Chapter 12
It’s the most people our chambers have seen since I arrived.
The king and queen enter first and sit at the head of the long dining table.
When my parents enter, time stops for me.
Father is there in the flesh, and I can hardly believe I’m seeing him with my eyes.
His long hair is greyer than when I last saw him, but it does not diminish his stature and he’s every bit as menacing as I remember him.
And I didn’t know it before, but I feel it now; there is something Father brings me that I was unaware of—comfort and grounding. I want to go to him and feel it, but that would be inappropriate at this juncture.
Then Papa walks in. He’s much better than I last remember him when we said goodbye. He looks healthy and fit, but his eyes flood with tears when he sees me and I know he’d like nothing better than to take me in his arms, but that will have to wait.
Father strides over to me, setting his helmet down on the table, beginning his inspection of me. “Tristan, were you harmed in any way?” Wow, he’s more concerned than I’ve ever seen him.
I have to think about that. Was I harmed in any way? The trip down memory lane has me smiling. There were plenty of times Bayaden caused pain to my backside—so many spankings—but never harm. “No, sir. It wasn’t like that. Everything was fine.”
That was the wrong thing to say. “Has he been hexed? Someone tell me. Now.”
The entire room flinches.
“I haven’t been hexed, Father.”
“You and I are going to have our conversation,” he promises in a voice I recall from my youth. I don’t look forward to that conversation. “For now, I want answers. I want to know why my son was taken.”
Father is not Arcade Kanes, calm and collected brother of the king, right now.
He’s Father Warlord whose offspring was threatened.
He goes full dragon parent. If Corrik thought he was protective, he’s about to learn a whole new definition of protection.
Corrik steps up. “It was my fault, sir. I am his husband and the responsibility fell to me to keep him safe.”
“I have half a mind to call this whole thing off, I still might.”
Can he do that? By the look in his eyes, I’m going with he’ll find a way.
“Sir, I assure you, we’ve taken extreme measures to ensure his safety,” Corrik says.
But when Corrik outlines those measures, Father is not happy. “You plan to keep my son locked up indefinitely? That’s your plan? Tristan, pack your things.” And when I don’t move fast enough he says, “Now Tristan.”
I’m not sure what to do, because no bone in my body will allow me to disobey my father, but it’s not that simple.
As much as he’d like to, he can’t just take me without a discussion.
The Elven king speaks up. “Arcade were I you, I would feel the same way. But I know we can come to an agreement without breaking the treaty.” He stands. “Come, we will talk in another room.”
Father is hesitant, but he knows he can’t refuse the king. “Very well. Eagar, you stay here with Tristan.”
The king, queen, and Corrik leave and I’m left alone with Papa, which is fine with me. I run to him. “Come here, little man,” he says, and I don’t even mind.
Everything catches up with me and I let it all out, enjoying the way he envelops me with his large, soft presence. “Everything will be all right, Tristan.”
“Can he bring me with you?”
“Not really, but your father could find a way with the mood he’s in. ‘Eagar, if there’s one hair, one hair, harmed on his head …’” he says doing a spot-on impression of Father. “I had to listen to that the whole way here.”
“Was he that worried?”
“Of course he was. I know he’s a rough man, but his love for you is infinite.”
“I thought he came here just to scold me.”
“He might find excuses to do that, but that’s how he shows he cares. Often he has commented on how much he misses training with you.”
That fills me with more pride than I’ve ever felt. Papa continues to run a hand through my hair and kisses my crown. “I have missed you, Tristan. Is it true he has confined you to these rooms?”
I nod.
“You must be going crazy.”
“I am, but Papa, Corrik is distraught. No, I don’t like it, but it’s not so bad up here.
I’ll study hard and become Elf and then my confinement will be over,” I tell him, trying to be as optimistic as Corrik about it.
Naturally, I tend toward calming the worries of others, even when I am struggling.
“That I can understand, keeping the concern of husbands to a minimum. Tristan, have you learned more about …” he puts a hand over my heart, “… the way we are inside?”
I smile. “I have. Papa, it’s natural as breathing for me and I’ve had enormous fun with it.”
“You have?”
“Yes. I know it’s something uncommon in Markaytia, but among Elves it’s a thing, so you don’t need to feel shame over it, or guilt that I am like you. I’m actually what they call a brat more so than I am submissive. Brats like me get a lot more spankings than submissives like you, Papa.”
“You do?” I nod. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Like the dickens. I try to avoid it, but it’s inevitable. Don’t tell Corrik this, but I need it.”
He likes that, but then his brows press together. “You talk about it like you’ve had a lot of experience, but you’ve only just returned to Corrik and you weren’t with him long before that.”
I look down a moment and then I make myself face him.
“I found another love, Papa. I didn’t mean to.
I thought I was never coming back. It was he who showed me more about this side of myself and helped me discover who I am.
” I light up thinking about Baya. “Corrik knows, and we’re still working through it, but he isn’t angry.
Don’t worry Papa, I know my duty is here.
I will make Father see that too, somehow. ”
“Who is he, my boy? Your other love?”
I bite my lip. “Prince Bayaden Tar Jian, Warlord of the Aldrien Elves.”
He pulls in a breath. “Tristan.”
“It just happened, Papa. But I’m not hexed. There was a loyalty enchantment, but that’s not the same as love and it’s … gone now anyway, but my love remains.”
“How do you know that’s all there was in the enchantment?”
“Because I fell in love with him before the enchantment was ever cast.”
I part from Papa, wishing I could remove these foolish clothes.
They’re not me. You know what? I’m changing.
I begin to undress, struggling with the stupid, fancy garment until Papa has to help me.
“I believe you Tristan and I can see how much you have fallen for him. I don’t think you should tell your father. ”
“I wasn’t planning on it. I just don’t want him hunting down Aldrien Elves and murdering them.”
“If he wants to, there will be no stopping him. Not to worry, the king will calm him down. Your father does get a bit unreasonable when it’s you, but he’s always respected Vilsarion and Vilsarion has always respected Arcade.”
Papa helps me dress into clothes that are more my style and we visit, until Father storms in. “Tristan, a word somewhere private,” he demands, with only Corrik trailing behind him. Corrik looks worse for wear.
“This way, sir,” I say leading him to the library.
I’m only just setting foot in the library when I hear the ring of steel.
It’s a sound I’d know anywhere, and I don’t have to think about my next move, only to jump into action.
Father taught me that any situation can turn into a battle, that I have to be prepared.
If there’s time to map out a room as to how I’d defend myself in it, then I should be going over multiple scenarios while I can.
Father would often quiz me on such things and the penalty for missing anything was severe, since failing to do so could mean my life.
This is no more than another test and I am prepared.
I dive for the table and slide underneath coming out the other side with the long curtain rod stashed there.
They are made of Elven steel, which makes for far better weapons than curtain hangers anyway.
I round on Father to block his sword coming down at me and push him back.
I use the dance Bayaden taught me, and my speed has improved trying to keep up with Elves.
All my practice with a bow has improved my sight and therefore the sensory input to my brain, which results in better sensory output.
I’m quick like lightning and disarm him with nothing but my curtain rod.
It does take some time, we destroy the desk and a lamp, but I do.
I reach down to help him up; he, naturally, refuses.
When he stands, he’s beaming and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Father beam so widely at me.
At Papa, loads of times, but not at me. “You are my son and you are not hexed. That was incredible. Markaytia lost itself a formidable Warlord.” Pride shines out of every part of him, he doesn’t even have to say it and I know.
This might be the best moment of my life.
“Does that mean I get to stay, Father?”
“Much to my dismay. Tristan, are you sure you’re all right? You tell me now. I want the truth now.”
I may have just kicked his arse in combat, but I do not doubt he’ll kick mine if he even suspects I’m lying. “I don’t like the part where I’m being held prisoner in a place that’s meant to be my home, but other than that I am fine, sir.”
He’s at war with himself about something and then he makes a decision. When he does, he pulls me to him. “You became an excellent warrior, despite Papa’s blatant coddling of you, I suppose it’s all right I do this.”
I try to hold back tears, but I can’t. “It’s more than all right, Father.
” I squeeze him tight. I remember the times in the Aldrien dungeon—they were terrifying.
I could have been left there to rot for all I knew at the time and had Bayaden not taken to me, I might have been rotting there still.
Father’s ways prepared me for that. I am grateful.
But my sons and daughters will always get lots of hugs.