“That’s not true. That kind of thing doesn’t usually happen to me.” He turned to frown back in the direction of the weirdo. “It was really strange, right? There could be something --like-- mentally wrong with him. Maybe we should call someone.”
Trystan caught hold of his chin, turning Galahad’s head so their gazes connected. Trystan’s eyes were such a beautiful deep brown that Galahad found himself forgetting how bothered he was at the man.
“I can kill many people for you.” Trystan said seriously. “But I cannot kill thousands, all at once.”
Galahad blinked. “I can handle whatever happens, so you don’t have to kill anyone at all for me. I don’t want that.”
“That will be welcomed news to all the dead man I’ve left in your wake, so far. They can unbury themselves and return to breathing.”
Galahad frowned at the sarcasm.
“Anyway, those bastards are not the issue.” Trystan waved them aside. “It is my right and duty to protect you. I do it gladly. But there are many men in this town who will want you for themselves. For your own safety, you need to keep a low profile. Understand?”
“Most guys here probably like women, so I don’t think…”
Trystan cut him off. “Look around. This town has minimal women and many criminal assholes. Even if they typically prefer females, the criminal assholes must fulfil their desires somehow. So the criminal assholes will turn to men. This is simple biology.” His palm found the back of Galahad’s neck and Galahad’s insides took the same pleasurable dip they always did when Trystan touched him. “You must be careful. Please. I would feel… sad if you were hurt.”
Galahad’s heart warmed. “You would?”
“The depth of my desolation would be matched only by the abject suffering I inflict on those who harmed you.” Trystan assured him. “This emotion is ‘sad,’ yes?”
“Close enough.” Galahad gave him a genuine smile. Bothered as he was at the man, he was still impressed by his abilities. “It’s amazing how fast you’re recognizing your feelings.”
Trystan’s beautiful eyes brightened. “You see my efforts to succeed in this area?”
“Of course. You’re doing great.” It was true. Trystan had been pushing to categorize and explain his feelings ever since Ted-ville. Very few people, of any species, would put that kind of effort into their emotional growth. “I’m so proud of you.”
…Even if Trystan was struggling to figure out the whole “attached” thing.
Trystan watched him intently. “I will feel all that you need me to feel. I give you my word. I just need more time to learn how.”
Galahad frowned, a little confused. Trystan already felt the same things that everybody else did. That had been obvious to Galahad, after just a few days in his company. It would take Trystan some time to learn how to identify all his emotions, but he’d always felt them.
“Okay.” He said anyway, because it seemed important to Trystan that he agree.
“Fine.” Trystan nodded in something like relief. “This is good. You are not so distant from me today. Have you given more thought to our discussion from last night?”
Galahad’s smiled dimmed, remembering to be bothered. “The discussion where you told me you were leaving Camelot and there was nothing I could do to stop you? But I should wait at home and--like-- pine for you, while celibate? That discussion? Yeah, I thought about it.”
And he’d come to the conclusion that he was going to keep his True Love, even though his True Love was a gigantic dimwit.
Trystan’s gaze narrowed. “Interestingly enough, I remember it as the discussion where you passionately argued your right to sleep with other males.”
Of course, he’d focus on the theoretical bullshit instead of anything that mattered. “I’m not going to sleep with anyone else. Jesus! Why do we keep going over this? It was a hypothetical, abstract, philosophical discussion.”
“In which you said you would sleep with other men.”
“I was just making the point that a long distance relationship would be difficult for us, given the lack of trust.”
“And I was making the point that our ‘relationship’ is unbreakable, no matter the distance. If any other man touches you, I will rip off his head and put it on a very sharp point. Literally. That will happen.”
Galahad had seen the suitable-for-framing pictures in Trystan’s war file that proved that wasn’t an empty threat. He arched a brow. “Have I mentioned you’re really possessive?”
“And I have so little reason to think that strange males will try to lure you away.” Trystan waved a sardonic hand back towards the weirdo satyr who’d propositioned Galahad.
“Hey, I had nothing to do with some guy trying to pick me up…”
“I am not blaming you.” Trystan interrupted. “You cannot help being perfect.” He paused. “Although if you wore more hats, you could perhaps disguise some of your perfection. This would help.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“I am right.” Trystan insisted, because he always thought he was right. “You attract horrible people. They are lurking everywhere and you will not even fight them when they attack. And when I am gone, hunting my enemies, they will be swarming around you like rabid glatisant lizards.” He laid a hand on his chest, the soul of compromise and rational thought. “This is why I simply want you to avoid all men who aren’t me. Why is this so difficult to understand?”
“Oh, I understand it. I just think it’s insane.”
“You are deliberately seeking to complicate things that are…”
“Let’s just not rehash this, alright?” Galahad held up his palms to cut Trystan off, before he kept talking and Galahad kept getting progressively more bothered. “I don’t want to argue.”
“You never want to argue. In an argument, you might reveal more than you wish to reveal. This makes you uneasy.”
Galahad’s jaw ticked. “Or I just don’t want to argue.”
“I tell you what I am feeling.” Trystan crossed his arms over his chest. “I would like to hear what your emotions are. What do you feel towards me?”
“Right now, I’m feeling mostly pissed off.” Galahad snapped, before he could stop himself.
Trystan looked encouraged. “You are angry with me? Why?”
Galahad opened his mouth to begin listing off reasons and then closed it, again. “I don’t like to get angry.” He repeated, instead. “I told you, I’m worried about what might happen if I get out of control. So, I’m being not angry.”
“You comprehend that ‘angry’ and ‘pissed off’ are synonyms in your language, yes?”
Galahad wasn’t going to rise to that bait. He wasn’t. “I already have a plan to fix everything that you’re screwing up, so it doesn’t even matter.” He ground out.
Trystan’s brows came together, like he was frustrated that Galahad restrained from bellowing at him. “You have a plan?” He repeated skeptically. “I swear to the gods, each time you say that, all the hair on my arms stands straight up.”
Galahad arched a brow at the sarcasm. Trystan was back to being his normal confrontational self, it seemed. Clearly, he wasn’t ready to hear Galahad’s very simple resolution to this problem. Alright. Well, if he wanted to keep fighting, he could figure things out the hard way.
“I’ll let you think of the obvious solution to our problem, then. In the meantime, I’m late for brunch.” Galahad started for the strip club, again.
Behind him, Trystan muttered off a bunch of gryphon words that Galahad didn’t understand. Yet. After last night in the bar, listening to Trystan and Konrad go back-and-forth in the gryphons’ language, Galahad had decided he’d better learn it, too. It was the only way he was going to be able to keep up. Besides, now that he knew that the dead gryphons weren’t just figments of his imagination, it made sense to figure out exactly what they were saying to him. If they were trying to guide him, he might as well understand the guidance.
Fortunately, St. I
ves was a melting pot of different cultures and a hotbed of capitalism. The gift shop at the Siege Perilous Hotel and Casino sold beginners’ guides to the gryphon dialect. Galahad had already started reading the book, but he’d never been great at learning languages. It would take him at least a couple days to master it.
“What is the obvious solution to our problem?” Trystan shouted after him.
“You don’t want to hear my plans, remember? You want to do everything yourself. Speaking of which…” He pointed upward. “When did Konrad say this race starts, again? Because, it seems like you missed it by about three hours.”
Above his head, a banner was stretched between lamp posts advertising a “HUGE RACE TODAY!” Konrad hadn’t been lying about that part, although Kit-Cat-Sack Street wasn’t exactly lined with spectators. Possibly, because the sign said the race was supposed to begin at eight and it was almost eleven.
Trystan glowered at the time printed on the banner. “Shit.” He muttered.
“Maybe they mean eight p.m.” Galahad suggested sarcastically. “Just stand here until tonight and hope for the best. I’ll be in the club.”
Trystan sure didn’t need his help. Of course not. He was doing super on his own.
Jackass.
Galahad might love the man, but he’d spent the entire night fighting the urge to smother him in his sleep. When Trystan had told him he planned to leave Camelot, Galahad’s first instinct was to react the same way he’d reacted when his parents had called, year after year, to explain that they didn’t have time to visit. To be composed and logical and as detached as possible, because it would be pointless to get upset over something that wouldn’t change.
But that plan wasn’t really working this time.
Galahad was trying hard to be understanding, but he was bothered that Trystan planned to skip out on him.
Really. Incredibly. Bothered.
Still, Galahad wasn’t about to lose his True Love, even if the man was a colossal dickhead. Side note: If Trystan just had sex with him, he’d know they were True Loves, only he still didn’t want to consummate their relationship. But Galahad wasn’t angry about that, either. Nope. He was A-Okay with Trystan “considering many options,” while Galahad fell deeper and deeper in love. Galahad would just deal with that, too, because clearly he was the only person in their relationship capable of rational thought.
There was one obvious way out of this mess: Galahad was just going to tag along on the revenge mission. Since he wasn’t a moron (like some big, oblivious gryphons) he’d already figured it out. It was settled and done.
Trystan just needed to not be a moron and figure it out, too.
Galahad’s eyes skimmed over a hot cross buns vendor as he neared the entrance of Mordy’s club. Then his gaze snapped back, as his brain registered what he was actually looking at. The hot cross buns were being heated on a high-powered heat lamp. In order to ensure they were all kept at the same temperature, they were being turned over that lamp on a rotisserie. And in order to spin the rotisserie, a tiny pixie was being forced to walk in endless circles on a hamster wheel.
It was a Rube Goldberg design of sticky dough and enslavement.
The tiny pixie was staggering with exhaustion, trying to keep the whole mechanism going. A teeny chain was around her neck, locking her in place. Her wings drooped with malnutrition, her short blonde hair was unwashed, and her clothes were rags. Pixies were often subjugated by larger beings, so she looked resigned to the servitude.
God, Galahad was sick of all the unfairness in the world.
Trystan caught up with him. “Knight, stop. We are not finished with this discussion.”
“Do you see that?” Galahad demanded, nodding towards the hot cross bun cart.
Trystan frowned, momentarily distracted. “Not even you are reckless enough to eat food from that filthy vendor. It is probably dosed with every wicked spell imaginable. I have told you this land is filled with Bad magic, yes? Powders, elixirs, incantations…”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned it a lot.”
“Well Konrad told me that this epidemic is even worse in St. Ives, of late. Dark spells that no one has ever heard of before are for sale, now. You must be careful.”
“I’m always careful.” Galahad kept his eyes on the poor pixie. “Relax. You just focus on your big race. You only have nine more hours to prepare for it.”
“I will deal with the race later. Right now, I am talking to you.”
“I don’t want to talk, anymore.”
Trystan wasn’t in the mood to respect his boundaries. “We do not have a lack of trust.” He snapped, backtracking to Galahad’s earlier remark. “You have a lack of trust. You do not trust my feelings for you. This is why you keep most of yourself hidden.”
Unbelievable… Galahad dragged his gaze off the food cart. “So this is my doing, now?”
“Yes! I have more faith in you than I have ever had in anyone, but you give me minimal trust in return.” Trystan challenged, like he wanted Galahad to get mad. “You give me as little as possible of yourself. Pieces, when I want the whole.”
“You really want to talk about reciprocity, Trys?” He challenged. “Which of us keeps saying ‘not yet’ when I ask if you’re ready to sleep with me?”
“That is not because of distrust…”
“Which of us didn’t make me an ally on his mission, even though I made him an ally on my mission days ago?”
“You are deliberately missing the…”
“Which of us claimed you and which of us has not claimed me?”
“I have claimed you!” Trystan bellowed, like he was the aggrieved party.
Passersby were now crossing the street to avoid their shouting match. The entire citizenry of the town was Bad, engaging in all sorts of criminal activities, but Trystan and Galahad were the ones making a scene. Ordinarily, Galahad disliked making a scene. At the moment, though, he barely noticed. All his attention was on Trystan.
“You claimed me?” He repeated, his heart pounding. “When? I didn’t hear it.” And he’d been listening closely.
“I should not have to say it aloud.” Through some kind of mental gymnastics Trystan had convinced himself that Galahad was the one being difficult. It was amazing. “I have proven my devotion, again and again, with my actions.”
That sounded like a cop-out to Galahad. “You have to actually say the words to claim someone. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works, according to the gryphons’ rules.”
Trystan cursed under his breath, which meant Galahad was right. “My commitment to you is already apparent to every living thing who’s seen us together.” He began ticking them off on his fingers. “Ayren and her men. The fifty thousand helpless beings you made me save. All the random scumbags in this town, and uneaten leprechauns in the desert, and the whole population of goddamn Ted-ville… Trees and bushes have no doubt noticed my feelings.”
“You need to say the words.” Galahad reiterated. “Aren’t you the one always going on about the importance of language?”
“Then give me words, too.” Trystan moved so he was directly in front of him. “Explain why you are so “bothered” in words.”
Galahad’s jaw clenched. “Can we do this later?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned back to the hot cross bun vendor. The man was a troll, with a round stomach and a scraggly ponytail. “Hey!” He shouted, drawing the bastard’s attention. “Are you paying that pixie a fair wage?” He seriously doubted it.
The man flicked him off without answering.
Galahad’s jaw ticked.
“Are you bothered because I am leaving Camelot?” Trystan stayed laser-focused on the topic at hand. “Do you still fear that I will not return? I said that I would. Again, this is you not trusting me.”
“I don’t want to do this. Why do you want to do this?” Galahad shook his head, very fucking bothered, now. “I can’t do this. I have to go deal with this guy, right now.”
Trystan spared the hot cross bun
vendor a dismissive look. “I will slay that asshole for you, in a second.” He promised distractedly. “Right now, you need to explain this discrepancy to me. Last night you said you weren’t upset over my mission and now you are upset. Why?”
“Last night, I said that I wanted to be supportive and….”
“Was it a lie that you are not angry?” Trystan interrupted. “Just tell me the truth.”
“I live a life of fucking truth!” Galahad shouted. All his suppressed “bother” suddenly boiled over into white-hot rage at the colossal moron he planned to marry. “I told you I wasn’t upset and I’m not upset. That word doesn’t even begin to fucking cover it. I’m fucking furious at you.”
Perversely, Trystan seemed hopeful at that revelation. “Yes?”
“Yes. You think you can fucking walk out on me? You think I will fucking let that happen?” He jabbed a finger into Trystan’s chest. “Rewind every goddamn thing you know about me. Think it all through, in your goddamn head, and try to figure out what kind of man you’re actually dealing with here.”
Trystan’s gaze gleamed, enjoying all the swearing, but he didn’t comment on it. “Tell me, then. Give me the core of you.”
“You won’t fucking like the core of me.” Galahad snarled, attempting to calm down before it was too late. “Just stop trying to…”
“You’re really handsome when you’re angry. Has anyone ever told you that?”
That was exactly what Galahad had said to him back at the waterfall and it produced exactly the same reaction in Galahad that it had in Trystan.
His temper detonated.
Spending his whole life in the military had given Galahad an amazing vocabulary of vulgarities. He didn’t like to use them, but he knew them all. (Some of the worst ones he’d actually invented, although he didn’t love seeing his name next to them in various dictionaries.) Now, every curse word in existence was leveled at Trystan, in such volcanic, impressive, and creative ways that even the hot cross bun vendor’s eyebrows shot up in shock.
Trystan’s mouth curved as Galahad let loose on him. “Now, I’ve caught hold of you.” He murmured.
“This is really what you want to do? Really?” Galahad seethed, trying to reign back. “Have this discussion, when I am so fucking angry? Because, it’s a lousy fucking idea, Trystan.”
Best Knight Ever (A Kinda Fairytale Book 4) Page 39