Happy Endings and All Part 2
Happy Endings and All
Word Count: 8159
Summary: Tristan's life has always been about pleasing his mother and brother. He is alright with that, but things change when a fairy makes it so that every time he speaks fine gems and flowers come out of his mouth.
It was dark outside when Tristan woke up. The room was bathed in calm candle light, and he was warm and cozy, which wasn’t normal. His little bed in the attic was the last thing from cozy, and the little room always had an unpleasant dampness to it, even in summer. Something wasn’t normal. Tristan pulled the covers that weren’t his away from him and glanced around the room. That’s when he remembered lying in the attractive man’s bed. The lit candle suggested that someone had been there because when he’d fallen asleep, it was still day time.
What time was it, and more importantly, who lit the candle?
He was still alive, so it couldn’t have been Thierry or his mother. He thanked the fairies for the small miracles as he attentively stepped out of the bed. It was so warm in the main rooms; it was a shame he was no longer allowed to sleep in his old room.
By the desk Tristan could make out a figure slumped over. It was Marcel. For where he was standing, he could see, from the light of a flickering candle, that Marcel was sound asleep. The man was slumped uncomfortably over a large pile of open books and crumpled up papers. Tristan slowly eased towards the door hoping that the creaking floorboards wouldn’t wake Marcel. The door must have been only a few feet away, but those few feet felt like the farthest he’d ever walked. Once standing in front of the door, he stopped to calm his breathing. With his heartbeat only slightly slower, Tristan reached over to open the door. But finding it locked only helped the panic spread through him.
Why did the man want to keep him locked in? He tried the door again out of naïve optimism, but only to end up with the same results. He didn’t much mind being stuck in the same room with the handsome Lord, but he certainly minded the results of what staying would mean. If his mother were to find out what he did she would make sure that he would never be able to lie down again.
He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. There was no way he could just wait for the man to wake up and open the door for him. He had to find the key himself. But where could it be? When Tristan had opened the door, he’d left the key in the lock so that the guest could find it easily, but clearly Marcel must have moved it. He also probably had it somewhere near him.
Holding his breath in hopes of eliminating some of the noise, Tristan tiptoed closer to the desk. Though the squeaking floorboards overshadowed any other noise he could have been making. He kept a firm eye on Marcel as he got closer. Marcel didn’t look as though he would be waking up any time soon. Though he didn’t look comfortable, he was fast asleep.
Marcel shifted in his seat causing some of the books near him to fall to the floor with a booming sound that sounded even louder in the frighteningly silent dark room.
Tristan jumped back and froze. With his eyes wide and his breath held he appraised Marcel. Marcel was still breathing deeply and his eyes were closed. Tristan took that as a sign to mean the man slept like the dead, and once again began inching closer to the desk where the keys should be. The desk was an absolute mess, books and papers and envelopes were scattered all over the surface. But other than the ink for the quill pen and ink, there was nothing but paper.
He knew it wasn’t the time and that he certainly should be looking for the key and not enjoying how the candle light made his skin shine or how his blue eyes looked half lidded with sleep. Sleep? How was he able to…?
“Hello,” Marcel greeted his voice soft and a lazy smile playing at his lips. He ran his fingers through his curly hair to give them the appearance of being tamer.
Tristan’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline in surprise. He shifted his gaze from the lord and cupped a hand across his mouth as he spoke. “I… I’m. Hello.” He didn’t care that his words came out mumbled as long as the man didn’t see the emerald and the delicate purple iris that fell from his mouth. “My lord,” he added as an after thought.
Marcel yawned, throwing his arms above his head to stretch. “I honestly need to stop falling asleep at my desk before they take to the bell tower to ring the bells.” He bared white teeth in a charming grin. “It’s nice to wake up to you.”
All the sudden the room got a bit too hot, and Tristan felt like his heart was in throat. He took a few steps until he felt at a safe distance from Marcel. “My lord, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I just…” There was another flood of gems and flowers that he was barely able to catch in time. He slipped them into the pocket of his trousers.
“I didn’t mind.” Marcel, still smiling, stood up and copied the steps that Tristan had taken so that he was standing right in front of him. He rested his hand on Tristan’s shoulder and turned him around. “Why won’t you look at me?”
With Marcel so close to him, Tristan knew better than to try speaking, so he just shrugged his shoulders. He hoped that Marcel wouldn’t think he was being disrespectful. Then again he was already going to be dead once his mother found out he had fallen asleep in the man’s bed; in comparison, shrugging his shoulders instead of replying was nothing to fret about.
He looked up his dark eyes meeting stunning bright blue ones. He gulped back the anticipation and slight traces of arousal he felt. It really wasn’t a good time for that. Tristan was surrounded by that smell that had been on the bed along with a hint of tea and honey. The man was going to drive him craze and the hand on his shoulder so warm and strong wasn’t helping matters.
Reaching out with both hands Marcel grabbed a hold of Tristan’s face in his hands. “You look flushed. Are you alright?”
Alright? Not really, he felt as though he was going to pass out from the lack of oxygen and blood going to his head. Despite being almost a whole head taller, Tristan felt extremely small and vulnerable next to Marcel. The man wasn’t only stronger than him, but stood in a way that demanded obedience and attention. All that Tristan could do to keep from running away was to bow his head and break eye contact.
Marcel stepped even closer to Tristan. They were forehead to forehead, their noses almost touching. “I might do something stupid right now.”
When Marcel brushed his lips softly against his, Tristan really know what to do other than just tense up. His hands were sitting rigidly at his side, his eyes wide open staring at Marcel’s out of focus face. It wasn’t until the initial shock of what was happening grew fainter that he closed his eyes and started paying attention to what Marcel was doing with his lips.
The kiss was soft and not so surprisingly pleasant. Tristan had certainly never been kissed like that before. Then again, kisses were rarely part of the salacious rendezvous he had when ever extra time in town permitted. Tristan was awkward and clumsy, but he quickly found that he was too eager to join in. He carefully placed his hands on Marcel’s chest and enjoyed the kiss, until the need for air persisted.
Marcel took a few steps away from Tristan. He stood scratching the back of his head and smiling sheepishly. “I really shouldn’t have done that.” He ran the knuckle of his left hand down Tristan’s face; then he hastily pulled away. “I think I will go to the library now. I do have a bit of work to do.”
---
Well, before that morning Tristan was able to say that he’d never been woken up with a bucket of cold water thrown at him-well never before had they thrown the actual bucket. His head throbbing from the impact of the object connecting with his head, he sat up in bed. His room was still dark which meant he hadn’t overslept. The only source of light was from the candles his mother and Thierry held.
“How could you?” His mother shouted ripping his blanket off the bed.
Thierry grabbed a hold of his hair, and pulled him into standing. Once Tristan was standing Thierry pulled him close by the grip he had on his hair so that they were nose to nose. “You have really done it this time, you dirty little bastard.”
So that was it. Marcel had told them what had happened when they were gone. He was really done now and he didn’t even get a chance to enjoy memories of the kiss from the night before. His stomach twisted and tightened at his misfortune. It would just figure that just when his luck was turning around-with the fairy’s wish and the way Marcel had behaved the night before-that he would be dead.
“Where did you get them?” His brother’s grip on his hair tightened.
“Who did you steal them from?”
His eyes widened in understanding. Marcel hadn’t told them, and for a second Tristan almost let himself breathe out a sigh of relief. But the truth remained that he was lying on a fortune with no way of explaining how he got it. He could just tell them the truth. The act of talking alone would prove he wasn’t lying.
“They are rather beautiful,” Thierry said gathering a few of the gems Tristan had lost while he was asleep. “Maybe Tristan has been selling himself, Mother.”
From the dim candle light Tristan could see his mother’s monster grimace.
“This is no time for mockery and jokes, dear.” She sat down delicately on the unmade bed. “After all, who would be so desperate?”
Thierry threw his head back and laughed a blaring and cruel laughter. “True, true but who is rich enough in this god forsaken town to be carrying such fine rocks that would let Tristan get close enough to steal from them.” He let go of his hold on Tristan’s hair and pushed him to the ground. “Tell me brother,” Thierry spat the word out like it was poisonous, he emphasized his repugnance by the kick he landed on Tristan’s side. “Who did you steal these from?”
Tristan grabbed his side gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him. “I did not steal anything.” He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the world to erupt. He felt his stomach turn as though he was going to empty all he had eaten the day before onto the floor. The sound of the jewels hitting the floor was almost deafening in the now quiet room. He stared hard at the pieces of shiny wealth on the floor, begging himself not to start crying.
The Madame of the house stood up from her chair sufficiently intrigued. She placed a hand on Thierry’s shoulder bidding him to take a step back. She crouched down so that she was at level with Tristan. “Now, my dear son.” She’d never called him her son before. “I suppose you have an interesting confession to make.”
He glanced up at her surprised. He bid himself not be hopeful for the small acknowledgement from her. She was never going to think of him as her son; after all he looked too much like the man that had once broken her heart.
“Thierry, help your brother sit up and bring him something to drink.”
“But, Mother,” Thierry began to argue. “Oh… Alright, I won’t be long.” It seemed that his mother’s intentions finally dawned on him, and without delay he went on his way.
Que vois-je là! dit sa mère tout étonnée; je crois qu’il lui sort de la bouche des perles et des diamants. D’où vient cela, mon fils?
While Thierry was gone, Tristan’s mother coaxed out of him the story of the old lady and the fairy gift she had bestowed upon him. He told her that he had been at the river by the well getting water because he knew better than to give away that he was taking the time to shower. He would certainly be punished if she knew he had been wasting time instead of working.
As he spoke, the Madame of the house collected all the jewels that fell from Tristan’s mouth leaving behind the flowers.
“Thierry dear, you’ll be the one responsible for the water this week.”
“But mother, it will take ages just to walk there. I do have important meetings to attend to. Lord Hansel invited me and Lord Marcel to the club tomorrow.” He sat down a glass of brandy for both Tristan and his mother. The other he kept in his hand sipping at it occasionally.
“Tristan was telling me about how he met a fairy by the well and she granted him the ability to create such beautiful things when he speaks.”
Thierry grimaced at the idea that he would have to walk all the way to the well; even the prospect of wealth wasn’t enough to distract him from that. “One of us is enough, Mother.”
“If you are so lazy, then just ask Edmund to drive you there.” She waved a dismissing hand at her eldest son. “As for going to the club, I’m sure Tristan would like a chance to see what he’s missing.”
Tristan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why was she being so nice all of a sudden? He knew his mother and brother were very greedy, yet he never knew to what extent. But going the club with Marcel would certainly be a pleasant experience. Maybe there would be more kisses like the one before. Even if there weren’t, he’d be just happy if the man spoke to him again.
Thierry scoffed. “Mother, you could not possibly be suggesting that Tristan should go to a club. Our family will become a laughing stock. We can’t send him to meet with proper people dressed as he is.”
Thierry was right; Tristan didn’t even own a formal jacket or a cravat, let alone ones that would be appropriate for the club. At least his brother didn’t let him build up too much hope. Thierry was always very good at that. After all, how absolutely incongruous he would look there amongst all the Lords and Marquises. No, the clubs were no place for him.
“It’s just drinks and card; I’m sure you have something old that might fit him.”
Tristan sat quietly barely listening as his mother argued back and forth about what was going to happen. In the end, his mother decided that he would be asking Lord Hansel, as prettily as he could, whether he may join them at the clubs in place of his brother. Tristan didn’t think that it would be very wise for him to be speaking in front of anyone.
---
Thierry, unhappily, lead his brother to his room so that he could pick something for him to wear. “Do not think that just because the fairy blessed you that you’re going to be replacing me. The fact that you speak diamonds does not change the fact that you have no place in our society,” Thierry said once they were alone in his room. “In fact, once I also become blessed you will return to being nothing to mother. She doesn’t love you. I don’t love you. It’s just that your mouth is very pretty.”
Tristan stood quietly listening to what was being said. He wasn’t going to argue; he was a realistic man.
“Especially when it’s making me rich.” He patted Tristan mockingly on the cheek. “Now why don’t we find something that will make even you look presentable.”
Thierry rummaged through his closet pulling out pits and pieces of clothing. So that’s how he managed to get the room to look so chaotic. Tristan scowled at some of the things Thierry was choosing. He couldn’t possibly be expected to wear that. All those bright colors and the breeches looked so small, nothing like his relaxed trousers.
“No need to make faces,” Thierry said shoving an ensemble at him. “Your face is contorted enough as is. Now get dressed while I see if I can find anything to take care of that mop on your head.”
Tristan’s hand unconsciously went to his hair; it wasn’t that bad maybe unfashionably long, but it was clean and it felt soft. When Thierry left the room, Tristan began struggling to dress himself. Once the breeches were up he felt like he couldn’t move they were so tight. The shirt and the jacket were alright, but he was ashamed to admit that he didn’t even know how to put on the cravat.
“Why am I not surprised that you cannot even dress yourself?” Thierry came back into the room; he frowned at Tristan and batted his hands away. “I honestly do not know what Mother is thinking. Just the idea is laughable.” He fiddled with Tristan’s neck piece, making faces at it when it refused to cooperate. “I can put you in my finest clothes, but you’d still be you. And that is the problem.” He stepped back taking in his work. “It will have to do. Now about that hair, please tell me it’s clean.”
“It’s clean,” Tristan said dryly.
A smirk found its way to Thierry’s face as two pearls tumbled out of his brother’s mouth. “Hmm, maybe all this is worth it after all.” He pocketed the gems. “These will look most dashing on my new cravat pin.”
Tristan shrugged. He had no idea what his brother was going on about. He didn’t care what Thierry did with the pearls; he didn’t much care for the gems. He found the flowers to be much more entertaining.
“Sit there and keep your hands away from your hair. You are not to touch it until after the club.” He pulled and tugged at Tristan’s hair all the while humming unhappily to himself. “I don’t know why it’s so uncooperative. You’d think we didn’t have the same parents or something.” He pulled the comb through Tristan’s hair without any semblance of gentleness.
Tristan looked at the mirror. His hair was pulled into a small tale at the base of his neck. He knew his hair would feel stiff without touching it. What had Thierry put on it?
“Put these on.” Thierry threw a pair of black boots at Tristan. “Lord Hansel will be here soon. Make sure you do just as Mother asked. Don’t foul up our social standing too much if you can help it.”
“He’s going to see this,” Tristan said gesturing to the gems that fell from his mouth.
Thierry scratched his stubble covered chin thoughtfully.”I suppose we just have to share. You can tell him that a fairy blessed our family when you were a child or something similar nonsense.” An almost evil grin dominated his feature. “Anyhow, if Lord Hansel had it his way, your mouth will be otherwise occupied today. You won’t even have a chance to speak between pleasuring him.”
Tristan shuddered, his stomach twisting and turning; he was going to be sick. “Surely he does not expect…”
Thierry watched with allure as a few flowers and two opals fells out of his brother’s mouth. He ignored the flowers and cheerfully picked up the gems. “You cannot afford to be so picky, especially with how you are. You are fortunate someone of Lord Hansel’s grandeur has even noticed the simplicity that is you. He could easily be the only person who’d ever want to be intimate with you.”
A knowing smile found it’s self onto Tristan’s face, but he quickly pushed it away. Thierry had no need to know about what Tristan and the baker’s son did last month or what he and the black smith had been up to the month prior to that. Tristan may have been a stranger to True Love, but he knew intimacies very well. He wasn’t going to bring that up though, or they would find a way to keep him from going to town. After all he was a boy and like all boys he couldn’t just rely on his hand.
“I suppose you also need to ask Lord Marcel if you may join them,” Thierry said. “He does not seem too repulsed by you so I suppose he will not mind.”
He was going to have to talk to Marcel? He couldn’t even be in the same room as the man without his legs turning to custard, let alone talk to him. And, after the events of the night before, it would be a miracle if he was able to not faint from lack of blood to anywhere other than his face.
“Why is your face red like that?” Thierry regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “It wouldn’t happen that you are smitten by our guest would it?”
Tristan pressed his lips together into a tight pale line. He wasn’t going to answer that.
“Oh you poor pathetic little thing, you are, aren’t you?” Thierry’s insufferable laugh filled the room; he was clutching his stomach with one hand and holding onto his bed post with the other to keep from falling. “I do believe that might have been the most amusing thing I’ve heard all day.”
Tristan failed to see what was so droll about his unspoken confession. It wasn’t as though he was in love-well even if he were Thierry didn’t know that-he just found the man to be appealing.
“I was hoping I would not need to tell you this, but I suppose you’ve just proved me wrong. Lord Marcel, or should I say Prince Marcel, the third son of King Gregory the Second, is slightly out of reach for you.”
It would have to be that way wouldn’t it? Tristan couldn’t have been interested in the seventh son of some unimportant lord. No, it had to be the Prince. But that’s how all the stories went. The Prince always fell in love with some lowly maiden who ended up was at some point a Princess, like with Blanche or Cindy. He wasn’t going to let himself get his hopes up any more than they had been. He should know better than to expect a “happily ever after” because where he lived “happily ever after” was saved for beautiful women with evil stepmothers.
“I’m not smitten.” He was finally able to mumble. He hoped Thierry would just drop the subject.
Thierry was still laughing. “You must admit though, the idea of you love-struck for a Prince is absolutely the funniest thing since what happened to wolf friend of yours.”
Tristan really would rather never mention what Red did to the wolf again. It wasn’t like he was going to eat her or her Grandmother; he just wanted what was in the basket.
“Go down stairs and get breakfast ready, we’ll be eating in the dayroom. Do not get the clothes dirty.”
---
Things hadn’t changed. Tristan was just wearing nicer clothes. He wasn’t allowed to eat his breakfast with the rest of the family. He was to serve it before they came to the table and be gone before someone saw him. Things were actually worse if Tristan took the time to consider it because washing dishes in a coat and cravat was torture.
Tristan smiled weakly as he walked into the bright dayroom where lord Hansel was waiting for him. Seeing the man stuff one pastry after the other into his mouth with disregard to proper eating manners was enough to make his stomach turn. He held back any disgusted sounds he suddenly had the urge to make. “Good Morning, My Lord.” He quickly snatched up the rubies that tumbled out of his mouth.
Lord Hansel was just short of growling at who ever distracted him from his food. Noticing Tristan he immediately smiled. “Why are you dressed up?” He didn’t bother with swallowing before speak.
His upper lip curled up and he took a step back. If the way Lord Hansel ate didn’t make him want to loose his breakfast, the way the man was looking at him certainly would.
Lord Hansel was sizing Tristan up like he was a prized cow or something similar. The lucid leer on his face speaks volumes of what he’s thinking. “Not that I’m not enjoying it mind you.” He snorted to himself at his attempt of flirting.
The smile Tristan gave him was more of a frown than anything. “I was wondering if you’d allow me the privilege of accompanying you to the club instead of my brother. For you see, he is ill.”
Lord Hansel’s usually beady eyes got big, almost too big for his plump red face. He’d noticed the gems. His eyebrows rose up, and his mouth hung agape. “Did…”
“Yes sir,” he said slightly amused by the speechless man. “They are yours, if you’d like.”
“Hm. I suppose it is the least you can do since I’m letting you join us.” He collected the stones and put them away so that no one can separate him from them.
Content with the small fortune he’d just acquired Lord Hansel sat back on the chaise, ready to once again return to devouring the pastries.
As for Tristan, he felt awkward and out of place. What was he supposed to say? Nobles often conversed about things he knew nothing about. Every time he’d overheard some form of conversation between Thierry and a friend it had been about food and girls and clothes and dueling. Tristan had never even held a dueling pistol and he indeed had no interest in any girls.
An attention demanding cough sounded behind him. He twirled around only to come face to face with Prince Marcel. He gulped uncomfortably and quickly bowed. “Your Highness,” he spoke into his hands, catching what ever fell out.
Marcel grinned, big and goofy, as he stared at Tristan. “Hello, Tristan.”
Tristan straightened up and returned the smile equally as bright.
Tristan’s face began heating up as he shamelessly admired the Prince’s appearance. When he’d seen him before Marcel was either wearing a hood or it was dark, which completely distracted from how absolutely good looking the man was. He was tall and broad just slightly shorted than Tristan’s awkward height. He was fit, oh yes, extremely fit; his clothes clung to him in the most breathtaking way. If his face hadn’t been red enough, he was afraid that when Marcel caught his eyes, he turned almost purple.
He was about to speak-maybe to apologize for the way he was behaving-but Lord Hansel stood up proud and tall. “Your Majesty.” He bowed grandly with unnecessary theatrics. “It is my honor to have finally made your acquaintance.”
“Yes,” the prince said with a slightly amused smile. “It surly is, Lord...”
“Hansel Von Schubert and I must tell you I am most pleased that you will be joining us for lunch this afternoon.”
Marcel laughed a loud vibrating laugh. “The Grand Duke has finally banished me from my room. He insists that I socialize.” He turned to Tristan with that same goofy grin. “I would much rather spend my days reading.”
“You like to read!” Because of his excitement, Tristan neglected to hide the flowers tumbling from his mouth.
Marcel leaned over and gathered the four different colored roses. He smiled congenially as he handed them over to Tristan. “I do often find myself lost in great literature. Is it often that you…?” He gestured at the flowers with his hand. “Is that common?”
“No you Highness,” Lord Hansel interjected. “I’ve seen jewels come out of his mouth.”
“Hm. That’s truly a shame for the flowers are much more interesting.”
Tristan worried his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to contain as grin. “They truly are, sir, but I’m afraid the gems are much more regular.” As though to prove a point to the prince, a rainbow of gems fell to the ground with a clunk.
Without giving anyone else a chance to, Lord Hansel instantaneously began collecting them. “If your Highness has no use for these, I would like to keep them.”
Marcel frowned. “I would think that I am hardly the person to ask.”
“It’s perfectly fine.” Lord Hansel waved a somewhat dismissing hand.
The prince’s eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. “Are you positive?”
“Yes, yes. Thierry and the Madame do not mind one bit.”
Marcel rolled his eyes, and Tristan had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from giggling at the childish gesture.
His features softening, Marcel turned to Tristan. “How about you sir, do you mind?”
Tristan was sure he looked foolish, but he’d never been asked if he minded before. It was always, Tristan do this and that and quickly. He didn’t mind giving up the jewels; he had no use for them. “Yes, I have no use for them.”
“Riches like those do sure come in handy; they could get you anything your heart desires.”
“I have everything I need, sir.” He caught a vibrant scarlet flower and handed it to the Prince. “It is not much, but please do accept it as a form of gratitude.”
“Your attendance is treat enough.” Marcel smiled and grabbed hold of the beautiful flower. He let his fingers linger over Tristan’s; he leaned in close to his and whispered in his ear, “Are you familiar with what a scarlet tulip connotes?”
Face bright, and quiet possibly the same color as the tulip, Tristan shook his head.
“Perfect love.”
Lord Hansel coughed loudly demanding that the attention be back on him. An odd look covered his face, a look that Tristan could not decipher the meaning of. “We should be leaving now. It’s almost lunch time, and the carriage ride is a rather long one,” he spoke sharply, offering his arm for Tristan to take.
Hesitant, Tristan took Lord Hansel’s arm and allowed himself to be lead out the door. With some difficulty Tristan was prudent not to pull his arm away, as much as he wanted to.
The carriage itself wasn’t as spectacular as Tristan expected from the lavish lifestyle Lord Hansel prided himself with, but the inside was at least not a surprise. It was made of dark wood and the seats covered with lush fabrics that Tristan didn’t have the up bringing to recognize and curtains made of silk. The inside was every bit as gaudy as the lord.
Lord Hansel led Tristan into the carriage sitting so close to him it was suffocating. The only thing that interested the lord was regaling the prince with his tales of gallantry and fine jewels or houses made of candy and witches as wicked and dire as the winter sickness. It would have all been rather amusing had Tristan not heard it every time the man visited his brother. After all there was so much of a story a man can hear before even cannibalism becomes mundane.
The prince also seemed rather unimpressed, he nodded when ever appropriate and asked the right questions, but he kept his eyes on the window staring at something interesting on the outside. Tristan wasn’t sure what interesting thing the countryside offered, especially to someone like Prince Marcel who was accustomed to the city life.
“It’s hard to imagine how you can even look at sweets without feeling ill after your encounter,” Prince Marcel remarked.
Lord Hansel smiled smugly, “You see your highness, I am a brave man.”
“As is obvious by your courageous behavior when faced by the witch.” Marcel’s words sounded dry and humorless, as though he was mocking the lord, but Lord Hansel was absolutely clueless. He just continued to smile.
“You have been quiet, Tristan.” Marcel commented.
“Yes,” Hansel said tightening his grip on Tristan’s arm. “It is a shame, truly.” With his free hand he fingered the jeweled buttons on his coat.
Marcel’s eyes narrowed. “I wager you also have an interesting story to tell. How exactly did you come to possess such a gift?”
“I am not sure….” He smiled weakly, his mother wouldn’t be happy if he told. He could just leave out bits and peaces. “I know it was a fairy who gave it to me, but I do not know why.”
“I can just imagine what reasons.” The look from when Hansel had first seen Tristan that afternoon had comeback.
Must the man look at him like that? It made him feel repulsing. Tristan shivered scooting away from Lord Hansel as much as the carriage allowed. He was suddenly feeling extremely claustrophobic and uncomfortable. He felt caged in the small space, but it wasn’t so much the space as the company. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes; maybe he would just imagine Lord Hansel wasn’t there.
The trip went quicker when he began ignoring it. The two nobles conversed while he imagined he was with Lilly or pretending to clean the library instead of the carriage. His mother had done him a favor turning him into their maid; he was not made for the noble life. He was made for cleaning not pretending to care about things he didn’t understand. Maybe it was for the best that he stood no chance with Prince Marcel.
---
The carriage came to a stop in front of a grand house in the décor that was reserved for the center of town. It was large with modern architecture and beautiful bricks. Well kept greenery showed a distinct walk way to a majestic front entrance.
Upon entrance Lord Hansel introduced them as his guests when a steward asked for their membership. He also went to great lengths in humiliating the steward by explaining exactly who he was asking membership from.
Prince Marcel scowled at Lord Hansel. “The man is only doing his job, sir.” He turned to the frightened and shaking steward. “There is nothing wrong with a man who does his work as he should, and you sir, have done wonderfully.”
“Thank you Your Majesty,” the boy said catching the coin Marcel had tossed at him. “Thank you very much.”
The room they had been led to was all rich colors and expensive art. The walls were covered by gold and burgundy wallpaper, and on them hung tapestries that told stories about Happily Ever After’s past. There were stories as old as when Prince Charming the First-probably a descendent of Marcel’s-married a mermaid to Cindy’s wedding to Marcel’s oldest brother. The men standing about looked as though they also were part of the decoration. They were dressed finely and some looked like royalty.
To say he felt intimidating would be ridiculous. Had Lord Hansel not had a firm grip on him, Tristan would have thrown himself out of the first window they’d passed. Everyone was pretending that they weren’t staring at them and everyone looked so much better than him. They were whispering as though they knew Tristan didn’t belong, and they probably did. Most of them were Thierry’s friends and they’d seen him before on his hands and knees scrubbing the floors as they stumbled in at six in the morning with his brother, drunk and not yet ready to return home to their wives or parents.
With the hand not trapped by Lord Hansel, Tristan held clenched his coat. He walked with his eyes focused on the ground; even the comfort of having Marcel right besides him was not enough to calm him.
“You do realize you are easily the most handsome one here.”
Lord Marcel’s words and the feeling of the man’s hot breath on his neck almost made him fall to the ground; luckily he just stumbled then regained his balance.
“It’s just walking, boy. I was hoping you’d be able to manage that much.”
“I apologize, sir,” he mumbled to the floor, his face more heated than before, but the pleasant feeling he’d gotten from Marcel before was completely gone.
“Mph… Roses.” Lord Hansel stomped on the flowers and yanked a dismayed Tristan along.
Tristan felt a gentle brush of hand against his side and dragged his eyes up to meet Marcel’s.
“Does he always treat you like this?” He whispered into his ear.
Tristan shrugged. “No,” he replied, and honestly he wasn’t lying, Lord Hansel usually just looked at him like he was a favorite dessert, he’d never before bothered to talk to him.
The prince gave him an inquisitive look, but didn’t say anything.
Lord Hansel led them to a group of men who were sitting around a table playing a card game drinking wine. “Your Highness, I have a few good mates who would be honored to make your acquaintance.”
Marcel smiled large and tight. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
“Your Highness.” Each man bowed grandly and ridiculously. Tristan held back his snickers, but did they look like fools.
One of the men stood out towards them and extended his hand towards Marcel. “I am Georges Le Blanc, the Earl of Le Bois Dormant.”
The Earl and Tristan had once been good friends. Once when Tristan was the second son of a marquis and they had been on the same standing. When at sixteen Tristan was pulled out of social society after his father’s death, Georges no longer saw it fit for them to be friends. Instead, he became very good friends with Thierry and even better at pretending he never knew Tristan.
“Fée.” He nodded at Tristan, a bemused look on his face.
Tristan bowed but kept silent. There was no need for them to know of his gift. It was trouble enough that his family and Lord Hansel knew; he didn’t need more people coaxing him to speak.
The other lords introduced themselves to the prince, each not paying any mind to Tristan. They all knew his, so introductions were slightly unnecessary. It was obvious though that each was curious to ask why he was there, wondering if it was fit to be polite to him again.
“Gentleman, I’m afraid my stomach is calling-“ Lord Hansel began to say.
“Your stomach is always calling you bloody squab.” Lord Franklyn, the viscount of Baslin, joked, clapping Lord Hansel on the back.
Lord Hansel stood up straight, his shoulders squared and his lips pressed in a tight line. “There is no shame in a man with a healthy apatite. Mr. Daviess.”
“I do believe I am also quite hungry if you do not mind.” Marcel broke in. “Shall we take out seats.”
---
Lunch found Tristan sitting rigidly next to Lord Hansel staring at his fish as though it would soon decide to walk out of the club. He wasn’t hungry. He may not have eaten in the morning, but his nerves vowed that he wouldn’t be eating then also. He hated to just sit and play with his food because it probably tasted better than anything he’d ever get a chance to eat again, but it felt as though he’d spent his night feasting on ash. Maybe that was a side-effect of the gift.
He was so intent on watching his fish that he almost jumped out of his seat when he felt something brush up against his leg, his brother’s breeches not substantial enough to block out even the lightest of touches. Just as he started to calm the touch came back-feeling distinctly like a foot, this time higher and inching even higher up his inner thigh.
With wide eyes he inspected the other two people at their small round table. Lord Hansel wasn’t even looking at him; instead he was animatedly talking to the prince. The prince though as before was not even looking at Hansel. No, his blue eyes were connected to Tristan’s, and a smirk was fixed on his face. He was leaning back in his seat with his hands crossed; he wasn’t eating either.
Tristan’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, but it didn’t help any. The foot was now dangerously close to his hardening dick. What was Marcel thinking? Not only were they in a pubic place, but it was completely inappropriate for a prince to be behaving like that with a servant.
He barely held back the loud gasp when Marcel’s foot reached its destination. Tristan sat up straight in his seat, one hand holding on tightly to his fork and the other onto the table. Short nails scratched at the table as the foot on his lap began moving, teasingly slow.
“Are you enjoying your lunch, Highness?” Lord Hansel asked taking large bites out of his own lunch.
“Very much so.” Marcel emphasized every word with a vicious jerk of his foot. His eyes were sparkling with mirth, but his voice sounded dangerously low and husky.
Tristan on the other hand was trying not to rock back against the moving foot. His face was flushed and breathing was becoming more and more difficult. The room was hot, and he kept tugging at his neck piece in slight hope that it would cool him down. He couldn’t believe what Prince Marcel was doing to him. How absolutely mortifying, yet so very enjoyable.
Tristan came with a loud cough. He relaxed into his seat for a moment disappointed to feel the foot retreating. Part of him still could not believe what had just happened and the other part was praying that his waistcoat was longer so that it would cover the small stain that the thin material of his pants would never cover.
“That was not fair.” Tristan muttered his face flushed.
“What was not fair?” Lord Hansel asked irritated at what was on the table: two daisies, a carnation, and a violet.
Laughing, Marcel reached over the table and grabbed hold of one of Tristan’s hands. “But you did enjoy it.” He smirked, his thumb stroking the inside of Tristan’s palm.
Tristan turned his head away but didn’t retract his hand.
“If you do not mind me asking, what is going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
---
“Thank you for this afternoon Lord Hansel, it was most pleasurable.” Prince Marcel shook hands with Hansel when they’d arrived at the house. “You may of course stay for dinner, but I will be retiring to my rooms early tonight.”
“Yes, thank you very much my lord,” Tristan mumbled, his face still red, but this time from Marcel’s secretly wondering hands in the carriage. He didn’t know what the man was thinking, but he wasn’t going to lie and say he does not like it. He was standing by the prince looking down at his feet. “I enjoy myself greatly.”
“Hm, that’s nice, indeed.” He retrieved the gems from Tristan’s outstretched hands. “I’ll be heading out now. I have important business to attend to.”
Marcel led Tristan into the house with his hand on the small of Tristan’s back. “I’d like you to come with me to my room please.” He leaned down and whispered into Tristan’s ear.
Tristan shivered and nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”
“I think considering the situations. I’d really love it if you were to use my name.”
Tristan nodded again, not sure if his voice would work. He was led to the prince’s room then urged to take a seat on the bed.
“First I’d like to apologize for being so forward. I am not usually one to act in such lust.” Marcel paced back and forth in front of the bed, his hands behind his back. “It’s just well… It’s hardly a secret but I’m extremely smitten by you.”
“That’s impossible!” Tristan exclaimed standing up.
“No, I’m sure no falling for you would have been the difficult part. And do believe that I have been trying. I just hope that I haven’t made you too uncomfortable.”
“You have made me a bit more than just uncomfortable.” He hadn’t meant it to come out sounding as terrible as it did.
“Please do forgive me.” Marcel held on tightly to Tristan’s hands between his own. “I behaved like a bloody fool.”
Tristan couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not upset with you.”
“That could easily be the best thing I’ve heard in my life. Well second.”
Tristan’s eyes furrowed in confusion. “If you do not mind me asking highness, what was the first?”
Marcel leaned in close. “That sweet choked sound you made when you came,” he murmured into Tristan’s ear before he nipped it.
Tristan made a low growling sound as the teeth were followed by lips and a skillful tongue. He let go of the prince’s hands to bury them deep into Marcel’s thick black hair. He redirected the man’s head until his lips were pressed firmly against his. Those lips tasted better than he remembered.
Marcel’s hands slipped down to Tristan’s waist, grabbing a hold of him and pulling him closed, until his lean body was flush against the prince’s. “This is nice,” Marcel said resting his head against the taller man’s.
“You fucking bastard!” The shout had come from downstairs and it sounded distinctly like Thierry.
“I was.”Tristan frowned. “But my brother calls.” He tried to pull away but Marcel wouldn’t let him.
“I did not hear anything,” he mumbled kissing Tristan’s neck, his forehead, his lips.
“Where are you, you little whore?”
Marcel was the one to pull away this time. “I will not stand for this.”
Tristan grabbed the sleeve when Marcel neared the door. “Just let me go talk to him.”
“No!” Marcel shouting looking angrier than he’d ever seen him look. “I have seen how they and the whole bloody town treat you. I do not know why you even tolerate this.”
“He’s my brother. They’re my family, just let me go speak to him.”
With a sigh Marcel relented. “Fine,” he said kissing Tristan’s head. “Just let me come with you.”
---
Downstairs the ground was full of insects and snakes along with overturned furniture. Thierry must have been really angry.
“You fucking bastard look what you did to me!” As he spoke all sorts of disgusting looking insects came out of him mouth. “You lied to me!” He paid no mind to Marcel as he approached his younger brother.
“What did I lie about?”
“You fucking lied. You said she would make me speak diamonds, you said she was an old hag and all I got was a young bitch asking for money!”
“She’s a fairy, she can change forms,” Tristan said calmly. “I did not lie.”
“Yes you did, you filthy whore.”
“Sir, I will not stand for you calling him names.” Marcel’s tone was harsh.
“Your highness, I’m sorry to have disturbed you but-“
“I do not want to hear it,” he shouted. “Inform the Grand Duke that I have taken one of the horses and will be heading out early.”
“But Highness, surely.”
“Please stop speaking, you disgust me.”
Tristan was mortified, “Your highness please do not leave.”
Long fingers caressed Tristan’s face. “There is no reason for me to stay. I’m leaving and you are coming with me, for now. We’ll take care of everything once we reach the castle.”
“Coming with you?”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll love the palace.” He pressed his lips against Tristan’s. “I don’t think I can leave you behind now, even if you wanted me to.”
“What is going on?” Thierry had calmed down considerably.
“It’s of no concern to you.” Marcel reassured. “Be sure to thank Madame for her hospitality.”
---
“Do you think you can keep a secret?” Marcel asked helping Tristan up onto the saddle.
“Sure.” Tristan smiled over his shoulder at his prince.
“Good,” Marcel said climbing up behind him. He wrapped one hand around Tristan’s waist and grabbed a hold of the reins. “I think I may be in love with you.”
“Hm, is that so?” Tristan kept his head down, not wanting the prince to see him smile.
“Yes. I do believe I do.”
“That’s unexpected.”
“No, I don’t think so; the prince always falls in love with the fairest of them all.”
Tristan snorted back a loud burst of laughter. “That was awful.”
“I thought it was poetic.”
“You my dear prince are not a poet.”
“I suppose not. I am rather charming and handsome though.”
Tristan grinned. “I suppose.”
Word Count: 8159
Summary: Tristan's life has always been about pleasing his mother and brother. He is alright with that, but things change when a fairy makes it so that every time he speaks fine gems and flowers come out of his mouth.
It was dark outside when Tristan woke up. The room was bathed in calm candle light, and he was warm and cozy, which wasn’t normal. His little bed in the attic was the last thing from cozy, and the little room always had an unpleasant dampness to it, even in summer. Something wasn’t normal. Tristan pulled the covers that weren’t his away from him and glanced around the room. That’s when he remembered lying in the attractive man’s bed. The lit candle suggested that someone had been there because when he’d fallen asleep, it was still day time.
What time was it, and more importantly, who lit the candle?
He was still alive, so it couldn’t have been Thierry or his mother. He thanked the fairies for the small miracles as he attentively stepped out of the bed. It was so warm in the main rooms; it was a shame he was no longer allowed to sleep in his old room.
By the desk Tristan could make out a figure slumped over. It was Marcel. For where he was standing, he could see, from the light of a flickering candle, that Marcel was sound asleep. The man was slumped uncomfortably over a large pile of open books and crumpled up papers. Tristan slowly eased towards the door hoping that the creaking floorboards wouldn’t wake Marcel. The door must have been only a few feet away, but those few feet felt like the farthest he’d ever walked. Once standing in front of the door, he stopped to calm his breathing. With his heartbeat only slightly slower, Tristan reached over to open the door. But finding it locked only helped the panic spread through him.
Why did the man want to keep him locked in? He tried the door again out of naïve optimism, but only to end up with the same results. He didn’t much mind being stuck in the same room with the handsome Lord, but he certainly minded the results of what staying would mean. If his mother were to find out what he did she would make sure that he would never be able to lie down again.
He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. There was no way he could just wait for the man to wake up and open the door for him. He had to find the key himself. But where could it be? When Tristan had opened the door, he’d left the key in the lock so that the guest could find it easily, but clearly Marcel must have moved it. He also probably had it somewhere near him.
Holding his breath in hopes of eliminating some of the noise, Tristan tiptoed closer to the desk. Though the squeaking floorboards overshadowed any other noise he could have been making. He kept a firm eye on Marcel as he got closer. Marcel didn’t look as though he would be waking up any time soon. Though he didn’t look comfortable, he was fast asleep.
Marcel shifted in his seat causing some of the books near him to fall to the floor with a booming sound that sounded even louder in the frighteningly silent dark room.
Tristan jumped back and froze. With his eyes wide and his breath held he appraised Marcel. Marcel was still breathing deeply and his eyes were closed. Tristan took that as a sign to mean the man slept like the dead, and once again began inching closer to the desk where the keys should be. The desk was an absolute mess, books and papers and envelopes were scattered all over the surface. But other than the ink for the quill pen and ink, there was nothing but paper.
He knew it wasn’t the time and that he certainly should be looking for the key and not enjoying how the candle light made his skin shine or how his blue eyes looked half lidded with sleep. Sleep? How was he able to…?
“Hello,” Marcel greeted his voice soft and a lazy smile playing at his lips. He ran his fingers through his curly hair to give them the appearance of being tamer.
Tristan’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline in surprise. He shifted his gaze from the lord and cupped a hand across his mouth as he spoke. “I… I’m. Hello.” He didn’t care that his words came out mumbled as long as the man didn’t see the emerald and the delicate purple iris that fell from his mouth. “My lord,” he added as an after thought.
Marcel yawned, throwing his arms above his head to stretch. “I honestly need to stop falling asleep at my desk before they take to the bell tower to ring the bells.” He bared white teeth in a charming grin. “It’s nice to wake up to you.”
All the sudden the room got a bit too hot, and Tristan felt like his heart was in throat. He took a few steps until he felt at a safe distance from Marcel. “My lord, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I just…” There was another flood of gems and flowers that he was barely able to catch in time. He slipped them into the pocket of his trousers.
“I didn’t mind.” Marcel, still smiling, stood up and copied the steps that Tristan had taken so that he was standing right in front of him. He rested his hand on Tristan’s shoulder and turned him around. “Why won’t you look at me?”
With Marcel so close to him, Tristan knew better than to try speaking, so he just shrugged his shoulders. He hoped that Marcel wouldn’t think he was being disrespectful. Then again he was already going to be dead once his mother found out he had fallen asleep in the man’s bed; in comparison, shrugging his shoulders instead of replying was nothing to fret about.
He looked up his dark eyes meeting stunning bright blue ones. He gulped back the anticipation and slight traces of arousal he felt. It really wasn’t a good time for that. Tristan was surrounded by that smell that had been on the bed along with a hint of tea and honey. The man was going to drive him craze and the hand on his shoulder so warm and strong wasn’t helping matters.
Reaching out with both hands Marcel grabbed a hold of Tristan’s face in his hands. “You look flushed. Are you alright?”
Alright? Not really, he felt as though he was going to pass out from the lack of oxygen and blood going to his head. Despite being almost a whole head taller, Tristan felt extremely small and vulnerable next to Marcel. The man wasn’t only stronger than him, but stood in a way that demanded obedience and attention. All that Tristan could do to keep from running away was to bow his head and break eye contact.
Marcel stepped even closer to Tristan. They were forehead to forehead, their noses almost touching. “I might do something stupid right now.”
When Marcel brushed his lips softly against his, Tristan really know what to do other than just tense up. His hands were sitting rigidly at his side, his eyes wide open staring at Marcel’s out of focus face. It wasn’t until the initial shock of what was happening grew fainter that he closed his eyes and started paying attention to what Marcel was doing with his lips.
The kiss was soft and not so surprisingly pleasant. Tristan had certainly never been kissed like that before. Then again, kisses were rarely part of the salacious rendezvous he had when ever extra time in town permitted. Tristan was awkward and clumsy, but he quickly found that he was too eager to join in. He carefully placed his hands on Marcel’s chest and enjoyed the kiss, until the need for air persisted.
Marcel took a few steps away from Tristan. He stood scratching the back of his head and smiling sheepishly. “I really shouldn’t have done that.” He ran the knuckle of his left hand down Tristan’s face; then he hastily pulled away. “I think I will go to the library now. I do have a bit of work to do.”
---
Well, before that morning Tristan was able to say that he’d never been woken up with a bucket of cold water thrown at him-well never before had they thrown the actual bucket. His head throbbing from the impact of the object connecting with his head, he sat up in bed. His room was still dark which meant he hadn’t overslept. The only source of light was from the candles his mother and Thierry held.
“How could you?” His mother shouted ripping his blanket off the bed.
Thierry grabbed a hold of his hair, and pulled him into standing. Once Tristan was standing Thierry pulled him close by the grip he had on his hair so that they were nose to nose. “You have really done it this time, you dirty little bastard.”
So that was it. Marcel had told them what had happened when they were gone. He was really done now and he didn’t even get a chance to enjoy memories of the kiss from the night before. His stomach twisted and tightened at his misfortune. It would just figure that just when his luck was turning around-with the fairy’s wish and the way Marcel had behaved the night before-that he would be dead.
“Where did you get them?” His brother’s grip on his hair tightened.
“Who did you steal them from?”
His eyes widened in understanding. Marcel hadn’t told them, and for a second Tristan almost let himself breathe out a sigh of relief. But the truth remained that he was lying on a fortune with no way of explaining how he got it. He could just tell them the truth. The act of talking alone would prove he wasn’t lying.
“They are rather beautiful,” Thierry said gathering a few of the gems Tristan had lost while he was asleep. “Maybe Tristan has been selling himself, Mother.”
From the dim candle light Tristan could see his mother’s monster grimace.
“This is no time for mockery and jokes, dear.” She sat down delicately on the unmade bed. “After all, who would be so desperate?”
Thierry threw his head back and laughed a blaring and cruel laughter. “True, true but who is rich enough in this god forsaken town to be carrying such fine rocks that would let Tristan get close enough to steal from them.” He let go of his hold on Tristan’s hair and pushed him to the ground. “Tell me brother,” Thierry spat the word out like it was poisonous, he emphasized his repugnance by the kick he landed on Tristan’s side. “Who did you steal these from?”
Tristan grabbed his side gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of him. “I did not steal anything.” He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the world to erupt. He felt his stomach turn as though he was going to empty all he had eaten the day before onto the floor. The sound of the jewels hitting the floor was almost deafening in the now quiet room. He stared hard at the pieces of shiny wealth on the floor, begging himself not to start crying.
The Madame of the house stood up from her chair sufficiently intrigued. She placed a hand on Thierry’s shoulder bidding him to take a step back. She crouched down so that she was at level with Tristan. “Now, my dear son.” She’d never called him her son before. “I suppose you have an interesting confession to make.”
He glanced up at her surprised. He bid himself not be hopeful for the small acknowledgement from her. She was never going to think of him as her son; after all he looked too much like the man that had once broken her heart.
“Thierry, help your brother sit up and bring him something to drink.”
“But, Mother,” Thierry began to argue. “Oh… Alright, I won’t be long.” It seemed that his mother’s intentions finally dawned on him, and without delay he went on his way.
Que vois-je là! dit sa mère tout étonnée; je crois qu’il lui sort de la bouche des perles et des diamants. D’où vient cela, mon fils?
While Thierry was gone, Tristan’s mother coaxed out of him the story of the old lady and the fairy gift she had bestowed upon him. He told her that he had been at the river by the well getting water because he knew better than to give away that he was taking the time to shower. He would certainly be punished if she knew he had been wasting time instead of working.
As he spoke, the Madame of the house collected all the jewels that fell from Tristan’s mouth leaving behind the flowers.
“Thierry dear, you’ll be the one responsible for the water this week.”
“But mother, it will take ages just to walk there. I do have important meetings to attend to. Lord Hansel invited me and Lord Marcel to the club tomorrow.” He sat down a glass of brandy for both Tristan and his mother. The other he kept in his hand sipping at it occasionally.
“Tristan was telling me about how he met a fairy by the well and she granted him the ability to create such beautiful things when he speaks.”
Thierry grimaced at the idea that he would have to walk all the way to the well; even the prospect of wealth wasn’t enough to distract him from that. “One of us is enough, Mother.”
“If you are so lazy, then just ask Edmund to drive you there.” She waved a dismissing hand at her eldest son. “As for going to the club, I’m sure Tristan would like a chance to see what he’s missing.”
Tristan’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why was she being so nice all of a sudden? He knew his mother and brother were very greedy, yet he never knew to what extent. But going the club with Marcel would certainly be a pleasant experience. Maybe there would be more kisses like the one before. Even if there weren’t, he’d be just happy if the man spoke to him again.
Thierry scoffed. “Mother, you could not possibly be suggesting that Tristan should go to a club. Our family will become a laughing stock. We can’t send him to meet with proper people dressed as he is.”
Thierry was right; Tristan didn’t even own a formal jacket or a cravat, let alone ones that would be appropriate for the club. At least his brother didn’t let him build up too much hope. Thierry was always very good at that. After all, how absolutely incongruous he would look there amongst all the Lords and Marquises. No, the clubs were no place for him.
“It’s just drinks and card; I’m sure you have something old that might fit him.”
Tristan sat quietly barely listening as his mother argued back and forth about what was going to happen. In the end, his mother decided that he would be asking Lord Hansel, as prettily as he could, whether he may join them at the clubs in place of his brother. Tristan didn’t think that it would be very wise for him to be speaking in front of anyone.
---
Thierry, unhappily, lead his brother to his room so that he could pick something for him to wear. “Do not think that just because the fairy blessed you that you’re going to be replacing me. The fact that you speak diamonds does not change the fact that you have no place in our society,” Thierry said once they were alone in his room. “In fact, once I also become blessed you will return to being nothing to mother. She doesn’t love you. I don’t love you. It’s just that your mouth is very pretty.”
Tristan stood quietly listening to what was being said. He wasn’t going to argue; he was a realistic man.
“Especially when it’s making me rich.” He patted Tristan mockingly on the cheek. “Now why don’t we find something that will make even you look presentable.”
Thierry rummaged through his closet pulling out pits and pieces of clothing. So that’s how he managed to get the room to look so chaotic. Tristan scowled at some of the things Thierry was choosing. He couldn’t possibly be expected to wear that. All those bright colors and the breeches looked so small, nothing like his relaxed trousers.
“No need to make faces,” Thierry said shoving an ensemble at him. “Your face is contorted enough as is. Now get dressed while I see if I can find anything to take care of that mop on your head.”
Tristan’s hand unconsciously went to his hair; it wasn’t that bad maybe unfashionably long, but it was clean and it felt soft. When Thierry left the room, Tristan began struggling to dress himself. Once the breeches were up he felt like he couldn’t move they were so tight. The shirt and the jacket were alright, but he was ashamed to admit that he didn’t even know how to put on the cravat.
“Why am I not surprised that you cannot even dress yourself?” Thierry came back into the room; he frowned at Tristan and batted his hands away. “I honestly do not know what Mother is thinking. Just the idea is laughable.” He fiddled with Tristan’s neck piece, making faces at it when it refused to cooperate. “I can put you in my finest clothes, but you’d still be you. And that is the problem.” He stepped back taking in his work. “It will have to do. Now about that hair, please tell me it’s clean.”
“It’s clean,” Tristan said dryly.
A smirk found its way to Thierry’s face as two pearls tumbled out of his brother’s mouth. “Hmm, maybe all this is worth it after all.” He pocketed the gems. “These will look most dashing on my new cravat pin.”
Tristan shrugged. He had no idea what his brother was going on about. He didn’t care what Thierry did with the pearls; he didn’t much care for the gems. He found the flowers to be much more entertaining.
“Sit there and keep your hands away from your hair. You are not to touch it until after the club.” He pulled and tugged at Tristan’s hair all the while humming unhappily to himself. “I don’t know why it’s so uncooperative. You’d think we didn’t have the same parents or something.” He pulled the comb through Tristan’s hair without any semblance of gentleness.
Tristan looked at the mirror. His hair was pulled into a small tale at the base of his neck. He knew his hair would feel stiff without touching it. What had Thierry put on it?
“Put these on.” Thierry threw a pair of black boots at Tristan. “Lord Hansel will be here soon. Make sure you do just as Mother asked. Don’t foul up our social standing too much if you can help it.”
“He’s going to see this,” Tristan said gesturing to the gems that fell from his mouth.
Thierry scratched his stubble covered chin thoughtfully.”I suppose we just have to share. You can tell him that a fairy blessed our family when you were a child or something similar nonsense.” An almost evil grin dominated his feature. “Anyhow, if Lord Hansel had it his way, your mouth will be otherwise occupied today. You won’t even have a chance to speak between pleasuring him.”
Tristan shuddered, his stomach twisting and turning; he was going to be sick. “Surely he does not expect…”
Thierry watched with allure as a few flowers and two opals fells out of his brother’s mouth. He ignored the flowers and cheerfully picked up the gems. “You cannot afford to be so picky, especially with how you are. You are fortunate someone of Lord Hansel’s grandeur has even noticed the simplicity that is you. He could easily be the only person who’d ever want to be intimate with you.”
A knowing smile found it’s self onto Tristan’s face, but he quickly pushed it away. Thierry had no need to know about what Tristan and the baker’s son did last month or what he and the black smith had been up to the month prior to that. Tristan may have been a stranger to True Love, but he knew intimacies very well. He wasn’t going to bring that up though, or they would find a way to keep him from going to town. After all he was a boy and like all boys he couldn’t just rely on his hand.
“I suppose you also need to ask Lord Marcel if you may join them,” Thierry said. “He does not seem too repulsed by you so I suppose he will not mind.”
He was going to have to talk to Marcel? He couldn’t even be in the same room as the man without his legs turning to custard, let alone talk to him. And, after the events of the night before, it would be a miracle if he was able to not faint from lack of blood to anywhere other than his face.
“Why is your face red like that?” Thierry regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “It wouldn’t happen that you are smitten by our guest would it?”
Tristan pressed his lips together into a tight pale line. He wasn’t going to answer that.
“Oh you poor pathetic little thing, you are, aren’t you?” Thierry’s insufferable laugh filled the room; he was clutching his stomach with one hand and holding onto his bed post with the other to keep from falling. “I do believe that might have been the most amusing thing I’ve heard all day.”
Tristan failed to see what was so droll about his unspoken confession. It wasn’t as though he was in love-well even if he were Thierry didn’t know that-he just found the man to be appealing.
“I was hoping I would not need to tell you this, but I suppose you’ve just proved me wrong. Lord Marcel, or should I say Prince Marcel, the third son of King Gregory the Second, is slightly out of reach for you.”
It would have to be that way wouldn’t it? Tristan couldn’t have been interested in the seventh son of some unimportant lord. No, it had to be the Prince. But that’s how all the stories went. The Prince always fell in love with some lowly maiden who ended up was at some point a Princess, like with Blanche or Cindy. He wasn’t going to let himself get his hopes up any more than they had been. He should know better than to expect a “happily ever after” because where he lived “happily ever after” was saved for beautiful women with evil stepmothers.
“I’m not smitten.” He was finally able to mumble. He hoped Thierry would just drop the subject.
Thierry was still laughing. “You must admit though, the idea of you love-struck for a Prince is absolutely the funniest thing since what happened to wolf friend of yours.”
Tristan really would rather never mention what Red did to the wolf again. It wasn’t like he was going to eat her or her Grandmother; he just wanted what was in the basket.
“Go down stairs and get breakfast ready, we’ll be eating in the dayroom. Do not get the clothes dirty.”
---
Things hadn’t changed. Tristan was just wearing nicer clothes. He wasn’t allowed to eat his breakfast with the rest of the family. He was to serve it before they came to the table and be gone before someone saw him. Things were actually worse if Tristan took the time to consider it because washing dishes in a coat and cravat was torture.
Tristan smiled weakly as he walked into the bright dayroom where lord Hansel was waiting for him. Seeing the man stuff one pastry after the other into his mouth with disregard to proper eating manners was enough to make his stomach turn. He held back any disgusted sounds he suddenly had the urge to make. “Good Morning, My Lord.” He quickly snatched up the rubies that tumbled out of his mouth.
Lord Hansel was just short of growling at who ever distracted him from his food. Noticing Tristan he immediately smiled. “Why are you dressed up?” He didn’t bother with swallowing before speak.
His upper lip curled up and he took a step back. If the way Lord Hansel ate didn’t make him want to loose his breakfast, the way the man was looking at him certainly would.
Lord Hansel was sizing Tristan up like he was a prized cow or something similar. The lucid leer on his face speaks volumes of what he’s thinking. “Not that I’m not enjoying it mind you.” He snorted to himself at his attempt of flirting.
The smile Tristan gave him was more of a frown than anything. “I was wondering if you’d allow me the privilege of accompanying you to the club instead of my brother. For you see, he is ill.”
Lord Hansel’s usually beady eyes got big, almost too big for his plump red face. He’d noticed the gems. His eyebrows rose up, and his mouth hung agape. “Did…”
“Yes sir,” he said slightly amused by the speechless man. “They are yours, if you’d like.”
“Hm. I suppose it is the least you can do since I’m letting you join us.” He collected the stones and put them away so that no one can separate him from them.
Content with the small fortune he’d just acquired Lord Hansel sat back on the chaise, ready to once again return to devouring the pastries.
As for Tristan, he felt awkward and out of place. What was he supposed to say? Nobles often conversed about things he knew nothing about. Every time he’d overheard some form of conversation between Thierry and a friend it had been about food and girls and clothes and dueling. Tristan had never even held a dueling pistol and he indeed had no interest in any girls.
An attention demanding cough sounded behind him. He twirled around only to come face to face with Prince Marcel. He gulped uncomfortably and quickly bowed. “Your Highness,” he spoke into his hands, catching what ever fell out.
Marcel grinned, big and goofy, as he stared at Tristan. “Hello, Tristan.”
Tristan straightened up and returned the smile equally as bright.
Tristan’s face began heating up as he shamelessly admired the Prince’s appearance. When he’d seen him before Marcel was either wearing a hood or it was dark, which completely distracted from how absolutely good looking the man was. He was tall and broad just slightly shorted than Tristan’s awkward height. He was fit, oh yes, extremely fit; his clothes clung to him in the most breathtaking way. If his face hadn’t been red enough, he was afraid that when Marcel caught his eyes, he turned almost purple.
He was about to speak-maybe to apologize for the way he was behaving-but Lord Hansel stood up proud and tall. “Your Majesty.” He bowed grandly with unnecessary theatrics. “It is my honor to have finally made your acquaintance.”
“Yes,” the prince said with a slightly amused smile. “It surly is, Lord...”
“Hansel Von Schubert and I must tell you I am most pleased that you will be joining us for lunch this afternoon.”
Marcel laughed a loud vibrating laugh. “The Grand Duke has finally banished me from my room. He insists that I socialize.” He turned to Tristan with that same goofy grin. “I would much rather spend my days reading.”
“You like to read!” Because of his excitement, Tristan neglected to hide the flowers tumbling from his mouth.
Marcel leaned over and gathered the four different colored roses. He smiled congenially as he handed them over to Tristan. “I do often find myself lost in great literature. Is it often that you…?” He gestured at the flowers with his hand. “Is that common?”
“No you Highness,” Lord Hansel interjected. “I’ve seen jewels come out of his mouth.”
“Hm. That’s truly a shame for the flowers are much more interesting.”
Tristan worried his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to contain as grin. “They truly are, sir, but I’m afraid the gems are much more regular.” As though to prove a point to the prince, a rainbow of gems fell to the ground with a clunk.
Without giving anyone else a chance to, Lord Hansel instantaneously began collecting them. “If your Highness has no use for these, I would like to keep them.”
Marcel frowned. “I would think that I am hardly the person to ask.”
“It’s perfectly fine.” Lord Hansel waved a somewhat dismissing hand.
The prince’s eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. “Are you positive?”
“Yes, yes. Thierry and the Madame do not mind one bit.”
Marcel rolled his eyes, and Tristan had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from giggling at the childish gesture.
His features softening, Marcel turned to Tristan. “How about you sir, do you mind?”
Tristan was sure he looked foolish, but he’d never been asked if he minded before. It was always, Tristan do this and that and quickly. He didn’t mind giving up the jewels; he had no use for them. “Yes, I have no use for them.”
“Riches like those do sure come in handy; they could get you anything your heart desires.”
“I have everything I need, sir.” He caught a vibrant scarlet flower and handed it to the Prince. “It is not much, but please do accept it as a form of gratitude.”
“Your attendance is treat enough.” Marcel smiled and grabbed hold of the beautiful flower. He let his fingers linger over Tristan’s; he leaned in close to his and whispered in his ear, “Are you familiar with what a scarlet tulip connotes?”
Face bright, and quiet possibly the same color as the tulip, Tristan shook his head.
“Perfect love.”
Lord Hansel coughed loudly demanding that the attention be back on him. An odd look covered his face, a look that Tristan could not decipher the meaning of. “We should be leaving now. It’s almost lunch time, and the carriage ride is a rather long one,” he spoke sharply, offering his arm for Tristan to take.
Hesitant, Tristan took Lord Hansel’s arm and allowed himself to be lead out the door. With some difficulty Tristan was prudent not to pull his arm away, as much as he wanted to.
The carriage itself wasn’t as spectacular as Tristan expected from the lavish lifestyle Lord Hansel prided himself with, but the inside was at least not a surprise. It was made of dark wood and the seats covered with lush fabrics that Tristan didn’t have the up bringing to recognize and curtains made of silk. The inside was every bit as gaudy as the lord.
Lord Hansel led Tristan into the carriage sitting so close to him it was suffocating. The only thing that interested the lord was regaling the prince with his tales of gallantry and fine jewels or houses made of candy and witches as wicked and dire as the winter sickness. It would have all been rather amusing had Tristan not heard it every time the man visited his brother. After all there was so much of a story a man can hear before even cannibalism becomes mundane.
The prince also seemed rather unimpressed, he nodded when ever appropriate and asked the right questions, but he kept his eyes on the window staring at something interesting on the outside. Tristan wasn’t sure what interesting thing the countryside offered, especially to someone like Prince Marcel who was accustomed to the city life.
“It’s hard to imagine how you can even look at sweets without feeling ill after your encounter,” Prince Marcel remarked.
Lord Hansel smiled smugly, “You see your highness, I am a brave man.”
“As is obvious by your courageous behavior when faced by the witch.” Marcel’s words sounded dry and humorless, as though he was mocking the lord, but Lord Hansel was absolutely clueless. He just continued to smile.
“You have been quiet, Tristan.” Marcel commented.
“Yes,” Hansel said tightening his grip on Tristan’s arm. “It is a shame, truly.” With his free hand he fingered the jeweled buttons on his coat.
Marcel’s eyes narrowed. “I wager you also have an interesting story to tell. How exactly did you come to possess such a gift?”
“I am not sure….” He smiled weakly, his mother wouldn’t be happy if he told. He could just leave out bits and peaces. “I know it was a fairy who gave it to me, but I do not know why.”
“I can just imagine what reasons.” The look from when Hansel had first seen Tristan that afternoon had comeback.
Must the man look at him like that? It made him feel repulsing. Tristan shivered scooting away from Lord Hansel as much as the carriage allowed. He was suddenly feeling extremely claustrophobic and uncomfortable. He felt caged in the small space, but it wasn’t so much the space as the company. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes; maybe he would just imagine Lord Hansel wasn’t there.
The trip went quicker when he began ignoring it. The two nobles conversed while he imagined he was with Lilly or pretending to clean the library instead of the carriage. His mother had done him a favor turning him into their maid; he was not made for the noble life. He was made for cleaning not pretending to care about things he didn’t understand. Maybe it was for the best that he stood no chance with Prince Marcel.
---
The carriage came to a stop in front of a grand house in the décor that was reserved for the center of town. It was large with modern architecture and beautiful bricks. Well kept greenery showed a distinct walk way to a majestic front entrance.
Upon entrance Lord Hansel introduced them as his guests when a steward asked for their membership. He also went to great lengths in humiliating the steward by explaining exactly who he was asking membership from.
Prince Marcel scowled at Lord Hansel. “The man is only doing his job, sir.” He turned to the frightened and shaking steward. “There is nothing wrong with a man who does his work as he should, and you sir, have done wonderfully.”
“Thank you Your Majesty,” the boy said catching the coin Marcel had tossed at him. “Thank you very much.”
The room they had been led to was all rich colors and expensive art. The walls were covered by gold and burgundy wallpaper, and on them hung tapestries that told stories about Happily Ever After’s past. There were stories as old as when Prince Charming the First-probably a descendent of Marcel’s-married a mermaid to Cindy’s wedding to Marcel’s oldest brother. The men standing about looked as though they also were part of the decoration. They were dressed finely and some looked like royalty.
To say he felt intimidating would be ridiculous. Had Lord Hansel not had a firm grip on him, Tristan would have thrown himself out of the first window they’d passed. Everyone was pretending that they weren’t staring at them and everyone looked so much better than him. They were whispering as though they knew Tristan didn’t belong, and they probably did. Most of them were Thierry’s friends and they’d seen him before on his hands and knees scrubbing the floors as they stumbled in at six in the morning with his brother, drunk and not yet ready to return home to their wives or parents.
With the hand not trapped by Lord Hansel, Tristan held clenched his coat. He walked with his eyes focused on the ground; even the comfort of having Marcel right besides him was not enough to calm him.
“You do realize you are easily the most handsome one here.”
Lord Marcel’s words and the feeling of the man’s hot breath on his neck almost made him fall to the ground; luckily he just stumbled then regained his balance.
“It’s just walking, boy. I was hoping you’d be able to manage that much.”
“I apologize, sir,” he mumbled to the floor, his face more heated than before, but the pleasant feeling he’d gotten from Marcel before was completely gone.
“Mph… Roses.” Lord Hansel stomped on the flowers and yanked a dismayed Tristan along.
Tristan felt a gentle brush of hand against his side and dragged his eyes up to meet Marcel’s.
“Does he always treat you like this?” He whispered into his ear.
Tristan shrugged. “No,” he replied, and honestly he wasn’t lying, Lord Hansel usually just looked at him like he was a favorite dessert, he’d never before bothered to talk to him.
The prince gave him an inquisitive look, but didn’t say anything.
Lord Hansel led them to a group of men who were sitting around a table playing a card game drinking wine. “Your Highness, I have a few good mates who would be honored to make your acquaintance.”
Marcel smiled large and tight. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
“Your Highness.” Each man bowed grandly and ridiculously. Tristan held back his snickers, but did they look like fools.
One of the men stood out towards them and extended his hand towards Marcel. “I am Georges Le Blanc, the Earl of Le Bois Dormant.”
The Earl and Tristan had once been good friends. Once when Tristan was the second son of a marquis and they had been on the same standing. When at sixteen Tristan was pulled out of social society after his father’s death, Georges no longer saw it fit for them to be friends. Instead, he became very good friends with Thierry and even better at pretending he never knew Tristan.
“Fée.” He nodded at Tristan, a bemused look on his face.
Tristan bowed but kept silent. There was no need for them to know of his gift. It was trouble enough that his family and Lord Hansel knew; he didn’t need more people coaxing him to speak.
The other lords introduced themselves to the prince, each not paying any mind to Tristan. They all knew his, so introductions were slightly unnecessary. It was obvious though that each was curious to ask why he was there, wondering if it was fit to be polite to him again.
“Gentleman, I’m afraid my stomach is calling-“ Lord Hansel began to say.
“Your stomach is always calling you bloody squab.” Lord Franklyn, the viscount of Baslin, joked, clapping Lord Hansel on the back.
Lord Hansel stood up straight, his shoulders squared and his lips pressed in a tight line. “There is no shame in a man with a healthy apatite. Mr. Daviess.”
“I do believe I am also quite hungry if you do not mind.” Marcel broke in. “Shall we take out seats.”
---
Lunch found Tristan sitting rigidly next to Lord Hansel staring at his fish as though it would soon decide to walk out of the club. He wasn’t hungry. He may not have eaten in the morning, but his nerves vowed that he wouldn’t be eating then also. He hated to just sit and play with his food because it probably tasted better than anything he’d ever get a chance to eat again, but it felt as though he’d spent his night feasting on ash. Maybe that was a side-effect of the gift.
He was so intent on watching his fish that he almost jumped out of his seat when he felt something brush up against his leg, his brother’s breeches not substantial enough to block out even the lightest of touches. Just as he started to calm the touch came back-feeling distinctly like a foot, this time higher and inching even higher up his inner thigh.
With wide eyes he inspected the other two people at their small round table. Lord Hansel wasn’t even looking at him; instead he was animatedly talking to the prince. The prince though as before was not even looking at Hansel. No, his blue eyes were connected to Tristan’s, and a smirk was fixed on his face. He was leaning back in his seat with his hands crossed; he wasn’t eating either.
Tristan’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips, but it didn’t help any. The foot was now dangerously close to his hardening dick. What was Marcel thinking? Not only were they in a pubic place, but it was completely inappropriate for a prince to be behaving like that with a servant.
He barely held back the loud gasp when Marcel’s foot reached its destination. Tristan sat up straight in his seat, one hand holding on tightly to his fork and the other onto the table. Short nails scratched at the table as the foot on his lap began moving, teasingly slow.
“Are you enjoying your lunch, Highness?” Lord Hansel asked taking large bites out of his own lunch.
“Very much so.” Marcel emphasized every word with a vicious jerk of his foot. His eyes were sparkling with mirth, but his voice sounded dangerously low and husky.
Tristan on the other hand was trying not to rock back against the moving foot. His face was flushed and breathing was becoming more and more difficult. The room was hot, and he kept tugging at his neck piece in slight hope that it would cool him down. He couldn’t believe what Prince Marcel was doing to him. How absolutely mortifying, yet so very enjoyable.
Tristan came with a loud cough. He relaxed into his seat for a moment disappointed to feel the foot retreating. Part of him still could not believe what had just happened and the other part was praying that his waistcoat was longer so that it would cover the small stain that the thin material of his pants would never cover.
“That was not fair.” Tristan muttered his face flushed.
“What was not fair?” Lord Hansel asked irritated at what was on the table: two daisies, a carnation, and a violet.
Laughing, Marcel reached over the table and grabbed hold of one of Tristan’s hands. “But you did enjoy it.” He smirked, his thumb stroking the inside of Tristan’s palm.
Tristan turned his head away but didn’t retract his hand.
“If you do not mind me asking, what is going on?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
---
“Thank you for this afternoon Lord Hansel, it was most pleasurable.” Prince Marcel shook hands with Hansel when they’d arrived at the house. “You may of course stay for dinner, but I will be retiring to my rooms early tonight.”
“Yes, thank you very much my lord,” Tristan mumbled, his face still red, but this time from Marcel’s secretly wondering hands in the carriage. He didn’t know what the man was thinking, but he wasn’t going to lie and say he does not like it. He was standing by the prince looking down at his feet. “I enjoy myself greatly.”
“Hm, that’s nice, indeed.” He retrieved the gems from Tristan’s outstretched hands. “I’ll be heading out now. I have important business to attend to.”
Marcel led Tristan into the house with his hand on the small of Tristan’s back. “I’d like you to come with me to my room please.” He leaned down and whispered into Tristan’s ear.
Tristan shivered and nodded his head. “Yes, sir.”
“I think considering the situations. I’d really love it if you were to use my name.”
Tristan nodded again, not sure if his voice would work. He was led to the prince’s room then urged to take a seat on the bed.
“First I’d like to apologize for being so forward. I am not usually one to act in such lust.” Marcel paced back and forth in front of the bed, his hands behind his back. “It’s just well… It’s hardly a secret but I’m extremely smitten by you.”
“That’s impossible!” Tristan exclaimed standing up.
“No, I’m sure no falling for you would have been the difficult part. And do believe that I have been trying. I just hope that I haven’t made you too uncomfortable.”
“You have made me a bit more than just uncomfortable.” He hadn’t meant it to come out sounding as terrible as it did.
“Please do forgive me.” Marcel held on tightly to Tristan’s hands between his own. “I behaved like a bloody fool.”
Tristan couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not upset with you.”
“That could easily be the best thing I’ve heard in my life. Well second.”
Tristan’s eyes furrowed in confusion. “If you do not mind me asking highness, what was the first?”
Marcel leaned in close. “That sweet choked sound you made when you came,” he murmured into Tristan’s ear before he nipped it.
Tristan made a low growling sound as the teeth were followed by lips and a skillful tongue. He let go of the prince’s hands to bury them deep into Marcel’s thick black hair. He redirected the man’s head until his lips were pressed firmly against his. Those lips tasted better than he remembered.
Marcel’s hands slipped down to Tristan’s waist, grabbing a hold of him and pulling him closed, until his lean body was flush against the prince’s. “This is nice,” Marcel said resting his head against the taller man’s.
“You fucking bastard!” The shout had come from downstairs and it sounded distinctly like Thierry.
“I was.”Tristan frowned. “But my brother calls.” He tried to pull away but Marcel wouldn’t let him.
“I did not hear anything,” he mumbled kissing Tristan’s neck, his forehead, his lips.
“Where are you, you little whore?”
Marcel was the one to pull away this time. “I will not stand for this.”
Tristan grabbed the sleeve when Marcel neared the door. “Just let me go talk to him.”
“No!” Marcel shouting looking angrier than he’d ever seen him look. “I have seen how they and the whole bloody town treat you. I do not know why you even tolerate this.”
“He’s my brother. They’re my family, just let me go speak to him.”
With a sigh Marcel relented. “Fine,” he said kissing Tristan’s head. “Just let me come with you.”
---
Downstairs the ground was full of insects and snakes along with overturned furniture. Thierry must have been really angry.
“You fucking bastard look what you did to me!” As he spoke all sorts of disgusting looking insects came out of him mouth. “You lied to me!” He paid no mind to Marcel as he approached his younger brother.
“What did I lie about?”
“You fucking lied. You said she would make me speak diamonds, you said she was an old hag and all I got was a young bitch asking for money!”
“She’s a fairy, she can change forms,” Tristan said calmly. “I did not lie.”
“Yes you did, you filthy whore.”
“Sir, I will not stand for you calling him names.” Marcel’s tone was harsh.
“Your highness, I’m sorry to have disturbed you but-“
“I do not want to hear it,” he shouted. “Inform the Grand Duke that I have taken one of the horses and will be heading out early.”
“But Highness, surely.”
“Please stop speaking, you disgust me.”
Tristan was mortified, “Your highness please do not leave.”
Long fingers caressed Tristan’s face. “There is no reason for me to stay. I’m leaving and you are coming with me, for now. We’ll take care of everything once we reach the castle.”
“Coming with you?”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll love the palace.” He pressed his lips against Tristan’s. “I don’t think I can leave you behind now, even if you wanted me to.”
“What is going on?” Thierry had calmed down considerably.
“It’s of no concern to you.” Marcel reassured. “Be sure to thank Madame for her hospitality.”
---
“Do you think you can keep a secret?” Marcel asked helping Tristan up onto the saddle.
“Sure.” Tristan smiled over his shoulder at his prince.
“Good,” Marcel said climbing up behind him. He wrapped one hand around Tristan’s waist and grabbed a hold of the reins. “I think I may be in love with you.”
“Hm, is that so?” Tristan kept his head down, not wanting the prince to see him smile.
“Yes. I do believe I do.”
“That’s unexpected.”
“No, I don’t think so; the prince always falls in love with the fairest of them all.”
Tristan snorted back a loud burst of laughter. “That was awful.”
“I thought it was poetic.”
“You my dear prince are not a poet.”
“I suppose not. I am rather charming and handsome though.”
Tristan grinned. “I suppose.”