Page 12 of Tristan
"I know marriage requires effort."
"It's more than just effort."
His eyes look through me, trying to read my other thoughts but I guard them and force a pleasant smile. "Of course, Prince Corrik."
"Just, Corrik."
"Corrik." I can't say his name without shyness—like I'm doing something I shouldn't.
By Gods, really Tristan?
He opens his hand, the one cuffed to mine, as a silent order to return it to him. I’m reluctant, but I place my hand in his. What good is it having a hand I can't use anyway? I can barely say his name, I won't ask for my hand again. I'm surprised when I don't have to. He continues to take my hand at will when he needs his, but he’s careful to make sure to give me my hand when he can see I need it. I might call that sweet, but he isn't the sweet sort, not really. Sweet would be giving me my sword back.
During dessert, I hear a ‘psst’ at my feet. I look to Corrik—busy with a guest—lift the tablecloth and poke my head under the table. Lucca’s there, on all fours. Of all the ridiculous nonsense. His smile schemes, eyes twinkling with the words he can't wait to say. “Lucca! What in the name of the Gods are you doing?” I whisper yell.
He dangles a key at me with a giddy grin on his face, the key to the blasted handcuffs.So that’s where he disappeared to. I should bemad at him, but all I can think is how I want that key. I consider the possibility for a moment.
“I can’t do it Tristan.”
It feels good to hear my name again. “I can’t live without you. Come, we’ll run away together.” He’s serious, and absolutely mad.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lucca. Go put that key back where you found it.” I shudder to think how he got that key away from Fera. “And go sit with your father where you’ll stay out of trouble.” In truth nothing keeps Lucca out of trouble, but it will keep me out of trouble. I can’t accept his offer and he knows better. That’s not the way a warrior behaves; a warrior accepts his duty no matter how much he doesn't like it.
“I mean it Lucca. Go before—”
I don't get to finish my sentence; the prince only needs one hand to drag Lucca by his foot over to his side of the table.How will I get him out of this one?
“What do we have here?” Prince Corrik regards him coolly, and with a tinge of amusement as Lucca struggles to stand on his feet. His eyes narrow and zone in on Lucca’s hand and the key, which he snatches away from him.
“Prince Corrik, I can explain,” I say.
“Heasi!” he yells.
I don’t know what the word means, but it’s sharp, and I imagine‘shut the hell up’is a pretty decent guess. I think of Papa in this moment, he never argued with Father once I found trouble with him; he'd become quiet, and submissive.
I do my best to mimic Papa. Lucca looks to me for some inclination of what to do, but I've got nothing. I don’t know the prince well enough to predict what to say to him.
“Do not look at him, look at me.” I’ve never seen Lucca respond so quickly to an order, not even when it came from his father. “While I may be understanding, dear Prince Lucca, my father may not be. He might see your little ‘prank’ as a breach of this contract. This is serious, I don’t think you realize.”
Lucca swallows. “I’m sorry Prince Corrik. Please forgive me. I’m going to miss my cousin. We will miss each other,” he adds, to give the prince something to think about. Corrik doesn't look to care about Lucca's jibe; his lack of empathy is etched clear on his beautiful, stony face.
“Do you think you can get this key back around my uncle’s neck without him noticing?”
I smile, I know he can. Lucca does too. “Does a dragon breathe fire?” He crosses his arms over his chest, his ego still intact.
“Go then. Before he realizes it’s gone.”
Lucca winks at me, and as always, leaves me with his mess to clean up. He’s lucky I’m chained to an Elven prince, or I’d clean his clock.
“He meant no harm,” I say.
“You should not be defending him,especiallyto me." He slams our joined hands on the table, and I freeze. I feel obligated to defend my cousin, but Corrik’s betrayed by my allegiance to Lucca over him. He’s my husband, my allegiance should be with him now.
With tremendous effort, Prince Corrik’s beautiful Elven face softens, and with his free hand, he turns my face toward him.
“Tahsen," he says. "I did not like that, yiah!" Using the hand joined to mine, he runs his fingers through his silky golden hair. It’s an off-hand gesture and I can tell he’s frustrated.
I have to fix this.
