7. Knight In Shining Armor

CHAPTER 7

Knight In Shining Armor

Cedric

The very first night I told Tristan the truth, I learned how heavy the burden I had lived with was. Its absence allowed me to fill my lungs with air, to lift my head high, to smile without feeling like I deceived him.

The very next day, Tristan came around while I helped Bradley behind the bar. He asked me when I would be off and then told me to wait for him after the shift. I wasn't in the habit of being told what to do or to wait on people, but I had been making allowances for work all these days, so I figured I might as well include Tristan in my growing list of exceptions.

"I've been thinking about your, ah, situation all night," Tristan said when he came around at three in the afternoon. His skin had absorbed the August sunshine and tanned in such a smooth way, whereas mine needed layers of SPF to save me from burning like a crab. I avoided the sunshine in New York like a vampire .

We carried a round of beers to the terrace under the canopy of lightbulbs that were off at this hour. The shadows cast by the buildings closing around us were thick and as close to cool as could be expected this deep into the summer. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Tristan confirmed.

We sat down in the furthest corner, with cool brick walls extending to two sides. My back faced the buildings that met in this corner, and I had a full view of the terrace and the door to Neon Nights. Nobody could walk out here without me seeing them.

Tristan leaned in conspiratorially and looked at me. "I decided I believe you."

I arched my eyebrows. "Decided?" And hadn't that already been resolved?

He shrugged innocently. "Decided."

"Does your decision have anything to do with the fact that it's all true?" I asked.

Tristan pulled back ever so slightly, eyes narrowing. "It's mostly that you talk like a prince."

"And how is that?" I asked, holding back my smile.

My ally chuckled and took a sip of beer, then wiped the foam from his upper lip with the back of his hand. "You can't believe I needed to check the information for myself. That's how it is."

"Ah, and now we're on the same page?" I tilted my head.

Tristan nodded firmly.

"I still think you shouldn't get any more involved, Tristan," I said, all humor fading out of my voice. This morning, I had seen a stiff-backed woman pass by the bar. She hadn't looked through the window and peeked inside, but she had walked just the same two days ago. The tight, no-nonsense ponytail, the makeup that defined her face, and the square shoulders told of a lifetime of service. Or I was a paranoid runaway. It was one or the other, but something told me I was being observed. I certainly wouldn't imagine it was out of Alexander's range of tactics. "If you help me, there could be considerable blowback."

Tristan snorted. "This is a free country. What can a foreign king do to me?"

"You underestimate the power of a royal bloodline." It wasn't supposed to be self-flattery. I was glad that Tristan didn't take it that way.

He simply shook his head. "I'm not afraid of your family, no matter how influential they are."

That's because you don't know them , I thought.

"They wouldn't assassinate me, would they?" Tristan added, the bravado in his voice trembling slightly.

I shook my head. "I don't imagine they would. But they could make your life hell if they want to. They could pull strings and have all the best culinary schools reject you for some made-up reason, should you ever apply. They could spread some falsehood about you among their friends in New York, and you'd never be allowed a significant loan to open your restaurant because the bankers would consider you risky and unreliable. That's the kind of influence I'm talking about."

"Oh, boo-hoo," Tristan said mockingly. "I'll never be invited to a black suit gala. Don't you see where I live? I'll never get a big loan regardless of what your father tells some New York banker. And unless they mean to send some goblin to tie my shoelaces so I trip on my next run, I can't imagine them doing anything that'll have significant consequences, Cedric. I'm a small fish."

"You're nothing of the sort," I said before I could stop myself. "Not to me."

He stopped speaking abruptly and looked at me for a few heartbeats. The heat in my face must have become visible because Tristan smiled and looked at his beer instead. "Still," he mused, "I don't think they'll grudge me for making sure their political asset is safe."

"Is that what you're offering?" I asked.

Tristan met my gaze again. He licked his lips. "I don't know if I can keep you from being kidnapped by your own family—if that's what they'd do—but I can watch your back while you're here. And I can help you pass the time when you're bored."

It begged the terrible question that had the potential to open too many paths of consequences. "Why?" I asked, voice dry and cracking.

"You're in my ‘hood," he said simply, but that wasn't it at all. He hesitated, tilted his head this way and that, and sighed. "I know, I know. You're a prince. I can't wrap my head around it, by the way, but that's who you are. Still, the person I know is the guy who skipped all the rules of flirting, bought me a drink, and danced with me all night. And…I like you. Simple as that." He shrugged like he'd said something completely inconsequential.

"I like you, too," I replied softly. It was odd to say those words to him. To anyone, really. I'd never had a chance to express something as innocent as that. Sure, I'd done my fair share of hooking up, but it had hardly even been about liking the person the way they were.

I looked at Tristan. His brown hair and strong, defined jawline, and his warm, focused brown eyes. It was too easy to forget about everything else and just gaze at him. His presence calmed me, grounded me, and kept me in the moment instead of letting me roam and lose myself in worry.

My back stiffened. It was also too easy to imagine taking his hand and going somewhere less crowded than the terrace of Neon Nights. I leaned against the back of my chair and drank a little. "To be perfectly honest, having told you everything makes life much easier."

Tristan nodded. "I'm glad it did. Now, if only I could remember the proper etiquette when I refer to you…"

"Don't even," I said, mock horrified. "That's the very thing I'm trying to avoid."

Tristan chuckled. He gazed into my eyes for a little while, perhaps a moment too long, before he asked his next question. "Can it be that bad? Aside from marrying an airline, of course."

"Define bad," I said. "I'm not going to pretend that never having to work for the sake of survival isn't a big perk, Tristan. But I've lived my entire life publicly. Since I was old enough to look at the lens, my life's been in the service of upholding our traditions. It's all stunts. And getting engaged to élodie is just another performance."

"You think it's unavoidable," Tristan concluded.

"I'm here, aren't I?" I asked. I needed to hear his thoughts, too. Hell, I had no idea what I really believed. I hoped with all my heart that some part of me expected life to go on just the way it was now.

Tristan shrugged. "I don't think you mean to stay." It was a statement, plain and simple, but it carried a hint of melancholy I knew well. "You live in a hotel and work while it's still fun. I don't hold that against you. But you're planning to go back, Cedric. Maybe you were right the other night. Maybe you're trying to prove a point."

Maybe. If I were going to return home, then I would do it on my terms. I needed some bargaining chips before I considered facing my brother and parents. "I'm not going to marry her," I said flatly.

"I can't believe we're actually talking about this," Tristan said, frowning a little. "I mean, think about it. You're being forced to marry someone. What year is it in Verdumont?"

I laughed softly. "Same as everywhere, but that doesn't apply to royalty. This…" I sighed and shook my head. Leaning in, I brought my face closer to his. "To us, this is like a business contract. Or to my brother, at least. To marry someone is to be partnered with a person for a project in the normal world. And it has a certain set of requirements, of course, like the family line and the clean record in the eye of the public."

Tristan snorted with the same contempt I shared. "Does the checklist mention anything about love?"

I shook my head. "Don't get me wrong. They're not completely heartless. My parents love each other dearly, even though theirs was a marriage of convenience. It helps that they're both heterosexual, which I'm most definitely not. Theirs is the opinion that, given time, élodie and I will build something sort of like a nice life together. And it'll ensure that we remain, for the lack of a better word, employed."

"And what would you do?" he asked. "Sorry, I'm just trying to understand your life a little better."

Something tugged my heart toward Tristan. I rarely wanted to explain myself to people or to share my routine. Those things were available on the website of the royal family for those following us closely, and I fled from the sort of journalists that obsessed over our every move. But Tristan? Yes. I wanted Tristan to know what my life was like. And I wasn't fooling myself; this thing wasn't going to go anywhere. It couldn't, and it mustn't. "Should something happen to Alexander, I would assume the role of the Crown Prince." Tristan blinked. The word must have crossed his mind. "I'm the spare ." He winced so subtly that I might have imagined it. "Long live the Crown Prince," I said lightly. "And for as long as he is the heir, my job is to support him in the public eye. It might not cross the Atlantic, but we're a big deal in Verdumont. Alexander will need our help when he gets our father's job. The monarchy has never been less stable. My family holds up traditions that, coming from a gay man in this day and age, might be better off dead. If people knew just how much of our lives are staged for photo ops, they'd abolish us immediately. We're a remnant of another time, Tristan."

"Whoa," my knight in shining armor said. "You're very harsh."

"It's not easy growing up knowing you're different," I said. "It should be. Verdumont is a progressive place. We were among the first countries to legalize same-sex marriage, enact bans on non-necessary surgical intervention for intersex children, and legalize everyone's right to self-identification. There hasn't been a hate crime against a sexual minority in three decades. All these rules exist to make everyone equal, but…" My gaze dropped as my words grew too strained.

"They don't apply to you," Tristan whispered, voice tight with unchecked anger.

I shook my head. "Ironically, I could walk you through the entire history of our family and tell you about King Augustus III, who was so smitten by a young French knight that he offered the man lands and titles just to keep him close. Or King Frederick the Tall, who had married a duchess his father had picked, had a single son with her, and sent her to live on their summer estate for the rest of their lives. Meanwhile, Frederick the Tall appointed Sir Louis de Chatillon as his secretary, giving him apartments next to the King's own—with a shared door, mind you—a yearly allowance on par with what the Princess Consort received, and was rarely seen in anyone else's company. They were what contemporary historians would refer to as ‘very good friends.'" And there was no missing the sarcasm in my voice. "My father's brother is bisexual. My great-grandfather's brother was gay. Their grandfather had a very public affair with the master of his stables. The list goes on and on."

"Don't stop," Tristan said, a grin splitting his face in half. "Don't ever stop. I love this."

I chuckled. His joyful expression was contagious. "There is a portrait of Frederick the Tall with Sir Louis de Chatillon, which I studied privately in my college days. I wrote a paper on the ill-concealed homosexual subtext in the painting." I asked Tristan to give me his phone, typed in the name of the painting, and handed it to him. "Just look at it. Sir Louis is holding an apple. Grooms used to give apples to their brides."

Tristan snorted. "You wrote a paper about an apple?"

I laughed loudly. He was challenging me. I liked it. "If it were only that, I'd call it a coincidence. Look at their hands."

Tristan frowned. He made the gesture on his screen to zoom it, frowned harder, then let his mouth hang open. "Are these matching rings?"

"When I said ‘ill-concealed,' that's exactly what I meant," I said. "And look at the background. That rosebush in full bloom is entwined with thistle. Those are the symbols of love and defiance, sometimes secrecy. Ferdinand's cloak partially covers Sir Louis, which they say shows the impressive height of the king, but it's very clearly a symbol of protection in every other portrait that depicts a king and a queen. And that dove up there on the branch? It's paired with a crow, the bird that represents hidden truths."

"Alright. I'm convinced," Tristan said, chuckling. "Your gramps had a thing for Sir Louis the Hot."

I glanced at the screen of his phone. Sir Louis was indeed very attractive. Dark locks of hair framed his chiseled face, his eyes brown and big, his nose slightly crooked. He was shorter than Ferdinand, of course, but not by much.

"What's with the pomegranate?" Tristan asked.

On the other side of the painting was a small table with a white cloth draped over it and a silver tray containing a single open pomegranate. I snorted. "I asked my art history professor," I said. "It seemed out of place in the context of a gay relationship. My professor insisted it was to symbolize the fertility of the country in their united leadership. Ferdinand the Tall is considered one of the most revered leaders in the history of Verdumont, bringing years of prosperity and peace to otherwise war-riddled times. But I think Ferdinand had a wicked sense of humor. Why else would he commission this portrait? Why else would it hang in his apartment? I think it was a juicy ‘fuck you' to his deceased father. He had done his duty, fathered a son to take over, and provided money, privacy, and freedom to his wife—the Duchess lived with several ‘very good friends' over the years and wrote fond, friendly letters to Ferdinand, hinting at some spicy secrets of her own—and he could live his life however he chose. I think that's why the pomegranate is sliced open."

Tristan rubbed his face. "This is bonkers. Do you understand that, Cedric? It's absolutely insane that you are a…royal."

"I just want to do the dishes, Tristan," I admitted. "I just want to clean Mama Viv's kitchen and dance at her shows and get a little drunk." I was tired of always worrying about where the lens was and what face I needed to show it. I was tired of living like a goldfish in an aquarium.

"I can do that much for you," Tristan said.

It was still beyond me why he would want to. He was an odd one.

"There's a party the day after tomorrow. Make sure you're off that night because we're going to dance," he said with a big grin that wouldn't take no for an answer .

My heart clenched. Or maybe the reality clenched my heart when it tried to leap. Yes , I wanted to say. Yes. That's all I want to do. To dance with you, to touch you as I touched you that first night, to kiss you again as I kissed you with the entire city glimmering behind us. My throat tightened, and I cleared it, then drank some of my beer. "Let's do that," I said. It was all I could say.

My soul burned with the desire to never do anything else, but I knew better than to expect such a life. Tristan was right about one thing. I didn't mean to stay here forever. And even if I meant to, I couldn't. Prince or not, there were rules about staying in a foreign country. Whether I wanted it or not, I needed to remember that Verdumont still beckoned me, roped me in, and pulled me back. Sooner or later, Tristan would stay in Hudson Burrow, and I would walk up the steps of the Royal Palace.

Sooner or later, this sweet, unpredictable fling would have to end.

And I wouldn't make it any harder for either of us when the day came to part ways. I wouldn't let myself fall for this wild, beautiful man, and I wouldn't let him fall for me. If I could avoid that heartbreak, then I would go back to the real world a happy man, knowing I'd done something right, knowing I'd spared one beautiful person from falling apart because my life was a mess.

Tristan and I let our glasses touch and drank to seal the plan. Life would run us all over eventually, but at least we could dance all night until then.