Page 50 of The Enemy's Daughter

I stare at the wall without blinking as his words sink in, burying me, every sentence a bucket of heavy stones. He plans to be worse than Farron. I can’t imagine. Tristan told me as much, but he made it sound as though his hands were tied. Hearing him declare it like a decree, like there’s no other alternative, shows his duplicity—something I should have expected from the fox’s son.

“But today is a time to mourn and to honor the life of a great man,” he says. “So please join me as we continue.”

After several moments of silence, Shepherd Noreen resumes her speech, turning to Tristan’s mum and the horse-riding accident that took her life. Her tone is somber as she goes on to list Tristan’s remaining relatives, his cousin Ryland, and an aunt, Ryland’s mum. At hearing how little family Tristan has left, his reasons for wanting revenge grow clearer. Deeper. But what does Tristan have planned? How many people need to die to pay for Farron’s death? Even if Liam survives their initial attack, how long before they learn of his involvement in killing Farron and decide to target him?

I need to press Tristan more on these things before I make my escape.

17

I feel him before I see him, and my stomach twists with nerves.

I set my novel down on the bed—the third book I’ve stolen from his shelf, although I can’t say I’ve done more than stare at the words since the funeral. The wait for Tristan to finish up with his guests downstairs has been excruciating. We have much to discuss about his desire to hurt the clans.

Four soft knocks rap against the door.

“Yes?” I call out.

The door opens slowly until Tristan appears. He toes something on the floor, not looking up. His jacket is missing, and the top button on his shirt is undone. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows.

My treacherous heart flutters all on its own.

What is wrong with me? How can I still be attracted to him after the vengeance he promised today to bring down on the clans?

The side of Tristan’s mouth quirks up. “There’s a ridiculous amount of food down there. You should come have some... and drink some fesber tea.”

My gaze drifts over his shoulder as if I can see the source of the low rumble of voices. “Sounds like you’ve still got a full house?”

“It’s mainly the elite guard and friends. But... there is someone here I want you to meet.”

I eye him suspiciously. “I’m going to need more information than that.”

“He’s safe. I promise. And trust me, you don’t want to miss out on this food.”

His smile is disarming. So is the excitement sparking off my skin—from Tristan. “That does sound enticing.” I bite my lip. “Is a woman named Valerie there?”

“No. She won’t be allowed around you ever again.”

So he heard. I wish the edge in his voice wasn’t so satisfying. He’s not my protector. He’s not my anything.

“Come.” He holds out a hand.

“I’ll just need a minute to...” I gesture at the bathroom.

“Of course.”

Once I close the door, I finger-comb the soft waves in my hair that I gained from the elaborate bun Enola gave me earlier. Briefly, I consider braiding my hair, since it reaches all the way to my navel. But having it down makes me look soft and innocent.And pretty, which may play to my advantage for what I need to do.

The time for protecting my pride is over. If I can, I need to access Tristan’s memories to root out whatever terrible thing he’s planning. But most of all, I need to convince him that offering the clans mercyisa viable option. The only option. My family’s lives are at stake.

My dress from the funeral sits a little askew, but with a few tugs it’s put back into place. The dark circles under my eyes make melook gaunt. Sick. I sigh and give my cheeks a pinch to draw in some color, then open the door.

Tristan is exactly where I left him, leaning against the doorframe. His gaze sweeps over me, touching me like sunshine, and there’s no mistaking how much he likes what he sees.

My breath quickens.

We slowly walk the hallway, the gentle tether between us strengthening at our proximity. A sensation of buoyancy drifts over me, then tingles of anticipation float through my chest. It’s intoxicating. How strange it is to feel the words he’s left unsaid. The intention within them.

He doesn’t think of me as his enemy anymore.

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