I trail behind him as the headteacher and architect eagerly showcase the school’s features. They point out everything from the spacious classrooms to the eco-friendly design choices. I’m not sure what’s more exhausting, their enthusiasm or the fact that I’m completely out of place here. Everyone ignores me, which is perfect. If someone tried to talk to me, I’d have zero clue what to say. Polite, diplomatic niceties are out of my league. This world of grand gestures and high society is as alien to me as the surface of the moon.
Tristan, on the other hand, seems entirely at home. He nods thoughtfully, asks insightful questions, and even cracks a few jokes that have the group chuckling. I watch him for a moment, and a pang of discomfort twists in my stomach. Feelings of inadequacy gnaw at me. Which is absurd. Tristan doesn’t want me to be cultured or impressive. He wants me as a pet, not a partner. I don’t need to understand any of this. I only need to behave. And to offer up my hole.
I close my eyes and bite back a pained whimper. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I repeat the words in my head like a mantra, trying to drown out the tide of insecurity.
The tour drags on forever. We see every inch of the building, from the state-of-the-art science labs to the meticulously organised stock cupboards. I’m pretty sure Tristan doesn’t need to inspect the janitorial closet, but here we are. My feet ache, and my patience is wearing thin. Just as I’m about to snap, we finally head back outside to the main entrance. A giant red ribbon is tied across the double doors, fluttering gently in the breeze.
Finally. Presumably, Tristan just has to cut the ribbon with those stupidly oversized scissors, and then we can leave. I sigh as another thought hits me. He probably has to make a boring speech. Fine. Cut the ribbon, make a dumb speech, and then we can go. I’ll endure it.
This whole ordeal might have cured me of my desire to tag along on his outings. If this is the kind of nonsense he has to put up with when he is outside his rooms, I’d rather be left at home, thank you very much. My eyes narrow as a suspicious thought crosses my mind. Was this his plan all along? To stop me from whining by giving me exactly what I’d been asking for? Sneaky bastard.
Just as I’m about to congratulate myself on figuring out his cunning plan, a strange feeling washes over me. It’s hard to describe. It is a little like the peculiar certainty I get when a lost coin is nearby, mixed with the icy sensation I felt when Llywelyn stared daggers at me in the hallway. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my heart pounds in my chest.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. An image flashes in my mind. Tristan, grinning as he holds up those ridiculous scissors for the cameras, and then an arrow flying through the air and its deadly point thudding into his chest. My eyes snap open, and I’m back in the present. Tristan is grinning. He is holding up the scissors. The image is coming true.
My body moves before I consciously register what I’m doing. I slam into Tristan, throwing him to the ground. We hit the concrete hard, and I land on top of him just as an arrow embeds itself in the doorframe where he had been standing.
Chaos erupts around us. People scream and scatter, their panicked footsteps thundering against the ground. The guards shout. In the midst of the turmoil, Tristan and I are an island of calm. The world blurs and fades, leaving only the two of us.
I stare down at him, my breathing ragged. He stares up at me, his eyes wide with shock and something else I can’t quite place. It’s exactly how we met, except this time, I don’t have a dagger pressed to his throat.
Tristan’s lips curve into a smile, warm and tender. It’s a smile that sends my heart into a fluttering frenzy. His gaze softens, and for a moment, I feel as if I can see straight into his soul. The intensity of it stealsmy breath.
“You saved me,” he breathes, his voice low and filled with wonder.
I scowl, trying to mask the sudden wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm me.
“I’m the only one who gets to kill you,” I snap, my tone sharp and defensive.
Tristan chuckles, the sound rich and genuine. It sends a ripple of warmth through me, despite my best efforts to stay angry.
“Fair enough,” he murmurs, still gazing up at me as if I’m the most fascinating thing in the world.
The moment shatters as his guards surround us, forming a protective barrier. One of them helps me to my feet while another pulls Tristan up. Tristan’s expression hardens as he turns to address the chaos. Orders fly from his mouth, swift and precise. The crowd is ushered to safety, and his guards fan out, searching for the would-be assassin.
I’m left standing awkwardly to the side, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My heart races, and my hands tremble. Did that really just happen? My mind replays the scene in vivid detail. The flash of the arrow, the way Tristan’s eyes had locked onto mine, the warmth of his smile.
“You’re hurt.” His voice pulls me from my thoughts. He’s standing in front of me now, his eyes scanning me for injuries.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, though my knee is starting to ache like a bitch. I think the parts of me that didn’t land on him, hit the concrete quite hard.
“You’re shaking.” His voice softens, and before I can protest, he places a hand on my shoulder. The weight of it is grounding, steadying.
“I… I’m fine,” I repeat, though it sounds less convincing the second time.
He doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives me a look that’s equal parts gratitude and something deeper. Something I’m not ready to name.
“Thank you,” he says simply. The words are heavy with meaning, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond.
“Just… be more careful,” I mutter, looking away.
His lips twitch, the hint of a smile playing at the corners. “I’ll try.”
The moment lingers, and then he’s pulled away by his guards, leaving me standing there, a whirlwind of emotions swirling in his wake. The image of his smile stays with me, seared into my mind like an indelible mark. For better or worse, Tristan has an annoying way of doing that.
And for some stupid reason, I’m starting to like it.
Chapter twenty-eight
