Behind The Wooden Door (6 page)

“Princess, your father doesn’t look very happy with you,” he said.

My heart stopped. He lied. He had to have lied.

I turned around to find myself face to face with my father. I could see the pits of Hell in his small beady eyes. I looked down and stared at the bottom of his red and gold robes. Damn.

“What are you doing here? You should be in the castle,” my father said.

“I came to help Scarlett tend to the wounded,” I lied.

My father curled his nose and looked down on me. His look didn’t faze me. I was accustomed to getting looked down upon by him.

“You are not a servant to these assassins, and you are not to act like one. Get back to the castle,” he commanded.

He pushed me aside.

“Sire,” Hawk said. If his smirk wasn’t bad enough, the breathless laugh he gave as he pointed at me was.

I knew I had no choice but to do as my father said. If I did not return to the castle and he saw me, he would not hesitate for a second dragging me there. But why had he gone to see Tristan? The war couldn’t be finished after one battle.

I walked up the stone steps of the castle, past the guards, and into my bedroom. From the window, I could see everything my father and Artair had done. The bloody men in the camp, the motionless bodies on the river’s edge, and the brown coffins floating toward the ocean.

Warm tears flowed from my eyes. So many men were dead, and so many more would die. This carnage was unnecessary, and my only prayer was for it to end.

My mind was far from easy as I got into my bed. How much longer would this last?

CHAPTER 8

My footsteps fell hard against the stone flooring as I ran after the cloaked figure. I called out for him to stop, but the only response was my echo bouncing off the castle walls in the empty corridor. Panic flooded me as I turned the corner. He was at a large wooden door. He glanced back at me before he pushed it open. I ran to stop him, but it was too late. The door slammed shut.

The grass was cold against the exposed skin of my back. Frogs and crickets harmonized in the night air of the garden as I stared up at the bright stars. I replayed the dream in my head for the ninth time. I’d seen that door before but where? Everything about it felt so familiar. The dark peeling wood. The arched shape. The large, rusted iron hinges. It was like trying to reignite a dying ember.

A stick snapped somewhere to my left. I jolted upward and scanned the garden. Someone watched me from the shadows. I could feel their eyes on me. My breath fogged in front of my face as I exhaled into the night.

“Who’s there?” I called out.

“It’s just me,” Tristan said as he walked out of the shadows with his hands up like he was surrendering.

How quickly my stupid heart beat when I looked at him. And for no reason at all. He was just a soldier.
Just
a soldier.

“Hawk said you needed to talk to me,” he said.

He walked the distance between us and sat down beside me. He’d made Hawk keep me away, and now he sat beside me engulfed in moonlight. That was a lot of trouble just to find me later. I stared at his shadow and tried to rid my mind of the image of the cloaked figure from my dream.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” I asked.

Don’t look at him, Lanie. He’ll think you actually care.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he lied. “I’ve just been busy.”

“With what?” I inquired. I looked up. Our eyes met, and I felt mental. Everything in me wanted to scream out to the sky and dance blindly around the garden.

He ran his fingers through his hair and fell back onto the ground. His chest rose and fell slowly. His breath made small clouds above him.

“What have you been busy with?” I repeated.

“Why does it matter to you?” he snapped. “
Nothing
I do should matter to you, Princess. Hell, I’m trying to fight a war, and I didn’t even get to lead my soldiers into battle because…”

He growled in frustration and focused his attention on the stars. I bit down on my bottom lip and considered what he’d said. He was right. It shouldn’t matter to me what he did. But it did matter. It mattered a lot.

I fell back beside him. The air didn’t feel as cold anymore.

“Bretildon would be right above your castle,” he said with a laugh.

“What’s Bretildon?”

He finally looked over at me again. His eyebrows drew together, and I watched his tongue run across his lips. My face reddened as I audibly swallowed.

“Constellation,” he replied. “Bretildon is said to be the god of war, hate, and lust.” He pointed to the sky. “That’s him.”

Bretildon was right to stand over my castle. There was plenty of war and hate here. But lust?

“Where?” I asked. I didn’t want to think about lust.

Tristan grabbed my wrist and lifted my arm up. The warmth of his skin was a nice contrast to the night, but it set my mind on overdrive. Tristan straightened my index finger and directed my hand to the war god. The constellation didn’t look like a god, though. Unless Bretildon was shaped like a seagull.

Tristan’s hand was still on mine.

“Aissur?”

His jaw tightened when I addressed him, but he made no action to respond.

“Tristan?”

He dropped my hand. It fell lifeless to my side.

“Are we on first name basis now?” He sounded nervous when he spoke.

I rolled over onto my side and stared at him. He was acting odd. He turned his head the other way.

“Not avoiding
me, huh?” I said. “You won’t even look at me.”

He pushed himself up and stood, but he didn’t go anywhere. He looked around the garden like it
would miraculously tell him what to say to me. The garden wouldn’t speak, though. It never did when I asked for help.

“Tristan, look at me,” I said, standing.

He didn’t move. He kept his eyes on the rotten pears that hung from the nearest tree.

“Dammit, Tristan! Look at me!”

When he faced me, the anger on his face was evident. He opened his mouth, to yell back at me more than likely, but I didn’t give him the chance.

I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into me. His lips were warm against mine. I half expected him to pull away; instead, he wound his fingers through my hair and pulled me closer until our bodies pressed roughly against one another. I wished nothing more than to stay like that forever.

It ended too soon, much too soon. Tristan pulled away and stared at me like I was death itself coming to take him prisoner.

“What the hell are you thinking?” he said. His voice hoarse. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to himself. “This can’t be happening.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t know what he would say, but I didn’t expect that.

“I have to go,” he said.

He moved away from me quickly. He stopped at the edge of the shadows, but he didn’t turn to face me. He looked up at Bretildon shining brightly above and disappeared into the darkness.

My heartbeat echoed in my ears. I knew I should go back to my room. Fall asleep. And pretend that this had never happened. But there was no hope for me to fall asleep again. I had just kissed my father’s main soldier. Tristan. Ruthless killer Tristan.

And he kissed me back.

CHAPTER 9

Knock, knock, knock.

The person on the other side of my bedroom door didn’t wait for a response before she walked in. It was one of my father’s servants. Sarah, I believe her name was. She curtsied before speaking.

“M’lady, King Thanos has requested that you have lunch with him. He wishes you to be there when he speaks with the leader of the soldiers,” Sarah said.

My heart stopped.

I had not spoken to Tristan since our kiss two nights before. If he’d been avoiding me before, then he was trying to fully rid me from his life now. I hadn’t seen him at all. But I hadn’t tried too hard to see him either. I didn’t know what to say to him, and now I was going to be forced to sit near him and pretend it had not happened. Forced to pretend I had not felt anything for him at that moment. And forced to hide it all from my father.             

“Thank you, Sarah. Would you mind fetching me the auburn and gold dress from the wardrobe?” I asked.

Auburn and gold. Lunch with my father meant I had to dress like the princess of Rattonim. I had to wear our colors.

Sarah laid the dress on my bed and left. Bleeding gold spread across my covers and flowed onto the floor. The dress belonged to my mother before she died. She had looked flawless in it. A flawless I could never be.

I ran my finger across one of the long sleeves before I slid into it. It was time to face the two men I feared most. My father’s hatred and my feelings for Tristan. I did not know which was more dangerous.

A single guard stood outside the large opening that led to the dining hall where my father and Tristan were. Tristan’s deep voice floated through the air and seemed to linger in my ears.

“How long have they been in there?” I asked the armed guard.

“Not too long,” he replied.

I inhaled deeply and forced my feet forward. My father turned to face me. His arms were crossed, and his eyes narrowed until they were slits.

“You’re late,” he said icily.

“My apologies, Father,” I replied.

My father sat at the end of the large table with Tristan to his right. Tall red candles were the only source of lighting in the room. The wax dripped onto the floor like red raindrops. On the table sat the carcass of a large boar, today’s lunch.

I took my place at my father’s left and hoped he could not hear the loud thumping of my heart. I was certain that if they looked closely, they could see how fast my blood coursed through my veins.

A loud crack filled the room as my father ripped a leg from the dead boar. He tore the skin off the meat with his teeth like it was the first meal he’d had in weeks.

“Aissur, how are Artair’s numbers?” my father asked.

Tristan looked up from his plate for the first time since I had entered the room. He audibly gulped before answering.

“They had quite a few casualties, sire.”

My father nodded. “And our numbers?”

I do not know why my father would have asked that. He was at the camp. He saw all of the injured and dead men. We may have won the battle, but it had come at a dreadful price.

Tristan hesitated. “We have been…weakened.”

I could see the gears in my father’s head turning, and by the look on Tristan’s face, he could too. If my father thought Artair’s men were even the slightest bit more vulnerable than we were, he would order and attack. Tristan’s men were weak. Fatal or not, their injuries were not small.

My father caught my stare and looked down at my untouched plate.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked.

I smiled. “I suppose I was too intrigued in the conversation.”

I cleared my throat and looked over at Tristan.

“Tell me...Tristan, is it?” I asked. His green eyes turned cold as he stared at me.

My face reddened from the intensity of his stare.             

“Yes.”

Anger had deepened his voice.

“When you say ‘weakened,’ what exactly do you mean by that?” I questioned.

My father turned to face him as well.

“Artair’s army lost a lot of men. The soldiers I fight with, they aim to kill, not injure. Artair’s men, on the other hand, did not do the same. We have more men than he does, but we’ve been injured worse,” he replied, his eyes never leaving mine.

My father had stopped listening when Tristan said we had more men than Artair. The gears in his mind turned faster than before. A crazed look was on his face.

“You are certain we have more men?” my father asked. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on either side of his now empty plate.

Tristan once again hesitated. “Yes, sire, but I fear they are stronger than we are at the moment. Our men are very weak.”

“How can they be stronger if we have more men?” my father said more to himself than Tristan. My father shook his head and stood up. “You will attack Artair’s kingdom at daybreak.”

“Sire, that is not a good idea. As I said before the men are weak. They are not ready for a battle so soon,” Tristan said.

“Aissur, I’m paying you all to fight a war not sit around and expect special treatment when you receive a small cut. You will attack at daybreak, and you will win this battle the same way you did last time,” my father said.

His heavy steps echoed throughout the quiet room as he left.

Tristan was breathing heavy and his left hand shook as he raised a knife above his head. He slammed the blade into the table so hard that the only thing left to be seen was the hilt. His chair fell and slammed onto the floor when he stood. He looked at me and opened his mouth as if to say something but changed his mind and stormed out of the room.