Impossibly, arms tightened around her, welcoming her uninvited embrace. Alethea’s heart thudded against her ribs, every nerve ending acutely aware of the Prince, and she swallowed her sob of relief.
“Only if you let me win. I’ve seen you practicing.” She laughed hard into his shirt, shook her head. The same visual, of Tristan deflecting her strikes with graceful maneuvers while she staggered about in her skirt and petticoat, made her laughter almost frantic. It was such a comfort to stop fighting, and to be held – it occurred to her that this was the longest she had gone without a hug since...well, forever. It was a consequence of living away from her family that she hadn’t anticipated. She tightened her grip for a moment before releasing him, and wiped her face with her sleeve.
“I promise. But it’s terrible, being the needy one. You’re always helping other people...I wish I could be there for you.”
The second hug was a welcome surprise, and she smiled ruefully against his shoulder. Tristan was sweet, she realized. Alethea had thought of him as kind, before, and a loyal friend, but the sweetness was new. It dawned on her that they still had so much to learn about each other. Would that make it easier, or harder, to hide her feelings?
Putting on a show was so hard.
“Alright,” she nodded, taking his hand. “But I must warn you – I’m a very good shot.” Her grin was bright, a ray of sun trapped in a little lady’s face. He’d missed her. The delight in her eyes was palpable as they walked together, talking of simpler things.
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