Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice #2)(46)
How? How could the lonely boy whom Tristan had befriended during his first excursion beyond the castle walls, the lad who had shared with him countless adventures and infinite truths, have felt the need to hide such an important piece of his life from him?
“You okay?”
Tristan spun to see Adelaide approaching with his pack of clothes. Consumed by his hurt, he had momentarily forgotten she was waiting for him. It only increased his ire that she looked upon him now with what appeared to be honest concern.
Any other time he felt conflicted with his feelings, Tristan would have sought the counsel of his father or Rosalind. Or even Quinn. At this moment, none were present and, as his throbbing cheek sufficiently reminded him, his twin was the last person with whom he now wished to converse.
“If you are asking if I was injured on our flight, the answer is no.” He swiped the sack from her grip and turned from her once more. “Now leave me to dress in peace.”
She remained close by, her voice far more timid than it had been outside the dungeon. “No, I mean are you upset? With Quinn? That was quite a bombshell he dropped on us back there.”
“Bombshell?” Tristan tore his trousers from the pack with more force than necessary and began to dress. Her foreign words annoyed him so. And her presence. And her keen perception.
However had she come to read him so easily, after spending such limited time among them?
With a frown, he tugged on his shirt and fought with its closure. Was there anything his twin could not do? Her first full day at the castle, she had won the hearts of every servant and turned the heads of every soldier. She had driven their father to a possessive, paranoid madness over trying to keep her safe and somehow managed to tame the temper of the forever-scowling Quinn. Worst of all, she had found her true mate and fallen madly in love in only a matter of days, while Tristan had yet to kiss a girl, let alone find his one true match.
Jealousy flashed through him like a bolt of lightning, stirring his beast nearly to the brink of transformation. He clenched both fists and drew in a slow, deep breath.
“Oh, right. No bombs here yet. Um, a surprise. The whole ‘my mother is head of the witches’ thing seemed like it was a pretty big surprise.”
“You have no idea.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I can tell you’re upset. So if you’d like to talk about it, well, I’m here.”
“Here to do what, exactly? Strike me again? Ridicule me for my flawed deductions earlier? If it is all the same to you, sister, I would rather be left alone.”
“Look, I’m sorry about punching you earlier, okay? But you didn’t really think I’d come running up to hug you either, did you? I mean, come on, you order me kidnapped—not the first time that’s happened around here, by the way—and nearly got the man who means everything to me killed. Everything.”
“Both mistakes for which I have apologized profusely and which I wish not to have brought up again.” Anger coursed through him. With a growl, he turned to retrieve his emptied sack from the ground. “Forathians might well struggle to respect a Prince who cannot defend himself from his own sister.”
“At least you know how to be who you are.”
The quiet admission stilled Tristan’s hands. He cast her a wary glance. “I beg your pardon?”
“They think I’m simple, you know. Not all here”—she tapped her forehead—“because I’m always oohing and aahing everything. You, though, have already won their respect. Word on the street is that you’re the heart and soul of that castle, and while you won’t put up with tomfoolery, every act of kindness bestowed upon the villages came from your hand.”
He stared at her with mouth ajar, unable to speak. Barely able to stand. She stepped forward, one brow lifted and both hands now clasped behind her back.
“You don’t believe me? Ask anyone. Martha from the kitchen. My handmaiden, Ellen. Heck, little Damien in the stables. Your subjects aren’t stupid, Tristan. They see who the glue is holding our castle together.” Her voice was softer now as a teasing grin tugged at her pink lips. “And it sure as hell ain’t me.”
Despite the anger that’d raced through him moments ago, Tristan felt his lips pull into a mirrored grin. He reached for her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her into his side. And, unlike Rosalind, she neither swatted at him nor sought to escape his embrace.
“We always had lacked a court jester.”
Addie shrugged. “Hey, I aim to please.”
They stood together for a long moment, staring out across the clearing in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Beside the forest’s edge, a doe and her fawn stepped into view, nibbling at the flora. Tristan felt his anxiety slowly slip away.
“I’m sorry about earlier. Hitting you and all.”
“And I am sorry for not believing your proclamation of Zayne’s innocence, Princess Ade—”
“No.” She pulled away and placed a hand upon her chest. “Out here I’m not ‘Princess’ or ‘Your Highness’ or any of that official stuff. I’m just plain old Addie. Got it?”
Tristan chuckled. “Very well, then. And you may address me as…Tris?”
“Nah.” Issuing a soft snort, she poked him in the rib cage. “Sounds too girly. How ’bout you stick with Tristan and we’ll call it even. Deal?”