“Jay, I swear to God,” Tristan said, stepping back out into the hall, blocking the scribe’s view of the room inside with his body. He was, mercifully, taller than his clerk which made the task significantly easier.

As the door clicked shut, Tristan looked him up and down. There was no clipboard this time, no pen, just Jay, looking irritatingly unabashed and incredibly amused.

“I can fire you, you know,” Tristan told him, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want this time?”

“Lady…I mean, Princess Morgana found me in the kitchen,” Jay explained, looking distinctly unconcerned by the threat of dismissal, “and she asked me what I was doing.”

Tristan did not like the sound of this.

“Go on…” he prompted suspiciously. Jay practically shone with delight.

“Well, I told her. And she said to remind you that you had promised to come and see her later regarding the supply issue in Oliford and that she would expect you promptly after you had finished your meal…” He paused, hesitated and then added brightly “…your Grace.”

Celidon’s voice pressed in next, nudging his way into Tristan’s thoughts.

“You did promise Tris, I think it would be for the best.”

It was fortunate that the hallway was cooler than his room. Wisdom, it seemed, closed in on him from every side. It felt a lot like walls closing in. He didn’t want to be wise, or sensible, or cautious. He had spent months living in the forest, unable to do what he wanted, away from the things he loved and yearned for, away from her.

They could all go and hang.

“You may go back to my aunt, Jay,” Tristan said, gratified when the scribe’s expression drooped, “and tell her I may not be able to comply with her request, but if I find myself otherwise engaged she will be my first appointment of the morning.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jay muttered, turning finally, finally to go.

Tristan watched him until he disappeared from view at the end of the corridor, and slipped back inside the room.

Alethea had moved. She stood framed by the window, her hair catching the failing light beyond, looking like a figure plucked straight from a painting. He froze, admiring her for as long as he dared, before finally summoning the will to click the door shut behind him. Approaching almost silently, another warning from Celidon gave him pause.

Then she saw him, and she spoke, and his heart pounded.

“I missed you too,” he said, meaning it this time, as he had not meant it with other girls. That sudden surge of self-awareness triggered a spasm of guilt, prompted a hesitation. Did he dare?

To hell with it. He’d never been timid.

Approaching from behind, he wrapped his arms around her, looking over her shoulder at the setting sun on the other side of the glass.

His hands didn’t shake, his chest wasn’t tight, his mind was quiet, he didn’t want a drink. He could see his decanter out of the corner of his eye, but he could ignore it, leave it sitting there untouched. There, with her, he felt more like Tristan than he had for…since his father had died. He wished he could tell her…but he couldn’t.

He could never find the right words, worried he might seem foolish.

“I wish we could stay here,” he said instead, “just the two of us…”

He smiled, flashing her that boyish, lop-sided smile he’d kept hidden for far too long. Another surge of daring.

“…we could watch the sun come back up again.”

you were never born to quit

TristaN

you gotta stand up, you weremade for this