Page 9 of Tristan
Normally I’d swat him for a comment like that, but this is the Lucca I know. The one I need to get me through today. “This is a tad ridiculous,” I say, laughing at my hair. I have the most gorgeous hair in all of Markaytia. I like it better free flowing, spinning around me.
“It’s a bit much,” Lucca agrees. “Not to worry, cousin. I’m sure it will fall apart when your dreamy, Elven prince tugs on it later.”
“Lucca!” But he’s already run off, and I’m left to contemplate post reception activities.
CHAPTER 3
Ipeer out of the tent that conceals me from the crowd.
I’ll be the one walkingtowardPrince Corrik, which in Markaytia denotes the submissive person in the relationship, the person who is marriedoff.It’s not gender related as it is in other societies that either favor patriarchy or matriarchy.
I expected this. He’s already proven to be the authority figure in our relationship. I lived all these years under Father’s thumb, and now I’ll have a new master.
I look out to the sea of people who sit in white chairs that are spread on either side of an aisle leading up to a large, circular dais. I spot Lucca craning his head around, trying to see me. When our eyes meet, he waves to me like a lunatic. I smile at him until another set of eyes find me: Prince Corrik’s. They glow an ultra-violet purple and look into me, searching for something. I can’t look away.Is there anything inside that ice fortress of a man?
Lucca waves and jumps in his seat, making it easy to hear him above the crowd. He clearly thinks I’ve lost sight of him.Why else would I have looked away?Prince Corrik notices Lucca’s display andfrowns. The Gods only know what the Elven prince is thinking, but I doubt Lucca’s antics bode well for him. Or me.
If he could control himself this once.
“Tristan!” Papa’s voice behind me rings loud in my ears as I duck behind the tent flap, where I belong in the first place. I don’t miss the chastening glint—Papa has always been the hybrid of stern Father and Mother hen. “It is bad luck for the prince to see you—come away from there and let me have a good look at you.”
“I don’t believe in such superstitions, Papa.” I don’t quite snap it, but he knows something’s up. His comments are too reminiscent of mine at breakfast to my father—the ones I got my head bit off over.
“Regardless, come here now, little man.” Papa spins me around once I’m in reach of him. “So, Lucca can do the things he puts his mind to. Will wonders never cease?” He wraps me in his barrel arms. “What’s got you in a huff? Was it what your father said to you at breakfast?”
“How do you know about that? And how come you weren’t there?”
“Your father and I talk about everything, especially that which concerns you. I wasn’t there because your father wanted to eat with you alone—someone failed to tell Lucca.”
“Yeah, to tell me off. And I don’t know why he’d want to talk about me, seeing as I’m such a disappointment.”
“He didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then whatdidhe mean?” I pull away. “Wait. What did he want to talk with me about?”
“I am sworn to secrecy on both counts.”
“Of course, you are.” I can’t hide my sarcasm, and I instantly regret talking like that to Papa. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it."
“You meant it all right, but I can’t say I blame you. I will tell you this: your father does love you, more than you know, and more than he’ll ever say.” Papa’s said that before and I want to believe him, but I’m greedy and still want to hear it from the source.
“Let’s put an end to this, shall we?” That’s his polite way ofsaying,enough, Tristan. I know the tone well from my youth. This is not the first disagreement he’s had the pleasure of ending between Father and me.
“Yes, Papa.”
“Good. Now tell me, are you ready?”
“I’ll never be ready.”
“Well, I for one am proud of you. Some day in the future, you will have saved a countless number of people by this union. Everyone will be grateful to you,” he assures me.
“I don’t need them to be grateful to me Papa. Keeping our people alive and safe is enough for me.”
“Alive is good.” He pulls me forward again and kisses the crown of my head like he did when I was younger, and the world is right again.
“Coddling him to the end I see,” Father says, his hard voice bites through our moment.
“Hello darling.” Papa ignores his jibe.
