Tristan
The morning after the kiss felt like walking through a dream where the floor was made of glass. Every step I took through the manor was calculated to hide the fact that I was shattering from the inside out.
I was standing in the high courtyard, ostensibly watching the elite guard spar, but my mind was trapped in that tiny, candle-lit room. I could still feel the phantom pressure of Rena’s lips against mine. I could still hear the way she had whispered my name—not as a title, but as a man.
"Tristan, your stance is wide. You're distracted."
I blinked, coming back to the present. My father was standing beside me, his eyes like flint. He hadn't mentioned the incident with Nora in the Great Hall this morning, which was far more terrifying than if he had roared at me. Silence from Al
