Clearly, between the sun dwelling at the horizon and night prevailing, his little sister had grown addicted to her own insults, retorts, projections of opinions, expecting little more than a combative quip of his own or silence in return.
But this was different. She had not insulted him, but his bride.
In one sweep, Astrid was placed behind him. Her chest rose and fell against the plates of his side. He could only imagine the jumble of thoughts weaving through her mind as his sister attempted to carve her way to the title of alpha female.
He closed the distance to Jocelyn in three steps. Ironic, the last they'd been this close had been during her own wedding rehearsals, where he'd had the unfortunate task of assisting her with her walk. Though now the premise had changed, their nearness one of pure vehemence as he stared down upon her. His voice came out a quiet whisper, the anger like a silent rolling of storm clouds. "Insult this female one more time, Jocelyn. I'm begging you to."
"Are you in love, Tris?"
The comment even had Beth chuckling. "The flowers..." she added.
"Come on Tris, confess!"
They saw his anger as a game. That, he could accept, because that they'd done their entire life. He gave no outward response, was unsure if he could even formulate one that did not run the risk of severing whatever thin ties he maintained with them. Their laughter, irrelevant. Their taunts, infantile behaviour in a moment where he urged one thing alone. "I am begging you, Jocelyn, insult the female I am to marry. Go on! Insult her!"
He was the farmer teasing the ass with a carrot on a stick, and Jocelyn was certainly making a move to grab the offered treat. Her eyes widened, her hands went to her hips, and she sauntered forward to continue what she no doubt envisaged as a game.
"Jocelyn..." Beth said in warning, though she was paid no mind.
From behind, Astrid stepped closer and secured her arms around his waist.
"I'm surprised she's even still with you when you don't even have the funds to slip a rose between her breasts once you've finished with her cunt."
His lips curled; his resolve snapped, never too strong to begin with. "You're mistaken for I have the funds. It is our ill father, he who can't be bothered to remember the name of his insignificant stag daughter, who holds no funds. Of which, when reprieve is due, will drain first the people through their taxes, then the guilds of which your pathetic livelihood carousels around night and day. And I wonder Jocelyn, I wonder when there is not a coin left and I inherit my father's throne, I wonder what is to stop a ploy in the night, a sudden discovery that your husband's lands are in fact not his own. I do wonder what happens when those lands, that home, is sold to the crown and it is me you and your snot-nosed orifice come scampering to!"
His sister had turned so deathly pale that he suspected she would collapse at any moment. When but a moment before she had attempted to appear powerful and prepared for the assault, she now hunched forward, her hands around her growing middle. Her expression was as wide-eyed and pathetic as any other woman.
"What's wrong with Papa?"
Beth had come to stand before him, appearing as pale as her sister with eyes that searched for information, for the truth that he had forgotten she was ignorant to. It was Astrid who remained unmoving, supporting him as though she was a second spine.
"Tristian, what is wrong with Papa?"
He couldn't peel his burning gaze from the haggart, yet he said without inflection, "A mere cold."
She shook her head. "Mama would have seen him to swift treatment if that was the case. What's wrong?"
The heat between his and Astrid's bodies was accumulating, growing as she pressed into his back, and it was this body of warmth which gave him something to turn to other than his steadily ashening sister. He reached beside him and back, a hand resting lightly on her waist before offering what may have been a reassuring squeeze, though he could not say for who.
To Beth, he looked at boredly, head craned the slightest in her direction, half of him daring Jocelyn to so much as breathe too loudly while he spoke. "Kings have lasting sickness, Bethan. It's not uncommon for their memories to slip, especially under the stress of a kingdom. It is nothing you should fret over."
"Y-y-yes, Beth. Tristian is s-s-speaking the exact truth."
His youngest sister did not look at all convinced. Rather than grow as distressed as Jocelyn was, with the tears pooling in her eyes so plentifully that it was but a moment before she was blighted by a flood, Bethan merely frowned.
"You're always keeping things from me. Both of you, and Rhenan does it, too. I know you're lying to me."
Tristian shrugged, feeling himself detach. He would feel no remorse here.
At first, Jocelyn's tears had bothered him when in his side chamber, but now he identified the feeling as agitation. She thought to impose on him, his authority, and assume to receive a light consequence? And now Bethan, who for the most part, he could tolerate so long as she did not think to follow in her sister's footsteps. But this night she had. So this night, he said blandly as way of explanation, "You are the youngest. Often the most expendable and forgettable."
"That's low," she muttered, though refrained from retaliating any further, as Jocelyn was so fond of doing.
There was a careful shifting of fabric as Astrid came into his field of vision. She did not gaze upon him with blame or displeasure as others would, or in his mother's case absolute disappointment. Instead her expression remained neutral, save her eyes which glistened with her usual bright fondness. It was enough to smother out the rest of the flames flaring at his insides; he loosened in her hold.
"Do you honestly not realise how terrible he is?" Jocelyn snapped at his betrothed when she came into view.
"He's not terrible," was Astrid's instant and surprisingly steady remark. "He's your big brother. You shouldn't provoke the sensibilities of a man but treat them with the respect they deserve."
"Do you not understand that you're spouting drivel and he will lap it up?"
"I don't want to argue, but I will stand up for him when I can." It was then that the little blonde turned to smile at him. "I can't wait to see my posy."
Jocelyn squeaked and gestured at Astrid. "I cannot believe my ears. It's like you've trained her to give you exactly what you want to hear. It's like you're marrying a dog!"
But Tristian was ignoring his sister's words, having instead focused on the peculiar space in his chest that seemed to gape open larger and deeper the longer he stared into those crystals, listened to the foreign presence of unwavering...loyalty.
His hand moved of its own volition to trail down the supple roundness of her smiling cheeks and for the first time, he felt the genuine stretch of his own lips as they curled up in return. "I selected a colour with only you in mind, little hummingbird."
There was another shriek in the background, while Astrid appeared to see only him. A creeping blush appeared upon the sound of the pet name and she nodded. He wondered whether the increased breadth of her smile to permit her little front teeth to clamp her lower lip was done purposely.
"It'll be the prettiest in the kingdom. We must seek out the biggest books in the library so we can press the flowers properly. That way they will last forever. I planned to squeeze more details about it from you over last week's morning meal, but that soup..." She trailed off and sniggered, for that word always did seem to fill her with giggles since the first incident.
He fingered a wave of her hair between his fingertips. "You were a very messy girl and got distracted, didn't you?"
"I cannot help it, I swear. I think I have a problem." That icy, northern lilt crystalised her words. "Each time I am around you I get terribly distracted." She released her lip, leaving behind a tempting sheen similar to the gloss of her gaze. "I can't even think why that is."
He could think of more than a few reasons. "We'll have to work on your focus during our next meal. But for now," He sighed and looked to Jocelyn. "Are we done with rehearsal for the night?
"
"Anything to be done with this simpering display," she snapped. For a second he believed she was about to launch another barrage of insults at him, though it appeared Bethan was her victim. "And you... You are not to say a single thing about Papa to Mama, understand?"
"Why, because I know it to be serious?"
"We'll talk about it some other time. When Rhenan is present."
"So I must wait longer for the truth."
"You'll get it eventually so what's the point in grumbling about the wait?"
"Whatever you say Jocelyn, I'm not going to argue." Bethan had come to his side and gave him a moderately displeased glance through narrowed eyes before she turned to Astrid. "Make sure he takes off your dress carefully. It's fitting well around the middle now. I can't see a hint that you're expecting."
"Thank—"
Bethan had turned away before Astrid had the opportunity to express her gratitude and had swept from the room without a second glance at either of her siblings. Jocelyn also made ready to leave, though without a single word to either of them.
Tristian stepped in her path. "Are you not forgetting something?"
"Let me past, pig."
"You insulted your future queen. I suggest you apologise."
"I insulted your pride, you mean."
"Of which will be married to the female you insulted. All three of us destined as your ruling superior. An apology so that you might remember your tongue in the future."
"Three?"
"My pride is another being in and of itself. I'm sure you'd agree. Now apologise to my bride, Jocelyn."
She groaned. "I have no reason to. If you were half as much a man as you believe yourself to be you would brush off any criticism. Considering I am one of the few who knows she is to whelp, you'd perhaps treat me with greater respect."
He tilted his head to the side. "The sun does not respect the shadows. If ever you put forth an effort not to be so unsavoury, I might have, but you make no such effort. Though this is not about me. It is about the female whose intelligence you blatantly insulted before witnesses. A female, I say again, whom I am to marry in a matter of days. It's a matter of decency, Jocelyn."
"You took an underage girl into your bed, a foreign heathen who happens to be a princess of a very strange and mysterious realm, and you question my decency?"
"Will you afford her the same disrespect when she is your queen? I do not believe you will. So when you look to her now, is it nothing that you see? Is that what my betrothed will be to you when we are wed and until my coronation? Answer wisely, for I do have a mind to ban you from this castle when it is within my scope of capabilities."
The target of Jocelyn's desired apology was standing still, abiding by the order that she was to be so careful with her dress and was not to make any dramatic movements without assistance.
"You have a problem," she stated before she turned and approached the idling female. She then ironed out her scowl into the falsest of smiles. "Oh, Astrid, I am so sorry."
"For?" Tristian prompted.
Jocelyn chuckled. "For all of this!"
He glanced over to Astrid.
She stared back and remained silent for a moment before she nodded. "Apology accepted, but..."
"But?" Jocelyn snapped.
"But... You should also apologise for being disrespectful to your big brother. He is a good man and I think you think the worst of him."
"Oh come on!" His sister eyed him. "Move Tristian."
"Ah-ah-ah," Tristian jested. "This mysterious girl speaks the truth, Jocelyn. I am your big brother. You ought think the world of me." He couldn't help his chuckle, even as he stepped out of her way, knowing she would keel over before allowing his ears the pleasure of a twenty-one year overdue apology. The same as he would not dare give her the same.
"I won't forget this, pig," she barked as she strode past, opening and slamming doors with a great, unladylike force.
"She shouldn't talk to you like that," came the gentle hum of Astrid's voice. "It's incredibly disrespectful."
He could not agree with her more.
It occurred to him, during the entire altercation, he had not once plagued his mind with the details of the female he was desperate to defend. It mattered not the state of her soul or her lineage. There had been only his female, and those who thought to degrade her right before him.
Jocelyn's expression after his harsh words, it lingered at the border of his mind. Those words, like a pierce through her chest, could they be remedied? His sister had never been as eruptive as him, but she upheld her fair share of a temper. She felt things just as deeply as he. So how far had he sunk the blade for the girl beside him now?
It was a matter for another day. Preferably after the wedding.
In the meantime...
"You spoke out of turn multiple times."
She stiffened and it was her turn to lose the colour from her cheeks. "I-I did not—"
He felt another genuine smile come on as he leaned down to plant his lips to hers. Kissing her once, rising the slightest, then again, rising, and again, loving the way she ended up on her tiptoes with her none the wiser. When they separated, he assured, "I am not ungrateful for it."
"I feel such a desire to be loyal to you. When I cannot defend you, it hurts."
"Then forgive me when I say I like you in pain."
She blinked hard. "Prince Tristian, I do not understand."
A soft exhale left him and he straightened. "It does not matter. So long as you're happy and feel well, that is what matters. And you do feel well, yes?"
"A little stuffed around the middle, but aside from that well enough. I know I'm getting fat and it upsets some people."
"You are with child. Such weight cannot be helped at such a time. And others' opinions do not matter. Only mine." A finger gave a soft poke to her belly where his sisters had spent hours, days, fitting it. "Is that clear?"
She squeaked in surprise as she stared at his finger. "Can I ask you, Prince Tristian, what you think?"
"Of?"
"Me being fat."
"Well you are not fat currently, but if you were to become such a way, it would be a sign of your good health." Many women and men alike, in a kingdom married to their meals, were prone to becoming portly, chunky with additional adipose. So long as the Lady Constance could save his bride's soul, he did not mind what shape she assumed. And he was willing to tell her so as many times as she needed to hear it.
"I would not mind at all, Astrid."
Rather than appearing relieved, he detected a hint of sadness in her expression. Her breathing became heavier and she seemed ready to commence crying. Her arms stretched out, like a child urging an adult to pull them into an embrace, and Tristian's arms were engulfing her before his mind pieced together what he could have possibly said wrong.
Disregarding the dress and days spent upon it, he tightened his grip around her small frame, actually lifting her as he came to stand straight. He ran his hands through the pale silk spilled down her back and said with more confidence than before, "I do not care if you are fat or skinny, because I know that either way you will still be my little hummingbird inside. What others may have told you, and what they are sure to tell you henceforth, it means nothing. Do you understand me?"
She held his gaze, unblinking until there was a heavy sound in her chest, and a sob emerged soon after. Tears trailed down her cheeks, though the smile she wore indicated that his words had not somehow caused her upset. Soft hands caressed his cheeks and delicate fingers ran through his beard.
"Tristian... I will try to be perfect for you, as your little hummingbird but at times I may feel that I am not, I know you will always care for me still." She leaned forward and grazed her lips against his. "And you will always be my love. That I can promise."
There was a warm salt trail left against his lower lip, and when he tasted her tears, he was overcome with the strangest certainty that he would do all within his ability to show his God t
hat she was capable of becoming an astounding disciple, one worthy of his love and not the fates promised to those of heretical origins. She was different. She was purity with a blemish, a diamond amongst a sea of black sins. It took but a dedicated cleanse, a shining, polishing, and soon that ever growing gape in his chest which had begun to take the shape of this female, he would be able to allow her to fill.
He brought his forehead down to touch hers and for a while they stood there, his eyes sliding closed as he considered that perhaps it would not be terrible at all. Lady Constance would save her. The kingdom would accept her. She would bear their child and they would see to it that he became a strong princeling worthy of the crown. There was no demand for Astrid to fulfill a queenly image. So long as she was seen as queen and their child was accepted as the heir, things...they could be perfect.
His lips traced the outline of her nose. "You will be perfect," he whispered to her.
And when he opened his eyes, only one chandelier's light remained, flickering and fading at the end of the parlour, casting her pale beauty to the shadows to where he'd swear he never felt more naked and vulnerable before any other.
~ RHENAN ~
"But what if there are a legion of assailants posted outside of our doors, swords and knives and torches raised, demanding that, unless I remove the cap-scarf from your head, they will tear a path of destruction first through you and then those of which you love. Then might I touch it?"
Her dark pools hooked him in an expression that did not appear at all annoyed. Rather, she wore the same look as she had done each time he posed a question to the matter of her headpiece.
"Why would anyone dare do that? Unless you send them as part of one of your idiotic little games of pretend."
He pushed back the black mass from his face and blew out a breath. "It was meant for fun. Someday I will teach you the word."
They were at the rear of the home, the lounging den which was all well and good with its bear fur rugs set out before two fireplaces and granite hawk statues posted midflight on either side of the stairwell they'd descended. The cream sofas and gathering table, attached study chambers and hallways leading one way or another. No matter the warmth the manor exuded, it felt about as familiar and belonging as the royal castle, which he had always felt a guest at rather than a part of.
Bonds: A Cursed Six novel (The Cursed Six Book 1) Page 45