Confide

Warm candlelight dances across prismatic crystal glasses. It cascades over porcelain dinnerware as the gentle buzz of conversation fills my ears. An array of elegant nobles sits around the expansive dining table, feeding their insatiable gluttony and primal lust for gossip and intrigue. The royal banquet welcoming Liira and Tristan is no different than all the others.

And I hate it.

“Oh yes, the food in Elrus is simply divine. You will have to visit and try it for yourself!” Liira’s singsong voice prattles away for the millionth time.

“Of course.” I manage to force out a reply. Feigning interest is becoming exponentially more difficult with each passing second. She is certainly kind and well-meaning, but painfully boring and not very bright.

Normally, I would have no problem faking a conversation, but what makes this night truly torturous is the scene playing out directly ahead of me. Seated across the table is Tristan, flanked by two young Balthian noblewomen who seem physically unable to resist fawning over him. The way they giggle at everything he says, the way they gently touch his arm as they speak, the way he indulges them…it all makes my blood boil. Why is it that in this world, they are free to lavish him with lascivious praise, while I must feel shy about even being caught glancing at him? A person like Tristan deserves more than common praise and flattery…he deserves someone who can truly appreciate how special he is…he deserves someone like—

“Tristan, I trust the accommodations are to your liking?” My father’s voice booms from his place at the head of the table, drowning out all other conversation as the room falls silent.

“Oh yes, Your Highness. This palace is incredible. I may need to permanently relocate here!” His cheerful smile bursts with boyish earnestness as he speaks to my father without reservation.

“That is great to hear, my boy. But you haven’t even seen the best part. Cecil—be a good host and take Tristan to the rooftop garden after dinner, won’t you?”

“Shall we go now, Cecil?” Tristan turns to look at me, his intense honey-colored eyes meeting my own for the first time since my embarrassing episode in his bedroom this afternoon.

I feel a slight flutter in my stomach.

“Don’t you want to wait for dessert?” I shakily reply. Being alone with him again feels like both a blessing and a curse.

“I’m stuffed. Balthian cuisine definitely deserves its reputation!” Tristan stands and turns to my father. “With your permission, Your Highness.”

“Of course, please enjoy yourselves.”