He had to remind himself this was not why he was here.
Flicking away what would never be, he brought a casual hand to the fall of her hair and tucked the silk over her shoulder. "If I participate, will you answer questions that have been burning through me lately?"
As soon as he had posed his enquiry, Astrid nodded. "Of course. You can ask me anything you please. I think it would be lovely for us to get to know each other better. Perhaps we can even be friends."
Friends, like simplicity, did not exist.
Or perhaps that rule applied to only him.
"And do you promise to keep our hiding place a secret?"
A short giggle passed her lips. "I promise."
He smiled slowly at the musical noise. "Properly."
"I promise, Prince Tristian."
He feared he may never tire of hearing his name on her tongue.
With a hand extended for hers, he came to stop in front of her. "Surely you must understand my need for precaution regardless. After all, you are an outsider."
She made a small noise of comprehension as she nodded, and took his extended hand. "Of course. You are only being sensible. But, I suppose, we are partners for this game. We should really make the most of it."
He wondered if she was always such a gullible hummingbird, one who could not detect his signs of jest and teasing. Then he wondered if mayhaps he was doing it all wrong.
She glanced around to ensure that the hall remained empty, then squeezed his hand. "Besides, I cannot show you what I have in mind here. We have to hide first."
The place he had in mind was not meant for a dainty girl such as her. It was dark, old, the passages he and his siblings had once found great joys in walking—spying on all the activity throughout the magnificent lodge.
He had not visited them in shy of a decade.
Even still, he could navigate to them with his eyes closed.
This time around, Tristian came up behind her, his hand still locked with hers, the other brought down over her eyes.
She stiffened against him, the small, subtle ridges of her back grooving against his chest.
"Precaution," he elaborated, walking at a drastically slower pace from behind.
"You... do not trust me?"
He did not trust anyone. "It's not that. Just keep walking, we're almost there."
When the two finally happened upon a bend in the hall, an inlet alcove of bricks and plaster and two tall bookshelves with public volumes denoting sciences archaic and modern, that was when he pulled her into the small space and uncovered her eyes.
"Here." He put his hand to the ruddy vacant strip of walling and pressed down with more force than had been required all those years ago.
The panel gave, a soft hiss and depression, an accompanying click. After a final scan of the hall, he fiddled with the core of the panel, the metal notch that unlocked with a tedious five key readjustment.
The wall shifted and hung ajar.
Darkness stared back at the two of them.
The prince looked to her with slight challenge. "Frightened yet?"
She stood, blue eyes reflecting the black passage. There was confusion swarming in their depths rather than that of fear or even surprise. "Should I be when I have a gallant prince to protect me?"
"Smart girl," he conceded.
And then he was leading them through the hidden passageways, rumoured to have accommodated the old scientific minds of Redthorn during the Dark Rebellion. Where the sick would be ushered in private, never to be seen again. These rumours, that which was shamelessly used to strike fear in the hearts of the naive, stated further that the dark walls around them were stained by the minds of all the sick who'd met their ends whilst journeying their depths.
Tristian gripped the iron necklace at his throat, brushing it to his lips faintly, for God rest the souls of the dead and might He excuse their disturbance.
"My siblings and I, we used to hide in these passages whenever we visited this lodge. Rhenan always hid in the Mathematics passages, his logic being that the numbers and physics would scare away any who came looking. Bethan and Jocelyn, they liked to walk the Pottery Hall's passages—they always managed to get lost in all the others."
But he'd always chose the Science Hall, for they led to the one place he knew not even Rhenan would be able to find them, let alone Bethan.
"I know the worries of getting lost in vast halls and corridors as a child and your brother's logic is sound. Numbers are daunting things, but I really, really like them."
"No, it is ridiculous logic, is what it is."
As the darkness descended into even greater darkness, he felt her shuffle closer to him, her breathing somehow faster, as though frightened despite her faith in a gallant prince. "Why did you choose this one?"
At this, he gave a small laugh. "It leads to a place I wish to show you."
A place he was sure a girl like her knew absolutely nothing about.
"But alas, I was promised answers to my questions, and so I will have them." He hastened their pace, recalling the exact words of his brother and pondering how he would choose to construct them now. As though one actually had to construe them for such an uncomplicated mind. "Vandalism of my father's property. Do you know what prisoners would love to do to such a girl as you?"
The sound that most resembled that which passed her lips was a dog teased cruelly, a whimper, yet mingled with a shudder. A young princess as the plaything of the dregs of society. Broken beyond repair.
"Fear not," he added quickly. "I am not here to scold or punish you—nor imprison you. A mere warning. After all, it is not your fault you are so untaught."
"I...I would like to learn." There was not an ounce of confidence in the girl's statement. "If it pleases you."
He gave her hand a little squeeze and shook his head, then remembered she could not see him. "I will have little to teach you before you return to your lands, where you will be rebathed in sin, your soul tarnished all over again."
And what a true shame. A young beauty like her of such a clear head, refused the right to have her soul properly cleansed.
"But here, look." They'd come about a left turn, where the first heel of scarce light whispered against the stone floors. The passageway came to an end, and in its place, was a wooden door with a copper knocker poised just above the centered knob.
He twisted the knob and pushed gently, smiling when the door creaked open and a dusty, small room was revealed. A bench, ingrained into the wall and made entirely of stone, took up the majority of the chamber, iron chains crowning its middle for support. Across from the limited space were the observation panels: diamond-cut apertures which, if one put their face near enough, would look out over the east wing's chapel.
How many times had he come here alone to confess to none other than his God above?
He led them in and leaned most casually against the stone walls, crossing his arms and perking a brow. "It used to be an observation chamber for the sick. Those who wished to view the sermon but were not permitted near the royal family."
And it was this chamber that he visited so often, perhaps in secret hope that he could feel closer to death for then, at those times, he saw no difference between the sickness of their bodies... and that of his mind.
Her eyes, previously having squinted at the light, gazed up at him in genuine concern. "There are no diseases lingering here, are there?"
"Do you think I would have brought you here if there were?"
She shook her head. "No, but, is it not haunted?"
And now he outright laughed, giving cause for the girl to pout. "Fifteen, you say?"
"Ghosts are real!"
The humour vanished sooner than it'd come. Tristian pushed off the wall to stand over her. "No, they are not, and we do not speak like that here. Especially not in a place like this."
"They are not to be feared all the time. In fact they may guide you, and help you. One time I lost a shoe in the snow and it was on my b
ed when I returned to my room. It must have been a spirit. Just a friend, nothing more."
His teeth ground and he knew he should not be afflicted so thoroughly by her ignorance, for who had been there otherwise to correct her? But the idea that she would come into the place he found solace and taint it with sinister words brought spite to his tongue.
"No, Princess Astrid," he said tightly. "It may have been a servant girl or maid who returned it, but I am telling you ghosts are things reserved for heretics. Do you know what that is?"
She nodded firmly. "It is a word made up for people to use when they are scared of people who view the world differently. It is like you preferring your meat rare, while I like mine well done. It is a different perspective."
A smirk pulled at the corners of her lips. "And people are prepared to kill to see their idea of the truth prevail."
He stared at her as though she'd spawned three heads.
Where had this female been just the other day? The one whose eyes were clear yet doughy with innocence? An act? Had she meant to crawl beneath his skin only to rip up the roots of his foundation?
"My brother said the nobles painted the mark on your door, but now I wonder if it truly was the other way around." At first, it'd been a teasing warning. Now he knew no better. Was the hummingbird an actual vulture, and if so, why did that...exhilarate him? Inspire him to advance from cages of iron to that of steel?
"That was very scary."
He blinked. Was she toying with him?
"Scary? When you encouraged it?"
It was her turn to blink.
"What? What did I do? It was horrid."
"I thought you were not to tell me lies, Astrid. You incriminate yourself by tossing aside the truth of my religion in light of your own flawed one. You're faithful to your heretics, admit that at least."
"Tristian! I am not lying. I know that we believe different things. You have your faith and I have mine."
And suddenly she was crying.
"Can... can we talk about something else?"
No. He did not want to talk about something else. This female from those cold lands was nothing like that of the one he was intended to marry. Granted, he had seen Constance but a handful of times, she had always walked the narrow but straight path of the supreme religion. That was the female who should have drenched his thoughts in the night.
Instead he'd somehow gotten himself ensnared in a childish game, holed up in a sanctified chamber with a northerner.
Tristian folded his arms again, leaning against the walls and staring at the small girl. "I feel sorry for you, truly. But I did not mean to bring sadness to you. Forgive me."
There was a long interlude as she stared up at him, appearing truly crestfallen as she continued to sniff. The sheer slight-bell sleeves of her gown had become an object to fiddle with as the tears began to subside. The remnants were reddened cheeks and eyes, as well as a drop which trailed to her chin. Then she actually asked, "Do I look like I have been crying?"
He huffed. "Not at all."
Let us hope your brother does not find us. That would give the castle something to talk about for weeks to come.
Another drop dripped from her fair lashes. "Swear?"
"Not at all," he said again.
"Good."
How could one be both so invigorating and pathetic?
With a defeated roll of his eyes, he reached into his pocket and produced a black and gold embroidered handkerchief. "Here, just in case." He neared her, cupped her damp face gently and began the task of erasing the evidence.
She remained still, allowing him to do his work, and from beneath the material, her cheeks rounded into a smile. A very strange female. Volatile, reminding him too much of himself.
"Are you always so..." Delicate. He couldn't bring himself to finish it. So instead he asked, "Is this better then?"
The question was left unanswered as she gazed at him as though he was not a contributing factor to her tears moments before.
"Do you want to see something interesting?"
He tended the other cheek, then dropped his hand from her face to fold the used cloth. "Ah, yes, that which you wanted to show me." It'd slipped his mind in the midst of their religious impasse. A hand waved her on.
The airy giggle returned. "Close your eyes."
Close his eyes. A gift then?
It gave him pause, for he'd not thought to do the same. Not many of the guests had come offering gifts rather than expectations, their hands out, demanding something. He smiled finally and closed his eyes, promising, heretic or not, he would give her something as well before her departure.
There was the sound of shuffling and tugging for a number of seconds, chased by a sigh. "Open, please."
His smile grew yet again, never having been one for the silly antics of surprises, though perhaps it was something to say that everything she did enchanted him.
He opened his eyes.
And stared.
And blinked.
And then wondered if perhaps he had never rolled over out of bed this morning for surely he was still in the thralls of sleep and the female in front of him did not have her bodice undone and the twin pink perks of her ample chest were not staring him in the face.
A mischievous glint curoscated from the back of her crystal eyes as she cupped the sides of both mounds and pressed them together, her gaze flicking between him and her chest.
She was playing with them, yet at the same time toying with him.
"Do you not think it is interesting?!" she exclaimed while he tried to recall how to swallow.
Oblivious—or perhaps wholly aware—of his dilemma, she forced them together one last time, much rougher than before, then released. They bounced for a full second and a half before she allowed her arms to swing at her side. "Would you like a turn?"
Prince Tristian faltered. It wasn't that he'd never seen the likes of a female's lush, pert breasts. No, in fact, he could not remember the sheer number of them he'd had intimate relations with, but he was sure it was somewhere in the hundreds.
And of them, none evoked him quite like the pair before him.
The weight of the chapel behind him was heavy. The presence of this room, where those desperate and waning listened intently to the word of God, were like the fingers of the dead clawing at his mind.
Still even, he did wish to have his turn. Wished it like never before.
The shutters to his soul were sealed off, shut away and he cast the girl a dark look.
"Fifteen, you say?"
"Fifteen," she breathed, followed by another of those laughs before she clamped down upon her lower lip. "And you are twenty-seven. Older than me, much bigger than me... And the first to gaze upon me in such a way."
In the space of his leather breeches, he grew painfully hard. "My God, female, are you aware we are in a place of...of worship?"
"Is that not what we are doing?" Her eyes trailed down to her middle and her vise upon her lips released, only to have her trail her tongue across the exposed surface.
"I have heard that men get tingles and have such dark hungry looks in their eyes when they are placed before a female they desire. I know not whether it is true but I believe I am having tingles myself this very moment."
It was all he could do to stay his hand, but as for the desire he felt now, he could not shadow it from his eyes.
And so he didn't.
Instead, his eyes landed on hers with unwavering determination. "Close the door."
~ A'ZUR ~
"Do you want to lose and hand your brother free compliments?" Prince A'zur admonished.
Against all advice of what must have constituted universal ladylike behaviour, Princess Bethan shrugged.
"It does not bother me too much. He will receive the compliments readily. Perhaps I will give them with such readiness. I am not as competitive as Rhenan." She narrowed her gaze. "Or perhaps you are eager to acquire my brother's beloved horse?"
A'zur could not
possibly care less about the horse, outside of wishing to strip one of the Hanson boys of a loved possession simply to show that he could. Of course, in return, if he and Princess Bethan were to lose the foolish bet, her price were but five measly compliments to the ego-inflated crown prince whom thus had yet to exploit himself as such.
But Prince Rhenan had declared, that if A'zur lost, he was to accompany and indulge a drinking binge with the male.
As if he would ever.
He sighed, loudly. If ever a female did vex him so, it was the one he had untastefully been paired with.
Though they were in the lead, much thanks to his own discerning wit and her much reluctant offers of information about the massive Great Lodge, there remained three teams of those who were hiders, two of which held a majority of the ribbons.
The king and queen.
His sister and Prince Tristian.
"I would appreciate not having to haggle you for the most minimal iota of information." Did this female think he had intentions to return to the lodge and use his knowledge to... what, steal some of the showcases and priceless vases? Did she think his people so poor?
"Look, I told you before. I don't know where my parents are. I don't know where Rhenan and Jocelyn are. I know where your sister wishes she could be and I suspect that Tristian might fancy himself similar pastures." Bethan smirked and shrugged again. "Regardless, I cannot shake this apathy." Clearly. "Just as my brother cannot shake your sister from his company."
A'zur took a patient breath, the one he reserved for times when his sister came sputtering at him frantically about this and that, and looked down at Bethan. She was pretty enough, though she resembled her brothers less with the amber scorch of her eyes and looser fall of her black curls. However, just like her oldest brother, Tristian, she seemed compelled to wear a face of imminent displeasure.
"I see," he said. He disliked her. Possibly destined to dislike the lot of them. Nothing to be done about it, however. He tried a different approach. "When was the lodge built?"
Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1) Page 16