35 | ACT II, SCENE VII

P R E V I O U S L Y

"What?" I gasped, "you'll teach me?"

"Get your ass off this bed. I'll leave if you take more than five minutes to get ready," Tristan smirked evocatively.

HARTINGTON CASTLE, ALNWICK, STORMHOLT.

TRISTAN

I SPENT A TERRIBLE TEN minutes pining for her to get ready and come out. Every two minutes, I kept on knocking at the door and pretending to leave. She'd poke through the door, shout her head off and slam it back shut, leaving me grinning. The day after I'd lifted her and tucked her in the bed, I told her I'd sleep in another room.

That was how we spent our nights. She believed I slept in another room, but the truth was I hardly slept.

Not after Elodie died. Because the nightmares never stopped. I winced, closing my eyes at the memories, when the door opened.

Wasn't she a vision.

Edwina had dressed herself in a loose back shirt and pants, just like me. Her hair was piled atop her forehead in a mess of a bun, somehow making her look endearingly sweet. I wanted to pull it free and run my hands through her hair. Even the loose cotton could not hide her perfect curves, which were tucked into her lovely waist.

She looked fucking fantastic.

But then, she could have even carried a potato sack with elegance.

"Come on, Valmont!" she grumbled, flinging something at my head before making her way up the stairs.

"What was that for?!" I complained, ducking and catching it.

It was my blue cloak, the one which I'd asked her for the other day.

"Look," she explained over her shoulder, "the only reason I'm giving this back to you is because it has lost your scent. I expect it back once you've kept it for enough time to make it smell like you."

I chortled out loud, clutching the cloak to my chest. Her fragrance of rose and blueberries clung to it like a signature, irresistibly delectable.

That's fine, I almost said out aloud. Because now that it has come back, it smells like you.

"Come on then, woman," I muttered, waving her over as I climbed the steps to the training room. She hurriedly rushed after me, trying very hard not to look too excited. We needed to get started before dawn cracked into the sky.

She pattered after me, having no idea what was so special about the training room of Stormholt. I wordlessly climbed three flights of stairs and turned left twice at a corridor, without turning to see if she was there or not.

Finally we reached the door and I took the master key out of my pocket, sliding it into the keyhole. I purposely took longer than usual, pretending to fumble and letting her stew for a bit.

I could almost hear Edwina rolling her eyes.

"Do move at a glacial pace, Valmont. You know how it thrills me," she grumbled, echoing my words back at me. Her voice held held a sort of nervous tremor to it, she sounded like a young, excited filly about to go on her first ride, scared but exhilarated.

I smiled to myself unlocked the door with an click. She snapped her fingers and the flames in the brackets sprung to life as we both entered.

She took a step and I paused to watch her reaction. Her jaw dropped.

• • • • •

EDWINA

Goddamn.

It was. Intimate.

So bloody intimate.

"Welcome," Tristan smirked, bolting the door shut behind him, "to the training room of Stormholt."

The walls were brushed leather, soft and pure. Hung with every manner of swords, daggers, spikes, pikes, maces, bayonets, bows and arrows. Another corner was decorated with whips and chains, manacles of every size, even Ekrite. The whole place smelled of leather, a soft, intoxicating smell. The floor was hardwood and the room was bathed in a soft, golden glow.

My heart began to pound loudly in my ears.

"Getting cold feet?" his voice broke into my reverie, yet I could sense he was just as excited yet nervous about it as I was.

Because if we stayed together in a closed room like this... well, putting it lightly - I wouldn't be able to control myself.

"No," I shot back. "You might be a lion, Valmont, but if you try to eat me, I swear I'll set you on fire."

Tristan laughed softly, and then his expression turned serious. I was still fascinated, observing the walls. I loved swords, and seeing so many in one place was like me being a child in a candy shop.

"Are you right handed?" I asked, running a finger down the spine of a sharply crafted bow and arrow, admiring the flexibility. "It's hard to make out... seeing that you fight with both hands."

"No," he answered, sharpening the tip of a stray dagger. "I was left handed by birth. My... father tried to change it to right handedness."

"Oh," I answered quietly, putting down the bow. No wonder. Apollo was such a selfish, self concerned brat, obviously he'd try to change his son to suit his own interests.

"How did you learn to fight, then?"

"I taught myself how to fight with my left."

"And the right hand?" I asked curiously.

"I learned it from Helios."

"But how did he teach you? Weren't you already accustomed to using your left hand by then?"

He lightly brushed a blade, his fingers lingering on the metal.

"He tied my other hand behind me so that I couldn't use it," Tristan said quietly.

"I see..." I observed. Clever. I touched one magnificent sword with a triangular hilt, watching the platinum prettily glow.

"You won't be needing that," he said, loosening my fingers from the hilt of my ruby studded sword, Seraphine. I let out a word of protest as he held it to the light, examining the balance. He raised his eyebrows appreciatively, but put it down in a corner, handing me an old practice sword.

"Blunted edges? I haven't used a blunt sword since three centuries!" I gasped, turning it over.

My father had taught me how to fight with these, in the days when I was just a little girl of five with freckles and blue eyes that had no tinge of green. Over the years my eyes had colored to sea green, and my sword's edge to the red blood of their opponent.

"Take it or leave it, woman. Or leave the room," Tristan growled, pointing to the door.

I sullenly scowled at him and took the blunt edged sword. He picked a similar one, the hilt worn with years of practice.

"What about the rope?" I asked excitedly.

"What rope?" he muttered.

"Look, Valmont," I glared at him. "I am doing this the right way. The way you did it-"

"Just because I did it that way doesn't mean-"

"-oh yes, it does!" I hissed murderously.

"No," he said, fierce.

"Yes," I glared back at him. "Don't be a bitch."

His eyes darkened considerably, as a frown settled itself on his white brow.

"You called me a bitch, woman?"

"Yes," I breathed. "An arrogant and very stubborn one."

"Why don't you leave then?"

"Sounds to me that someone is having cold feet now, Valmont!" I taunted merrily, biting out a laugh.

Our eyes locked in a furious game of stares, as he looked deep into me. By Uranus, the blue of his irises was so magnetizing. Would I ever get tired of looking at them? What was happening to me?

"Blackmailing woman," he said darkly.

"Stubborn git."

"Intolerable lunatic."

"Brain dead moron," I snapped with a roll of my eyes.

He put up his hands in defeat as I gave him a triumphant smile.

"You should introduce your lower lip to your upper lip sometime and shut up," Tristan said darkly to himself, pretending that I was invisible.

No, idiot. I want to introduce my upper and lower lip to yours!

He sighed, walking a few steps to the wall and picking up a coil of tightly rolled braided rope, and a knife from another corner. After getting them, he regarded me with an inquisitive look in his eyes. Always the gentleman.

I nodded.

Tristan took my right hand in his, as he began to uncoil the rope.

"What is this?" I heard him ask suddenly, and I looked down to see a small puncture near my veins. Very small, but the light had caught it, throwing it into relief.

Funny. I never remembered getting it.

Suddenly, my foot slipped as an image flashed through my head. A needle. A knife. Lots of voices screaming together. Moans of pain, intense blinding pain fizzing into my heart. I gasped as Tristan's hand steadied me before I hit the floor, about to black out.

"You... you look funny," he said muttered suspiciously. "We can do this some other day. I'm not going to be able to carry your fat heavy body if you faint on me."

"Oh, shut up," I replied, holding out my hand to him. Why did I feel so funny? I never remembered getting that strange mark on my wrist. "Just get on with it, Valmont."

He shrugged his shoulders, pulling my hand back to him and winding the rope around my wrist. I watched as he deftly tied a fisherman's knot with experienced hands. Heavy breathing did not help, I was still reeling from some sort of flashback and it was getting too difficult to ignore his delicious body right beside me. His scent was fogging my brain to the very point I felt that I would pass out.

"Turn around."

I was grinning from ear to ear as I shuffled my feet to turn around. He laid my tied hand on my back, palm up, as I felt him begin to wind another coil of rope through the loop in belt. His fingers lightly brushed my back, as my skin ignited with every touch. My breathing was extremely heavy, and I was sure my cheeks were red, thankful for the dim light.

No, I was not going to kiss him this time.

I could feel his breath tickling my neck as he worked, concentrated on his task, as I bit my lip to even my breathing. God, my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure he could hear it as well.

"There," Tristan muttered, as he secured another knot and stepped back. He leaned closer again, giving it two quick tugs to check that it was secure. "Can you move your hand?"

I tried. It didn't budge an inch. He had tied me too well. I shook my head, still too giddy with the intensity of the moment.

"Good," he muttered. Now he came forward to face me again and offered me the sword. I clumsily held it in my left, fumbling with the hilt, bringing back memories of when I'd first started to learn how to fight.

"Not like this," Tristan said, as he moved forward to correct my grip. His fingers quickly repositioned mine so that it exactly mirrored the way I held weapons in my right hand.

He was so observant!

"Now you already know the technique, you just need to get accustomed to it with your other hand," he told me, as he picked up his own sword. "We'll begin slow. Try to block me. And for heaven's sake, don't sprain your hand because I don't know how to fix the damn thing."

• • • • •

"Hmm... I'd like to see the library next," I commented.

"Of course, your Grace," Hugo said, smiling as his youthful face lit up in excitement, "this way."

A young butler named Hugo had set his mind on giving me a giving me a tour of the Castle. I didn't mind agreeing. It wasn't like the lord of castle cared enough to show it to me himself.

"These are the greenhouses," Hugo helpfully pointed out.

I  watched the huge, glass walled greenhouses lined with trees, their thickly leaved branches breathing out cool air. There were bushes hanging with glossy berries, red and purple and black, all a riot of color.

"Who is that?" I asked suddenly.

A young girl of around ten was sitting under a tree, cooing to a kitten who had curled up in her lap. She had hair like spun gold, and a delicate voice like that of a bird. Her purple eyes suddenly rose to meet mine and a nauseating wave of déjà vu hit me right in the gut.

Why did I feel that I had seen her before?

"She is called Miriel, your Grace," Hugo replied. "The King found her being beaten up a few days back."

"Beaten up by who?" I asked sharply.

"Er... lord Deimos."

In a second, it all connected.

I should have let him taste more of my whip, Deimos had said.

Had Tristan been hurt by him when trying to save the girl?

I watched Miriel from a distance. Clad in an airy gold chiton, she was innocently fondling the kitten. The animal contentedly purred and she pressed a kiss to its head.

"Is she a goddess?" I inquired.

"We don't think so, your Grace. The king has yet to question her about her parentage."

"A mortal, then?"

"Perhaps," Hugo answered. "She is a homeless child, your Grace. We could gather that she was abused by Lord Deimos, but she refuses to open up to us. Lady Celinette tried to make her speak but she hardly says a word."

"I will talk to her on the morrow, in her chambers. Where are her rooms?" I asked.

"I'm not sure, your Grace. If I had to guess, it would be somewhere in the east wing? Where the king goes every night, since the last two hundred years?"

"Since - since the last two hundred years?" I spluttered. I'd only assumed he'd been staying in some other room after our wedding. "Didn't the king spend the night in his own room when I wasn't married to him?" I gasped, surprised.

"Your Grace, King Tristan never sleeps at night. Not since his sister died. He just locks himself up in the second room at the end of the third corridor," Hugo said gravely, eyes on the floor.

My ears perked up. That was the room he'd forbidden me from entering the very first day I arrived at Stormholt!

"He doesn't sleep at all? Like, not ever?" I whispered. Had Elodie's death haunted her younger brother so much that he could not sleep at night?

"King Tristan has nightmares, your Grace," Hugo said gently, and his eyes sparkled with moisture. "I was just a young child when - when your father sent his men to kill her."

"Oh lord."

I had never known. I had never, ever known. The way he kept on speaking of her death, it all made sense now. I felt how hurt he was, how bruised and damaged. And I absolutely hated myself for all I had said to him, cringing to myself.

"The nightmares began right after his twin sister's death. Screaming, right in the middle of the night, sweat running down his brow. He would call out for his elder sister with tears in his eyes. After a while, he stopped sleeping, because he couldn't take it. Lady Celinette cried for years and years - help my son, she would cry. Help him. Someone help him."

The butler's voice was profound and broken, close to a sob. It told me that he must have seen the spectacle himself, else he would not have felt so strongly about it.

I could not begin to imagine it. A younger Tristan, crying in the halls, waking up in the middle of his sleep for the sister he had lost. I hated what my father had done, and in that very moment, I felt like curling into a ball and vanishing.

"What is in that room? Why does he go there every night?" I frantically asked Hugo, shaking him. He merely shook his head.

"I do not know, your Grace. He has cast some sort of spell on the door. It can be opened only be him. Some say the room is haunted," he shuddered, closing his eyes.

"Haunted?" I was taken aback.

"Hartington Castle houses a great number of terrible secrets, your Grace," his eyes went round as plates, voice monotonous. "Blood has been splattered in these walls. Death has been given. Life has been taken."

"Tell me! What kind of secrets?"

Hugo reluctantly looked at the windows stained with paint, eyes shooting from one to the other. I curled my hand around the butler's wrist, looking right into his eyes.

"I asked you something."

He suddenly shook his head, as if trying to get rid of a thought, nervously looking at me.

"Your Grace..."

"I won't tell anyone," I said truthfully.

"Well then," the man sighed, resigning himself. "It begins with your families. King Tristan and your parents are siblings, right?"

"Yes," I said impatiently. "My dead mother, Asteria Tremayne; my father, Lucius Tremayne; my murderer of an uncle, Apollo Valmont; and my aunt, Celinette Valmont - are brothers and sisters, children of our grandparents, Helios and Nyx."

"Ah... now, you see - among those days, gods married their siblings to keep their bloodlines pure, yes?" Hugo hesitantly went on.

"Yes."

"So you see... of course, Asteria and Celinette both had to marry one of their brothers? Either Lucius or Apollo?"

"Obviously," I commented. "Then?"

"So - er... Lady Celinette - your aunt - she used to be in love with your father, Lucius. She wanted to marry him, not Apollo. Even in those days, the sun god had a fearsome reputation, your Grace."

"I see. But my father loved only my mother, Asteria. And he married her," I continued tentatively.

"Leaving Lady Celinette with only one prospective husband," Hugo explained animatedly. "Apollo. The very man she despised to the core."

"She refused?"

"Yes, your Grace. She refused to marry him. She hated him. He, however, was hell bent on claiming her for himself."

"What happened then?" I wondered, my voice dropped by several octaves.

"Apollo tricked Celinette. He knew that his sister loved birds. One day, he took on the form of an injured cuckoo. Celinette, feeling sorry for the bird, held it to her breast to keep it warm-"

"-fuck, no," I cursed, as my thoughts began to shape themselves into an inkling of what happened next.

"Apollo then resumed his normal form. Taking advantage of his sister's surprise, he raped her," Hugo finished with a shudder, and a tear fell down his cheek.

I was horrified.

I was beyond horrified.

"Lady Celinette had to marry lord Apollo to cover her shame, for he took her virtue. There is no love lost between him and King Tristan, your Grace. What Apollo did is disgust in his son's eyes. He hates him as much as he hates Deimos, if not more."

I closed my eyes, clutching the pillar to feel it under my palms. My mind swirled with sheer horror. I could not string together any form of words to express how disgusted, how repulsed I felt by calling Apollo Valmont my uncle. By knowing that I was related to him by blood. By knowing that he was the father of the man I had married at the altar.

"You should thank your stars it wasn't your mother Lord Apollo went after instead, your Grace," the butler finished to ringing silence.

• • • • •

Yes. He's that disgusting, that Apollo :( he's just... he's a beast.

Also, let's come to Tredwina!! You know you're really attracted to someone when even the scent of their cloak excites you xD they just make me squeal ❤ also, Tristan's trait of left handedness comes from me :D do we have any lefties here?