Page 1 of Tristan
CHAPTER 1
Hi. I’m Tristan Kanes. At least I was once upon a time. Tomorrow, who knows who I’m going to be?
But I digress. I’m getting ahead of myself as usual. I’ll back up a bit. I thought it would be a good idea to attempt to run away from my destiny, but destiny tends to follow a person.
I’ve reached the upper ridges of Markaytia’s North Wood and I’ve been gone for several hours. Lucca will come after me soon. I creep to the edge of the plateau and look out to her, to Markaytia. Tomorrow, I’m to marry an Elven Prince. I know it sounds luxurious, every boy’s dream and all, but it isn’t that simple.
I must give up my entire life for this man.
It’s not long before I hear footsteps I recognize behind me. I’m certain of whom it is. I don’t even turn to look, until the tree branch pokes into my back.
He wants to fight me today, does he? I jump up with lightning speed, conditioned from the day I could stand on two feet and because I always take reconnaissance of my surroundings, I know there is a stick for me to use against him, two feet away. I snatch it up and take a defensive stance against my assassin. I strike, slice, slash,pierce, and segment his pathetic battle strategy—well, pathetic against mine. My cousin is a formidable swordsman—I outsmart him at every turn with my dexterous footwork and accomplished foresight.
We’ve fought in many battles since the time we were fifteen and trained together from almost the moment we sprang from the womb—it’s in our blood. Peace is a warrior’s mission, yet in succeeding, he renders himself useless. It makes him no less driven to battle. Peace is a fleeting season, even for Markaytia, and I sense that this season of peace has had its turn and war is on the horizon. Either way, everywhere is dangerous now and the people need protection. War will continue to happen whether I want it to or not and when it does, I want to be the one leading the troops.
Now to convince my husband-to-be of that.
“You see, Tristan? You’ll make a great Warlord someday,” he says, not caring how miserably he’s failing.
“You know the truth as well as I do, Lucca. I’ll never succeed my father as Warlord.”
He knows this is a sore spot for me, but of course Lucca pushes me, as usual. He hates my brooding.Enough with this game.I draw the real sword I have at my hip (the one I’m not supposed to have) and cleave his fake one in two. “There. You lose.”
“Did I? Got your mind off things for a moment.” That damn pompous tone of his leaks right into his expression. I can’t deny he’s right. It did feel good to move like that—my dark hair whipped with the snap of my movements, my nimble muscles contracting powerfully to move my sword in any arc I desired.
“Okay, you did—but it doesn’t change anything.”
“You’re not still sore about it, are you? It’s not like you’re the first royal to have a marriage arranged for him,” he teases.
I scowl at him.
Arranged marriage.Why is my father so old fashioned?Especially when he and Papa married because they love each other. I wanted tofall in love someday. Perhaps on the battlefield like them. I would be Warlord and he would be my second.
“Come. If we are going to misbehave today, let’s do it in style. I have a place I’ve been meaning to show you.”
Even my father, Markaytia’s current Warlord, doesn’t leave the palace without an armed guard. It’s certainly not a good idea for his son and the Crown Prince of Markaytia to do so either, but Lucca and I do it often. It’s far too cumbersome having several members of the guard along on every outing.
I follow behind him, not caring where he’ll take me so long as it’s far away. Maybe Lucca and I can run away together. He’d do it for me if I asked him, but I would never ask that. He’ll be king someday. The people of Markaytia need him.
“Here we are,” he says, gesturing to the small lake nestled in the summit of the hilltop. Trees mingle around the perimeter, and open in the right places for the sun to glisten off the water. The place is alive with character, pristine enchantment mixed with naïve innocence, holding secrets from times long turned. There’s an eerie aura in the air that prickles my skin, one that suggests we are not the only ones to find this place, but we are of a select few. The water is not the usual aqua, it swirls with blues and purples. It bubbles and boils and steam rises from the surface.
“Lucca, how did you find this?” I whisper, not wanting to disrupt the tranquility of this place.
“Let’s just say it involved a horse, a deranged ironsmith, and his daughter,” he says, winking.
Knowing him, he and said ironsmith’s daughter have fucked in this mystical pool. I shake my head at him, jealous more than anything. We both peel off our clothes and jump into the water, splashing at each other.
The water is lovely and warm. I dip under, drench my long, black hair, resurface, and sweep it off my face. Lucca closes his eyes as he lazily floats on his back, and I stare not too directly at the bright sun.
“You don’t have to worry, you know,” he says.
I flick a little water toward him. “And why is that, exactly?”
“When I am king, I shall simply order you to come back.”
I roll my eyes. Now he’s just being ridiculous. “Somehow, I don’t think that applies to betrothals.”
“I’ll buy you back if I must, then.”
