He hadn’t told them about the note he’d gotten from Ronin. Not yet. He wanted to wait to see what the wolf bi-form had to share first.
He’d tried to find Ronin at the party last night after he’d rushed over to rescue Cassandra—who, unsurprisingly, had already rescued herself—but Ronin had disappeared. Tristan hadn’t seen the Beastrunner since, and the few windwhispers he’d sent had gone unreturned.
Tristan didn’t feel like waiting until Thursday to find out what the male intended to share with him. As far as Tristan could tell, Ronin was the only member of the colony elite who knew the circle symbol meant Teles. Or the only one who had yet admitted to such.
The Windrider female grinned up at Tristan. “I’m sorry, Officer, but he’ll be away for the next few days. He’s had me clear his schedule.”
“Away where?” Tristan grunted.
“I’m not at liberty to share that information. My apologies.”
“He’s not answering his commstone. Do you know if he’s received my messages?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that either.” The female splayed her wings, the smile never leaving her face. A polite pillar of stone.
Tristan blew out a frustrated sigh and ran his hand down his face. “Nevermind. If you hear from him, just tell him I was looking for him. My name is—”
“Officer Tristan Saros.” The woman lowered her voice, her head swiveling to survey the empty hallway. “Or should I say Prince Tristan Erabis.”
Tristan flinched at his old title, frozen in place as his hands dropped to his sides. No one referred to him that way anymore. And he was shocked to hear the honorific uttered by this cheerful female. Did she understand how dangerous it was to say such things, especially in this building?
She crooked a finger, motioning him closer, and he leaned down so she could whisper into his ear.
“They still speak of you on the continent, you know. There are many who believe that you never should’ve been exiled. That you should’ve taken the throne after your father.”
Her words sparked something inside of him—a dream he’d buried centuries ago that had been slowly reawakening ever since he’d met Cassandra.
He pulled back, staring into the woman’s deep brown eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
She shrugged, her lips still pulled into that interminable smile. “Just thought you might like to know. Have a pleasant day, Officer.”
She continued to stare at him as he gave her a confused look. “I… Okay, thank you.”
He turned away, nearly tripping over the chair as he stalked down the hall, the female’s words echoing in his brain.
He recalled the similar sentiments of those Vestians in Meridon, though hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Merely ramblings of Fae who were well-removed from both continental politics and the inner workings of the colonial capital here in Thalenn.
He’d just exited the Secretariat into the dusky glow of approaching twilight when a windwhisper fluttered into his ear from Hella, asking him to come to the bungalow. Something about Cassandra.
He shot into the sky without a moment’s hesitation, trying to shake off the odd encounter with Ronin’s assistant.
* * *
Tristan hadno reason to be nervous.
He repeated it to himself, a mantra as he paced along the sidewalk a few houses down from his bungalow.
As soon as he’d landed, a paralyzing anxiety had gripped him.
It was stupid, really, to be this unsettled at the thought of seeing Cassandra again after what had transpired in that carriage.
Every taste of her only made him yearn for more. Playmates wasn’t enough. Neither was pretend master and consort.
And the title offriendwas becoming harder and harder to bear.
Fuck, he didn’t want to be herfriend.
He wanted to be her everything.
