Chapter 45
My pulse speeds up. He smells like sunlight on freshly cleaned cotton—like summer. The curve of his full lips entrances me.
I’ve thought about kissing him a million times, wondering where my mouth would draw the loudest sound from him, what touch would make him come undone…
He’s gorgeous, of course, but it’s not just that.
It’s also all the nights he lay behind me in the Undercroft.
In those ten years, he was the only person who made me feel safe.
The way he took lashings for me, the way he pulled me into his arms when I fell apart.
I think of him as the only spark of light in a decade of darkness.
And with all this in my head, all I say is a whispered “Do you think they’re gone?”
“What if I like it out here?” The low, rough sound of his voice sends heat pulsing through my veins.
The copper in his eyes burns brighter, and the intensity of his look takes my breath away. His breath mingles with mine, warm despite the rain. He looks enraptured with me in a way he never has before.
Standing on my tiptoes, I press against his rain-soaked shirt. I close my eyes and brush my lips against his tentatively, like I might shatter something fragile between us.
His fingers tighten in response, and his body coils with tension.
Even that first light brush of our lips sends a hot shiver through me.
Then a dark, dangerous heat curls in my belly as his mouth slides against mine.
The storm, the guards, it all fades around me.
As I kiss him, everything narrows to just Tristan: his delicious mouth, his warm body, his powerful arms wrapped around me.
His hand slides behind my neck, his fingers curling into my hair. His mouth opens first, his tongue sweeping in, and my back arches into him before I can stop it. Desire pours through me as we taste each other for the first time, slowly at first, then with a growing, sensual hunger.
I press against him, my breasts brushing against his chest. I remember how he looked without his shirt on, the way his dark tattoos slash over his hard abs, the ink and shadow tracing his muscles.
He slides a hand over my bum, pulling me in tightly against him as he kisses me deeply like he’s been starving for me. Oh, gods, no wonder this man broke hearts all over Brocéliande.
There’s nothing tentative now. The way his mouth moves against mine—desperately, hungrily—answers every question I’ve had about how he feels about me. I can tell he’s thought about this as much as I have.
I crave him, body and soul, because ever since the Undercroft, he’s been the missing piece of me that I need to live.
As he pulls me into him, the rest of the world dims around me. He is the sunlight through the oak leaves; he is the gold of a slow summer afternoon—warmth and light and sky.
I’m where I always wanted to be.
My hand slides into his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his abs. My thumb brushes low, and he lets out a quiet growl.
Then a voice cuts through the moment—sharp and jarring. “Lady Lunette is in her room!”
I pull away from the kiss, but I’m still clinging to him. We stare at each other, neither willing to let go. What I want to do is drag him into my bedroom, rip his clothes off, and explore every inch of his body.
From above, someone else shouts, “Lord Oran is in his room. Clear!”
My lips still hover inches from Tristan’s, and I feel his fingers flex behind me.
His eyes widen a little, and he mouths, “They’re checking every room.”
Bollocks. They’re patrolling the stairs, too.
I swallow hard and look up. The stones glisten dimly in the rain, and lightning spears the sky again, flashing off the wet rock. Thunder booms, echoing in my ears.
Tristan leans closer, and he whispers in my ear. “I’ll carry you up. Climb onto my back again.”
He turns to face the tower, and I wrap my arms over his broad shoulders. I jump up a little, clamping my thighs around his waist from behind. As he climbs, I feel his muscles tighten and release between my thighs.
I rest my head against his shoulders and breathe in his scent.
With me on his back, he climbs the wall. I lick my lips, tasting salt—but I can still taste him, too, faintly.
At last, we reach the balcony outside my room, a stone overhang that juts out over the sea. Tristan climbs up close enough that I can shift off his back, sliding my legs over the stone rail and onto the balcony.
Tristan follows me onto the balcony, and I open the door to my room.
I turn back to look at him.
His green eyes search mine. “If they’re looking for the killer, they’re going to wonder why you’re wet.”
“I’ll get in the bath.”
“I should go. I don’t think I can be here without raising suspicion.”
But I’m not quite ready to let him go yet. I want more from him.
I grab him by his soaked shirt collar and pull him closer. “Give me one more thing before you go.”
His gaze brushes down to my lips. “Another kiss?”
“No. The truth. What happened to you that night you lost your mind in the forest?”
I almost want to take it back, but I don’t.
Pain flashes in his eyes, then confusion. “This is what you need to know right now?”
“Yes. Because you never tell me anything, and you never want to talk about the past. I know you better than I know anyone else on earth, but you still keep secrets from me.”
A line forms between his dark eyebrows, and a muscle ticks in his jaw.
“Her name was Isolde. She was a countess and noble, and I was sent to bring her from the Joyous Isle to Brocéliande. We fell in love on the way, but she was engaged to the king’s cousin.
And the king also planned to make her his mistress.
When Auberon learned that she had a peasant lover, he tortured her, demanding to know my name.
She refused to give it to him. Eventually, when every one of her bones was broken, and he’d cut out her tongue, he threw her off a balcony.
I found her there.” His voice roughens. “That’s how I ended up running through the forest, half mad. ”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
His eyes gleam, and he cups the side of my face. “It’s a sad fact that I’m ruinous for people I get close to.”
A sharp sadness carves through my chest, and I pull him closer in a crushing embrace. His arms slide around the small of my back. Then I stand on my toes, pressing his warm lips against mine again for one last kiss.
At last, I let him go and watch as he climbs down the wall again.
When I hear the shouts of the guards drawing closer, I pull the grail from my bag, and I set it to rest on the table just beside my bed.
Then I run into the bathroom, stripping off my clothes.
By the time they fling open the door to my room, I’m wrapped in a towel.
The soldier glowers at me as I feign a surprised expression.
Staring at me, the soldier shouts, “All clear in Baroness Alis’s room!”
He turns, slamming the door behind him.
I slip into silk underwear and pajamas and climb into my bed. More than anything, I wish Tristan were here with me.
My mind races, and I can’t stop thinking about the feel of him, the way he held me, and the delicious taste of him still lingering on my lips.
But why now? I was always there, waiting for him to want to kiss me, and his mind was always on other women. Beautiful, rich, aristocratic women.
Married women.
And they all have one thing in common. They were never truly his to have.
I slide down under my covers, watching the rain hit the diamond-pane glass.
And now, here I am, playing at being an aristocrat. In public, I’m in Rion’s arms. Now, I have Tristan’s attention as a baroness vying for the throne. I’m another version of the woman he always wanted—rich, polished, and untouchable.
But it’s not really me.
That’s the legacy of the Undercroft, isn’t it?
Tristan always ends up in a cage, one way or another. And he will only let himself love the people out of his reach. It’s like he said—he believes he’s ruinous for the people he gets close to. And I’m no better.
I think if we ever got what we wanted, we wouldn’t know how to keep it.
* * *
I wake at dawn, as the rising sun paints the sky with nectarine and gold. I raise my arms over my head, and a knock sounds on my door.
Slowly, I drag myself out of bed, rubbing my eyes. I tug my silk nightgown down my thighs as I walk.
When I pull open the door, I find Tristan waiting for me, his arms folded. “Good morning, Baroness.”
With a smile at him, I open the door wider. “Come in.”
He steps inside. “I can’t stay long. I came to tell you that I need to go back to Avalon Tower for a night or two to help lead a search team for the prince.”
He closes the distance between us and cups the side of my face, searching my eyes.
“Any chance you can check on Vero when you leave here?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I peer up at him and wrap my arms around his shoulders. “Tristan. When did you first think you wanted to kiss me?”
A line forms between his eyebrows as he looks down at me. “I don’t know. I suppose when I saw you fight in the arena.”
My stomach sinks. “You mean, when you saw me kiss Rion?”
“Well, I didn’t love seeing you in his arms. It was the first time I realized I was jealous of you with another man. I wanted to slit his throat, so I suppose that’s how I realized. And you?”
“I was probably thirteen. You always reminded me of the times before everything fell apart. When we were kids, we ran around the woods without any worries. You remind me of the last time I felt safe.”
“Thirteen?” His jaw drops, and a devilish smile curls his lips. “All that time?”
“But that’s the thing, Tristan. I think…I think you want women you could never truly have.”
A look of confusion crosses his features. “What are you talking about?”
“Married women. Aristocratic women. The thing is, I can’t risk losing you.
I need you in my life more than anyone else.
You are the missing piece of me, and I’m not whole without you.
But what if that means I need you as my best friend?
Because if we were lovers, and one of us moved on… then I’d be missing a piece of myself.”
His throat bobs, and a look of pain flashes in his eyes—but only for a moment before he regains control of himself. “I understand.”
He pulls away from me and reaches for the doorknob.
At the last moment, he turns back to me.
“You remember our childhoods differently, Syn. I remember my mother growing thin and sick with worry. We were always hungry. My father hanged himself. One night, nobles beat your father nearly to death for no reason at all. Don’t you remember that? ”
My throat tightens. “No.”
“We ran through the woods because we were foraging for acorns. All I knew as a kid was that you could never be happy when you’re poor.
I think, Syn, you remember a childhood that never existed, but you’ve invented it for yourself…
I think you and I both only want things we can’t have.
” He flashes me a sad smile. “Perhaps that does make us perfect friends.”
When he turns and slips out the door, I drop into a chair. A tear streaks down my cheek. I wipe it away.
I don’t know if it’s because I just told Tristan we should stay friends or because of what he said about my childhood that never existed, but I feel like my heart is breaking.
Tonight, I’m going to drink all the mead.
If there is one thing the English and the Fey have in common, it’s that you drown your pain in drink.