“This was my aunt’s idea?” Tristan asked, endeavouring to keep his face as still as possible. Celidon, who was making a less valiant effort, sighed and humphed.

”Bored,” he complained silently, his green eyes drifting towards the door.

“You and me both,” Tristan agreed.

Renn appeared from behind her easel, her paintbrush held between her teeth. She nodded brightly.

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Remind me to remind her and Mace they owe me a wedding portrait,” Tristan sniffed, earning himself a giggle, as she disappeared back behind the canvas.

Celidon had started fidgeting when Renn reappeared again, cleaning her hands on a cloth.

“That’s everything I need for today, thank you, Your Grace,” she said, “sorry it took so long.”

Celidon trotted over to her, his tail wagging until she took the head and scratched his ear.

“You’re an excellent model,” Renn told him, “much better than my brother’s familiar. He’s very impatient.”

“Cel’s a saint,” Tristan grinned, stretching. “Sorry to rush off, Renn, there are some other things I need to get done today.”

“Of course,” she conceded, “I’ll clear up and get your of your hair.”

He thanked her and made for the door. The corridor on the other side was long, straight and entirely deserted. In unison, he and Celidon paused, exchanged looks, smiled, and sprinted the length of it, their feet pounding against the wooden floors. Tristan beamed as he grabbed hold of the wall at the end, guiding himself around the corner. He crashed into the tower door, forcing it open with a squeaking of hinges. Together they charged their way to the bottom, and emerged panting at the bottom. Tristan glanced out the window, hesitated and slowed, crossing to the sill. He peered down into the stable yard, then turned sharply on his heel and ran the rest of the way.

Spilling out into the daylight, he slowed as a yard full of faces turned towards him. Grinning, he straightened his coat, searching for some scraps of kingly dignity and crossed the cobbles trying his best not to laugh.

The stable block itself was cool and shaded, and he knew exactly where to go. Hurrying to the end stall he jumped up onto the great iron hinge and banged on the wood with the flat of his hand.

“Knock, knock!” Tristan said brightly, leaning against the top of the door to admire Thea in her riding clothes. He hopped up the rest of the way until he was sitting on the rail, his back against the wooden panel between the two stalls.

“I’ve come to ask a favour,” he said, as Celidon fixed him with a reproachful look, unable now to see over the door. The cu-sith huffed, jumped up onto a large wooden trunk and peeked over at Thea that way, wagging his braided tail in triumph.

“And to inflict myself upon you on the afternoon,” Tristan continued, eyes shining. “I’m the king now, so you really can’t say no, but to be polite, I’m going to ask if that’s okay with you.”

you were never born to quit

TristaN

you gotta stand up, you weremade for this