14
Yseult
Tristan offered his arm and I took it, grateful for a strong arm to cling to. He led me from the dungeon, through the cavernous halls, under stone archways guarded by great warriors. Though they saluted Tristan, I felt their eyes follow me, especially when our route took us down a covered walkway overlooking an atrium. Clusters of soldiers below turned as one, fists finding their breasts as they acknowledged their commander. Defenseless, still shaky from my encounter with the cursed warrior, I shrank under their stares. Tristan moved his hand to my back, at once steadying and guiding me with firm pressure until we were past.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “They won’t hurt you.”
I willed myself not to sound shaky as I asked, “How is it they turn to greet us even when we make n
