards the brink of insanity, alternating dragging his teeth over her nipples before soothing over them with the flat of his tongue.

Rhosyn's chin fell forward onto her chest and she whimpered. The wooden bar dug into her palms as she gripped it tighter, a throbbing starting in her core that she was helpless to do anything to relieve.

Seeming to sense her growing desperation, Ansel smirked against her skin before falling to his knees. He pressed a kiss to her lower belly as he undid her pants and dragged them down her thighs, soothing some of the feeling that she was going to vibrate out of her skin, which Rhosyn tried desperately to contain.

When he finally tossed her trousers over his shoulders and let his gaze rest on the apex of her thighs, a low curse escaped Ansel. "Your hair is even red here."

"What color did you think it would be?" Rhosyn tried to retort, the bite completely drowned out by the urge to beg him to finally touch her there.

"Honestly?" Ansel pressed a kiss to her hip bone. "I tried not to think about it. Because I knew when I started imagining what it would be like to have you, I wouldn't be able to stop. And up until yesterday, I never thought I'd get the chance to see you like this at all."

Rhosyn's breath stuttered as he drew his nose across the crease of her thigh. "But you hoped?" The question came out more desperate than Rhosyn wanted, but she had to know.

"Oh, how I hoped."

The warmth that suffused her chest at his answer only registered for a moment before she arched her back in pleasure at the kiss Ansel planted directly over her sex. She tried to spread her legs to give him more access, but Ansel had other ideas. A broad hand grabbed her thigh, pulling it over his shoulder and leaving her completely open to him.

She squeaked in a most undignified manner, suddenly glad to have the bar for support as she balanced on one leg. Ansel chuckled against her heated flesh before returning to his task.

His tongue parted her in one long stroke, and suddenly it was all she could do to stay upright. He repeated the motion, finding a cadence that made her squirm. She tried to pull him closer to her with the knee draped over his shoulder.

When he sucked at the most sensitive part of her, Rhosyn's standing leg gave out completely, leaving her nearly hanging from the trapeze above her. Ansel didn't relent, throwing her other leg over his shoulder as well, leaving her supported only by her arms and his hands on her ass, spreading her open as his mouth did unspeakable things to her.

The peak of her pleasure was at the tips of her fingers, beginning to spark through her limbs. Desperately, she bucked forward, trying to herself against his face and finding she had no leverage as the trapeze she hung from wobbled.

Ansel pulled back, and Rhosyn whined high in her throat as the pleasure that had been about to crest over her dissipated.

"What did I say about just feeling?" he scolded, turning his head to nip the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

With concerted effort, Rhosyn relaxed her hips, letting herself settle in his hands again. She was rewarded with a satisfied hum and a soft kiss to her inner thigh. Then, he began working her up anew, and Rhosyn fought every instinct to buck against him and chase her own pleasure. She squeezed her eyes shut, and her fingers grasped the trapeze bar so tightly it creaked, as if it might splinter in her hands.

Ansel worked her higher and higher until Rhosyn feared she might float away. Finally, Ansel sucked her flesh into his mouth once more, and she came undone with a voiceless shout. One of her hands let go of the bar to fist his hair, just to ground her to the man who had brought her such pleasure as she shuddered uncontrollably.

Unable to hold herself up with one arm as the pleasure started to ebb from her, leaving her boneless, she began to slide down. Ansel helped her, cushioning her descent until she straddled his lap where he kneeled on the floor, cradled to his chest.

She panted there, the spicy sweetness of him mixing with the heady rush of pleasure in an indelible mix in her mind. Mindlessly, she nuzzled into the "v" of skin visible on his chest, the rough fabric against her cheeks reminding her that he still had all his clothes on.

Now that Rhosyn was boneless with pleasure, she assumed Ansel's request for her to just feel was fulfilled. She wanted to do much more than feel right now.

No sooner had her fingers slid under the collar of Ansel's shirt, ready to feel the solid warmth she knew hid beneath, than a loud cough sounded from the door. Before Rhosyn had even registered they were no longer alone, Ansel dove forward, covering Rhosyn's exposed form with his own, substantially more modest body. Rhosyn buried her face in his shoulder with a squeak, half embarrassment and half-surprise.

"Sorry, Boss… I—" Little John's deep rumble sounded by the door along with some shuffling as if attempting to make a hasty retreat and stumbling over his own feet.

"You've already interrupted, John," Ansel growled, his back hunched over Rhosyn protectively as she tried to cram herself into as small a ball as possible, to stay hidden beneath him. "Just spit it out."

"I've made the arrangements you asked for and have all the volunteers gathered. They'll meet you in the office." John spat the words out as if it were a race before a swish of canvas and retreating footsteps indicated they had fled.

With a sigh, Ansel dropped his head to Rhosyn's collarbone. It was a position of such abject defeat that Rhosyn couldn't help but chuckle. The motion jostled Ansel's forehead where it rested on her chest, and he began to laugh as well. Maybe it was the fizzling pleasure still running through her veins making Rhosyn feel light, or the shock of suddenly being discovered, but in a matter of moments, she had descended into full on cackles.

To his credit, Ansel joined her in her mirth, lifting his head and laughing along. His eyes crinkled at the corner as he smiled sheepishly.

"We should…probably talk."

Rhosyn nodded in agreement. The heat of the moment had dissipated, and as humorous as the situation had suddenly become, reality was sleeping back in. She had chosen to join Ansel in uncovering Mr. Gower's plots, but there was no guarantee of where they would stand once the issue was resolved. And there were still sponsored Talented to help to their freedom.

Bracing her hands on Ansel's shoulders, she pushed him back lightly, and he went easily. His hands patted the floor around him until he located her clothing. She sat up and began pulling them on, trying to make herself look as unruffled as possible, although she knew it was a lost cause. Her disarrayed hair and crimson flush spoke volumes—not to mention that Little John would clearly know what had been happening between them.

Still, Rhosyn stood and arranged herself as best she could, but she couldn't help the flutter that ran through her as Ansel wiped his still-glistening mouth with the back of his hand.

She cleared her throat. "What are these arrangements Little John mentioned?"

Ansel ran his hands through his own hair, pushing it back out of his face, although the single silver strand fell forward defiantly again. He glared at where it hung between his eyes in frustration, the expression so endearing that Rhosyn felt herself smiling despite her efforts to be serious.

"Archer's Circus was lucky enough to get a fortuitous invitation during our trip to the palace," Ansel explained. "I thought accepting might give us a chance to get more information about Mr. Gower."

Rhosyn lifted an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"It seems the King enjoyed our performance at his ball—so much so that he wants the circus to provide some entertainment for an excursion to his country estate that he is planning with some members of society. I had some of the Foxes do some digging, and it appears that Mr. Gower is on the invite list."

"Do socialites really have nothing to do but throw parties and attend balls? What about their supposed business?" Rhosyn mused.

"Parties are where their daughters find wealthy marriages and influential men find women with dowries to support them. That is their business," Ansel pointed out.

Rhosyn frowned. It was such a strange way to think of things, but she supposed Ansel was right. "I suppose the Circus is going to another party then."

"We are. And you're coming with."