“Though, bedroom words might be more useful for you,” he says with a wink.
My cheeks are burning, but I ignore him by pretending to be engrossed in the wild array of brightly coloured flowers dancing in the breeze. Damn it, I should have known that he wouldn’t keep our conversation civilised. It was too much to hope for.
“Our branch of the fey tongue is very similar to the human Welsh language,” says Tristan.
And I could kiss him for moving the conversation onto safer ground. Not that I’m ever going to let him know how much he just flustered me.
“Well, since I don’t speak Welsh, that is no good to me,” I grumble, mostly to keep the conversation going in the right direction.
Tristan frowns. “I can’t believe you can only speak one language.”
I glare at him, but he is right. It is a little embarrassing, even though I know that the vast majority of English people are the same. I’ve always wished I could be more European and multilingual. I guess this is my chance. I wasn’t too bad at French when I had to take it at school. So I don’t think I’m completely useless at other languages. Hopefully, it won’t be too hard to learn a whole new one.
Tristan stops walking. I look up and follow his gaze. A graceful, willowy woman with pale green skin is dancing alone in a patch of knee high grass. A swarm of yellow butterflies flutters around her.
It is a mesmerising sight, but there is something heated about Tristan’s gaze. He is appreciating far more than her enchanting dancing, while also giving the best puppy dog eyes I have ever seen. It’s almost cute.
“Have you asked her out?” I say, but damn it, that’s probably not going to translate very well. I can’t imagine fey dating.
“Many times,” Tristan says wistfully.
Okay, I guess that did translate just fine, or Tristan is skilled enough at languages to be able to understand me.
He tears his attention away from the dancing woman and we continue on our walk. His shoulders are drooping and he looks glum.
“There are plenty more fish in the sea!” I say brightly and then cringe. What is wrong with me? Since when was I a dude bro?
Tristan lifts his head. “You are right!” he grins as his eyes sparkle.
He picks up the pace of his strides and I hurry after him. Okay, cheering him up was surprisingly easy. I guess he really does have a sunny disposition by nature. Unlike some other prince I could mention.
We pass by a couple sitting on a white marble bench. They don’t seem to even notice us, as they are far too engrossed at staring adoringly into each other’s eyes. The woman is nearly as pale as the marble. The man is bronzed and very well muscled.
“He is a centaur,” whispers Tristan.
My gaze flicks down to the man’s bronzed and very toned legs. He is only wearing a toga type thing, so there is a lot of him to see. And I’m definitely seeing legs and not horse bits.
I give Tristan a quizzical look. He shrugs.
“He is in his fey form.”
Oh. That makes sense. Wait. Did I really just think that? I guess I am truly settling in here. The extraordinary is becoming ordinary.
“He used to be her pet. Now he is her consort,” whispers Tristan, even though we have to be out of earshot of the happy couple.
Tristan’s words bounce around my mind for a moment before sinking into my heart, where they settle and ignite a teeny-tiny flame of hope.
“That can happen?” I whisper back, just in case centaurs have freaky good hearing.
“Oh yes!” says Tristan happily. Then he tilts his head to look at me. “But Rhydian won’t do that. He is far too much of a cold bastard and does nothing that isn’t logical. I’m not sure if he even has feelings.”
I stare at Tristan in open mouth horror. We’ve reached a strand of small willows and their fronds are swishing gently. I grab the red-haired prince by the arm and pull him into the shade of the trees. The fronds fall closed after us, forming a waterfall of green, shielding us from the rest of the gardens. I hope it is enough privacy, because it is going to have to do.
I open my mouth and let all my outraged and indignant thoughts fall out. “Oh my god! You are so wrong! How can you say that about your own brother? Do you not know him at all? He has to hide his feelings because he is the crown prince! He needs to be respected and feared, to keep you all safe. Hiding his feelings is not the same thing as not having any!”
My lungs heave in a shaky breath. Tristan is staring at me wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t know what to make of me.
I feel a tingling across my face as my cheeks begin to blush. Oops. I got a bit carried away there. Poor Tristan, that was a bit of a rant.
