Page 4 of Tristan
We looked our identical sets of eyes into each other's.
Mine are a sapphire blue, while Father’s are such a dark shade of blue, they sometimes look black, but we’ve often been told that despite the differing color of our irises, it’s that feature which defines me as the son of Arcade Kanes. We stared at each other for several hard moments until I finally let go of the sword and I walked off his training fields forever.
“If Tristan allows the Elven prince to live past their weddingnight for taking his sword, I shall be surprised,” I overheard Father say to Uncle one night as I snuck in late and passed the Great Hall.
Father and the king often discussed many things over a flagon of wine in the quiet of the dark night.
I smiled at that. My father was only taken to humor around Uncle and Papa. I felt better knowing there was the one thing between Father and I no one could touch. He knows I can fight and wanted to protect Markaytia and that me being declawed—well, it was a bloody crime is what it was.
“Tristan, your face is going to freeze like that if you’re not careful.”
My scowl grows deeper. He can be such a cheeky brat sometimes. It’s a wonder I’ll miss him at all. Knowing he’s irritating me, he pushes me further as he always does and flicks water in my face. “Who knows Tristan, maybe you’ll like it?” he adds before he swims away to keep safe from my pending retaliation, but I don’t retaliate.
“What do you think I’ll like?” I yell after him.
“The sex, of course!”
“Lucca!”
“Well, what kind of a person gets his husband to send for permission to masturbate?” Lucca pauses, a twinkle in his eyes. “A kinky kind of person, that’s who.”
Ugh. He may have a point. Uncle once told me:the Elves are creatures; they are of a different breed than us Markaytians.
His warning did not urge me to intrigue. I haven’t made it a priority to study their culture, and that would include their views on erotica. I wanted to remain in denial while I could.
Lucca defiantly lies on his back, an impish grin on his face, as he floats above the water, acting like we have a thousand tomorrows together instead of just the one. He closes his eyes and hums a tunethat reminds me of lighter days where having fun was all we need care about. His song calms the rage inside me before I fall back in the water and lay face up like Lucca. My long, dark hair floats around my face, my bare chest soaks up the sunrays. For now, I will take my cousin’s lead, relax, and enjoy my last day in Markaytia.
Tomorrow, I will marry Prince Corrik Cyredanthem.
CHAPTER 2
My nerves are shot.
Lucca’s attempt to distract me doesn’t work and agitates me further. “Come little Elven Concubine, let’s get you dressed,” he says, entering my room unannounced—like he owns the damn place—and rips my bed sheets away. I throw a pillow at him. He dodges it.
“I’m not going to be a concubine,” I say, rolling over and stuffing my head underneath another pillow.Maybe he’ll go away if I ignore him long enough.
“Don’t be sour Tristan, this is already the worst day of my life.”
The worst day of his life?Leave it to Lucca to think of himself.
“Don’t call me concubine again, and I promise I’ll do my best not to be sour at youLuccalthizan.”
He twists his mouth in distaste at the sound of his full name. I’m of the mind to tell him to leave, since I’m in no mood for his usual theatrics, but Lucca insisted that he be the one to prepare me for the ceremony today. I know his zeal for the task is only because I will be leaving forever, otherwise, he’d be content to let an attendant perform the mundane duty. The prince arrives from Mortouge this afternoon;we will marry at sunset and depart for Mortouge after breakfast tomorrow.
I make myself leave the warm blankets—they smell like home—I don’t look back as I stand, my eye catches something new on the other side of my room.
“Isthatwhat he expects me to wear?” I point to the ridiculous white pile of cloth hanging over my armoire, which looks like a giant rabbit costume you’d wear to the Spring Festival.Utterly hideous.
Lucca laughs. “It’s not half-bad, Tristan.”
“You don’t have to dress like a great white ball of fur!”
“No. But I also—"
“—don’t say it—"
“—don’t look half as lovely as you.”
