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may your honour lift you high; from below
IP: 95.147.208.218
Posted on May 16, 2013 at 04:41:02 AM by t r i s t a n

“Oh I can keep up,” Tristan reassured her with an unabashed certainty, “bet you I could keep up now, even with one arm out of action.” Accompanied with a grin it was playful, and he nudged her gently with his arm. “No problem,” he agreed, when she mentioned fetching her sketch book, and he moved forwards towards the staircase. “Beat you there,” the boy winked, before racing up the flight of stairs two at a time. He noticed that, because of his arm in its sling, his balance was a little off, and he stepped out onto the landing with a slight wobble that he was forced to do his best to rectify in order to make it less obvious. Tristan believed he had done a pretty good job of it. He ran down the right hand corridor, glancing back over his shoulder for Alethea. Distracted, the prince collided with one of the guards who was walking towards him. He bounced off the man, who made an audible oof sound, before, laughing heartily, he pushed himself off the opposite wall with his good hand and continued his sprint along the carpet. “Sorry!” he shouted back as he reached the end of the corridor, and was far enough out of the guard’s reach for someone to try and stop him.

When they finally reached Alethea’s room, which was on the same corridor as the rooms of the female members of the royal family, Tristan waited patiently, leaning casually against the doorpost. Everything had been tidied away with remarkable efficiency. It was much tidier than his own room which the housekeeping staff usually cleaned towards the end of the week. Tristan always believed that he had better things to be doing than tidying, and had recently been taking every advantage of his injuries in order to get out of the little his father usually made him do.
“You said about riding earlier,” he ventured, as he watched her move through the room to collect her notebook, “do you hunt too? I usually go with Father, but sometimes he gets busy. We could go together next time if you wanted. Otherwise it just ends up being me and a pack of guards, and a lot of them have no idea what they’re doing.” Alethea moved back out of the room, and Tristan moved out of her way, taking a couple of steps backwards. He grinned at her again,
“we probably need to head down to the cellars,” he explained, “a lot of stuff gets stored down there, it seems as good a place to start as any.”

Tristan held out his hand to her, “I know a quick way,” he explained mischievously, “do you trust me?” His eyes closed in a wince as he heard Nyx’s voice drift down the corridor towards him, and he gave Alethea an apologetic look before turning around to look at the racoon-tailed girl. She seemed to turn up out of the blue with an alarming frequency, usually at the precise moments when he didn’t want her to. She was, in the kindest terms, a little strange.
“I can’t,” he told her, attempting friendly tone of voice, “not today, Nyx. I promised to spend today with Alethea.” Fortunately for Tristan where Nyx was concerned, he usually had enough excuses to avoid spending an extended period of time in her company, and in those moments he was glad that his father tended to keep him so busy. The prince gave Alethea another look that he hoped conveyed the fact that he did not relish the encounter and would do his utmost to extradite himself from Nyx’s clutches, “maybe tomorrow, if Father doesn’t need me.”
photography by Dominic’s pics | Mark Cutler at flickr.com






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