Page 40 of The Enemy's Daughter

“No.”

My heart begins to pound. “Why? What are you planning?”

Tristan glances away, looking tired. “It’s not me who’s doing the planning. The town council decides what happens next.”

“I don’t believe that. You’re the”—I throw my hands up—“the kingof the Kingslandor whatever. You have power. I’ve seen it.”

Tristan draws in a slow, deep breath, but a tingle of his amusement tickles my throat. “First off, it’s nottheKingsland. The name of our town is Kingsland. We live in Kingsland. And our leadership is decided by elections, not competitions or favors. We each vote for who we feel is best. My father was mayor of Kingsland for thirty-six years. I was trained to be an elite guard under Vador, but my father also trained me to be his second-in-command. I was to follow in his footsteps.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “Now that he’s dead, I’m temporarily in charge. Acting mayor. Yes, I have influence, but decisions of this nature will never be decided by me alone, and even if they were, an official leader will be voted in. Soon.”

You can’t do it with her by your side. There isn’t a person among us who will support you.Annette’s words make a lot more sense now.

“So essentially, the Kingsland—sorry, thetownof Kingsland—is planning an attack on my home, my people, and I’m supposed to—what? Just sit here?” My frustration grows to a fever pitch. “I’m useless to you. Whatever you think you can get from me, you won’t. Why did you even save me?”

Tristan pulls a leaf out of his tea and casually drops it in the sink. “I don’t know.”

An overwhelming sense of wrongness fills my chest, and I know with absolute certainty that’s a lie.

But there is a way to find the truth, and the answers toallmy questions.

The connection.

“The house is yours.”

My gaze snaps back to his face.

“And everything in it. If you need something, tell me, and I’ll find a way to get it. I don’t suggest you go out alone just yet, but I’mhappy to take you anywhere. Or Enola could.”

He’s granting me some freedom? More manipulations, I’m sure. But then I remember that in the parable, the bumblebees didn’t resist the fox’s kindness. They did something surprising: they responded in kind.

Until they could lure him off a cliff.

“Thank you,” I say, trying to soften my voice.

A smile splits across his face.

It’s a stunning smile. The kind that makes him immeasurably more handsome. A flutter kicks up in my stomach, and then from the threadbare tether between us, there’s a pull to move closer to him.

I wasn’t lying when I said I’d rather die than give him full access to me again through the connection. Not when the information he’d gain could be used to kill my people. But this connection works both ways. I’ve sensed his anger and amusement. What else is there to glean?

And can I do it without him noticing?

As an experiment, I slowly cross the floor to the jar of honey beside him and scoop a spoonful into my tea. He’s within arm’s length now, and his curiosity comes through so loud it feels like my own. I’m undoubtedly also exposed. I imagine closing off my mind to him, building a wall between us, but quickly give up. I have no idea what I’m doing.

“You like honey?” Tristan asks. His body angles toward me, and the heat of his gaze slides over my cheek. But then it seems to dive into my chest and somehow wrap around my bones. A tremendous warmth gathers in my belly.

In a burst of panic, I mentally hurl a question at him.

What do you have planned for me?

“Because I’d—” His words cut off. “Are... you trying to sneak into my head?”

Tea splashes onto the countertop as I shove away from him and retreat to my spot against the wall. Fire scalds my cheeks at getting caught. “I-I’m going back to bed.”

He swallows hard. His lips part. I feel the razor blade cut of what he’s feeling: betrayal.

Is he for real? Has he not done the exact same to me?

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll be across the hall.”

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