Page 38 of Tristan
Corrik grabs my arm. “Excuse us,” he says, and drags me a short distance away.
“Why are you being difficult?”
“Because no one will tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s not your concern—you’re well taken care of.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of; I can take care of myself—I can help Corrik.Please.”
“You can’t help us with this. Now, I suggest you behave unless you need help?”
Help means spanking, doesn’t it? “No. I don’t need help,” I snap.
The great Elf pulls me in by my waist and kisses my lips. “Good, I want to get this done so I can take you to our tent and ravish you. Behave yourself.”
I roll my eyes. The man must badly want to finish securing the area if he’s ignoring the attitude I’m giving him. When he pulls out of the kiss, he searches my face for something. I give a pleading look. “Corrik, I want to help. If I can’t be warlord, maybe I could work alongside these men and women. I would be—
“No.”
“But Corrik—"
“—no.”
“Why?”
“This is not going to be a conversation. I have said no, this matter is closed.”
I fume silently as he lays down his orders with no explanation and yeah, I’m pouting—actuallypouting—but Corrik tends to bring it out in me. I think about what Lucca would want to do to the Elven prince for being domineering. He’d retaliate by going anyway. I should, but this is just a scouting mission. I’ll save a grand rebellion like that for something important.
“Go wait with my mother and not another word about this, Kathir.”
I turn to go.
“I believe, yes Corrik, are the words you are looking for.”
“Yes, Corrik,” I say with no generosity and storm away.
Ifeel childish.
And not because Corrik’s mother and brother-in-law are babysitting me. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. Papa told me many times that if I wanted something, pouting wouldn’t get me there.
I throw a rock at the fire we’ve been given permission to build. Word came an hour ago that our location was secured, but that message came without Corrik.
“He’ll be back soon. Corrik has a temper to rival the Gods—he’s angry that anyone would dare follow us, he’ll want to blow the anger off before he comes back to you,” Diekin tells me as I watch the light from the flames jump on his face, with the warm crackle popping in the background.
“Tell me about his other brothers and sisters, how does that work? Do they all live at the palace?”
He laughs. “Oh, dear brother, youarecurious, but that is good. First, Mortouge is large—far larger than Markaytia. There aresevensmaller kingdoms, one for each realm; the members of the royal family are spread out between the kingdoms. It would take me eons to explain it all to you—you’d never remember it anyway, but you’ll have plenty of time to learn once we’re there.” He pauses. “Corrik and Ditira are the youngest born to the family Cyredanthem so they remain in King’s Keep with a few of their other siblings, but most notable is Alrik—he is first born, and you will get to meet him.”
He leans down making to whisper in my ear but speaking loudenough for the queen to hear. “Corrik and Alrik do not get along. He thinks Corrik is spoiled.”
“Diekin,” she chides. “He’s not even here to defend himself.”
“I’m here and I heard that—you would not misbehave like this for my sister,” Corrik says. He looks less angry than he did before. I don’t think he’s truly upset with Diekin.
“Corrik you’re here,” I say and realize I’m relieved to see him.
“I believe I just said that,” he says, his lips twitch in each corner.
