They had harnessed Altair with Mathos’s stallion, Heracles, and the two powerful bays stood waiting impatiently, necks arched and black manes plaited, while Mathos and Rafe, both dressed as coachmen, did their final checks.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he lifted Nim into the seat, climbed up beside her, and ordered the men to drive on. The horses clattered forward over the cobbles and through the narrow alley that led to the street.
“Did Reece manage to get us invitations?” Nim asked as she settled herself against the cushions.
Tris took them out of his pocket and passed her the fine white cards, the delicate watermarks at odds with the two vicious boars locked in battle of the royal crest.
She ran a slim finger over the flourishing script. “And how exactly did he get hold of these?”
Tristan paused, wondering how best to answer, finally settling on vague truth. “He got them from a friend.”
She looked up, one eyebrow arched delicately. “A friend?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. A young widow who has decided not to go to the palace tonight. You’re taking her place.”
Nim’s nose wrinkled. “Does Reece have a lot of ‘friends’?”
Tristan heard Mathos snort from the box seat and settled for a grunt rather than a response. Reece had more “friends” than anyone he’d ever met.
But Nim wasn’t giving up that easily. She turned her clear eyes on him and asked in a soft voice, “And how many ‘friends’ do you have?”
Mathos snorted again, and Tristan had to curb the overwhelming desire to reach across and haul his second-in-command bodily off his seat and throw him from the coach.
Nim merely settled back in her seat and waited.
Gods, why couldn’t they have had this discussion in private? He leaned down, put his lips against the delicate skin of her ear right where he would like to bite it, and replied in a low voice so that only she could hear, “Only one.”
Both of her eyebrows went up in a silent question.
He stared back.
She continued to watch him, not giving an inch.
Fine. “Women started coming to the barracks when I was seventeen,” he admitted, “but none of them, not one, was my friend. Only one woman has ever been that close to me; a beautiful, courageous woman. I’ve known her all my life, but only now realize exactly what she means to me.”
Nim blinked several times, a suspicious sheen in her eyes, and then asked in a low whisper, “What does she mean to you?”
“I told her already. She’s mine.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Maybe you’re hers?”
“Yes,” he agreed, “that too.”
Nim turned at his side, wrapped her small hand around his neck, and tugged him down to press her lips to his in a hard kiss. It was over far too soon, but he knew what she felt. There was no time. No time to say all the things that should be said. To do the many things he wanted to do with her.
So many years alone, and now just a few hours together might be all they ever had.
She laced her fingers through his as she turned and watched the view. He could feel her tension rising as they made their way ever closer to the palace, but her grip on his hand was firm and steady.
They turned the corner into an area that he used to know well. When he’d left the palace, it had been a prosperous road of merchants. Tree-lined promenades had led up toward a picturesque market square dominated by a gorgeous gold filigreed astronomical clock and allowing glimpses of the palace.
Now, it looked like a war zone. Buildings had been destroyed, shops were closed, broken bricks and old wood littered the streets.
When he’d been sent away, Tristan had thought it was a terrible punishment. Looking at the new fortifications and the devastation that had accompanied their installation, he saw that it had been a gift.
Other coaches and carriages, many opulent with gold and velvet, some brand-new and gleaming, others showing the wear of many years of use, were all converging in an impatient queue. They made their way forward increasingly slowly, Nim’s hand clasping his tighter with every passing minute.
The coaches in front of them moved forward with a cracking of whips, and suddenly the view ahead was clear.
