Chapter 2
CHAPTER2
When he’d set out for Lurina, Tristan hadn’t imagined he’d get into a fight to the death with bandits. It had been a long time since he’d fought mere brigands, and he was disgusted that there had been bloodshed over something so stupid. If they’d just left him and Opal alone, they could’ve survived, and Tristan wouldn’t have had to file a fucking report about thieves on the main roads.
But no. They’d been stubborn and stupid, and they’d paid with it with their lives.
Good riddance.
Well, at least he was getting a meal out of it. Too many taverns overcharged these days; the king’s untimely death and uncertain succession meant everyone was uneasy and hoarding coin in case things went poorly. He’d been careful with his own coin as he’d started out on his quest, aware that it was finite and he didn’t know how long it would be before he returned home.
Home.
It was a bitter thing, because the kingdom of Phassis didn’t feel like home anymore. Not with dragons plaguing them, not with brigands being so bold on the roads, not with the knights at odds with one another as nobles played their games to make bids for the throne.
Especially not with Evan gone.
He shoved those thoughts away, instead focusing on Opal.
The man he’d rescued was rather pretty—pretty enough that Tristan had almost thought him a woman at first. Opal’s delicate features were highlighted by deft, yet subtle make-up, with a faint shimmer across his eyelids and lips. He was a few inches taller than Tristan, with pale skin and long, light pink hair down to his waist. He wore a very stylish coat over what appeared to be a skirt, and while Tristan hadn’t seen a man wear a skirt before, he had to admit it suited Opal.
He cleared his throat, uncertain of what to say now that they were walking together. “Are you from Phassis?” he finally asked.
“Oh, yes!” Opal answered enthusiastically. “I live in the mountains to the north. I have a little cottage there.”
“The mountains to the north?” Tristan cast his gaze north, though of course the mountains were nowhere in sight. “That’s at least two weeks’ journey. What brings you to Lurina?”
Opal blushed delicately and ducked his head. “Well, I needed a potion, and I heard Izar was the best sorcerer in all of Phassis. Priyana might have some good mages too, but my mother lives there and I only just saw her. She’s insufferable right now. I can’t bear to be too close to her.”
That was a bit sad. Tristan had always been close to his family.
Too close, which was why it had hurt so desperately badly when—
“I see,” he said, fighting back against the grief clawing at his throat. He wanted to ask what would’ve driven Opal to see the sorcerer Izar, but it felt like it might be too much of a personal question—and he didn’t want to invite questions in turn.
Besides, he didn’t particularly want to talk about magic. He’d always been awkward around it because he had no defense against it. He always had to rely on one of the court sorceresses to supply him with minor spells, and they had much more pressing matters to attend to now.
“I’m so glad I came this way,” Opal added, breaking into his thoughts. Without asking, he wound his arms around Tristan’s. “Because I met you. Please, tell me about yourself, Sir Tristan.”
Tristan didn’t quite know what to do with the question—or the unexpected touch, for that matter. If it had been a woman he’d rescued, he wouldn’t have hesitated to offer her his arm. But it was different with a man.
Oh, plenty of men preferred other men, but Tristan had never been one of them.
The gesture didn’t bother him as much as he might’ve thought, though, so he walked arm-in-arm with Opal down the road as he escorted the hapless traveler to Lurina.
“There isn’t much to say,” Tristan said, not particularly wanting to talk about himself and his shattered family, the way everything had gone so terribly wrong over the last several months. “You’d think a knight’s work would be fascinating, but it’s really quite dull.”
When things weren’t going horribly wrong.
When the king hadn’t just been murdered.
When he had to worry about the princess who was slated to rule now, even as different factions tried to interfere.
“Surely you must have gone on many exciting adventures,” Opal pressed. “Were you there when the king died? I heard people talking about it. What happened?”
“If anyone was there when the king died, they aren’t saying so,” Tristan said. And for good reason. Everyone wanted someone to point fingers at, and no one wanted to be the subject of that suspicion. “It was a terrible tragedy. Someone… His murderer, I assume, managed to get into the courtyard and leave his body there.” Tristan shuddered. “I hear his body was rotting even though he’d only been dead a few days at most.”
“How gruesome!” Opal squeezed Tristan’s arm tighter. “Well, whoever the villains who killed him are, I’m sure you’ll be quick to find them and bring them to justice.”
Now Tristan’s face heated a bit, and he scratched his chin in embarrassment where his beard had begun to grow back. “Ah… No. I’m not looking into that. There are others who are better equipped to solve that sort of mystery.”
“You’re protecting the… um…” Opal paused. “It was a princess, right? Sorry, I have such a hard time keeping track of royals. Except Larkin of Kithage! I know him.”
Tristan cast a sharp look at Opal. “Did you meet him before that… that dragon used its magic to control him?” That was the only explanation the knights had been able to come up with, anyway. Magic explained the inexplicable, and there was surely no way a king would marry a vicious dragon of his own free will.
“What magic?” Opal laughed a little nervously. “As far as I’m aware, dragons don’t have… mind control powers, or anything like that. No, I just… um, I guess…” He paused and glanced up at the sky for a few seconds before continuing, “I read about him! And his big dragon wedding! That’s why he’s memorable. Unlike the Phassian king. Did he even have a name?”
Tristan looked incredulously at Opal. “Of course he had a name. Doesn’t everyone have a name?” What sort of foolish question was that?
“Well, I mean, of course everyone has a name. But sometimes you aren’t allowed to know names of important people. You have to call them Your Royal Majesticness or whatever. It’s simpler if everybody has just one name.” Opal smiled at Tristan. “But I like both of your names! They’re very pretty.”
“Yes, but if everyone had the same name, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them. I’m not the only man in the realm named Tristan, after all,” Tristan pointed out, feeling a little like he was having a discussion with someone much younger than him.
Opal gave that some thought, then nodded. “I suppose we can’t all be called something extremely cool like Crimson Blaze. Tristan Blythe is very close, though.” He scrunched his nose. “I bet Mother would have named me White Stone if Father hadn’t put his foot down.”
“White Stone?” Tristan asked, quirking a brow. “Why would she have named you that?”
Opal was increasingly odd—though interesting nonetheless. He wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he wanted to converse more with the strange man he’d rescued.
“My sc… my hair is white, isn’t it? White-ish, anyway.” Opal sighed loudly. “And the only thing she gets creative about are flowers. Anyway, I shouldn’t have brought up my mother. That’s such an unromantic line of conversation. Tell me more about you.”
Tristan, strangely, found himself wanting to respond, but they’d arrived at the gates of Lurina. One of the guards on duty recognized Tristan and waved to him, then gave him a pointed look, as if inquiring about Opal.
The guard didn’t look too impressed, and his lip curled up in disdain as he took in the sight of the skirt the man was wearing.
“He’s with me,” Tristan reported with slight irritation, taking a step in front of Opal as though that was going to hide him when Opal was taller than Tristan. “There were bandits on the road trying to rob him, though.” He grimaced. “Unfortunately, all that’s left are their corpses. I moved them off the main road but left them for the guard to handle.”
Opal nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Sir Tristan was marvelous! He took out three large, burly, monstrous men. One of them had thighs as large as tree trunks. The other must have been half-orc! And the third had a sword enchanted so it could never miss. It was a very harrowing battle, and—”
Tristan preened a little at the praise, enjoying the fact that someone still thought well of him these days. “Oh, it wasn’t so dramatic as all of that,” he said dutifully, though, downplaying it because that was what was expected of a knight. And really, he’d been afraid for his life more than once, in fact. If it hadn’t been for Opal’s faith in him and his constant cheering, he might’ve lost heart. He was good with weaponry, but the odds had not been in his favor. It had been his duty to step in, but he’d known he could’ve failed.
He might not have even cared.
Gods. He needed a fucking drink.
“Anyway, if you could please send someone to take care of the bodies before other travelers stumble across them?” Tristan requested.
The guard at the door grunted. “Will do. And feel free to join us for drinks after sundown. We’ll be gathering at The White Hart.”
It was always nice to be invited to drink with the guardsmen. They didn’t always get along with the knights, and vice versa—especially these days. “I’d love to,” he said, grateful now for the way Opal had gushed about his bravery. “Thank you for the invitation.” He glanced aside at Opal. “We’re going to get something to eat first, though. I’m famished.”
“Yes! I’m famished too!” Opal tugged on Tristan’s arm to drag him into the city. “It’s been ages since I’ve been here. I think my sister said there’s an inn near the market that serves amazing roast lamb.”
That sounded good to Tristan, and he waved at the guard on duty before allowing himself to be urged into the busy city streets. “That sounds perfect to me,” he said. A little bit of guilt nagged at him; as a knight, he should’ve refused payment in any form, but he was tired and clinging to whatever coin he could keep. He sighed, then added reluctantly, “But please, don’t feel you need to pay for my meal. I was only doing as any knight would’ve done.”
“No! I insist!” Opal confidently guided them through the city. “This is how all the good romances start, right? With food, and then kisses, and then…” He trailed off and bit his lip, smiling. “You know.”
Tristan stopped dead in his tracks, and someone bumped into him. The man started to curse him before seeming to notice the insignia on his leather armor, then the man bowed his head and hurried off. Tristan barely even noticed the whole potential disaster, too busy staring at Opal. “Pardon me?” He couldn’t have heard that right.
Romances?
He had things to do. He had a dangerous, crucial quest to complete.
And sure, maybe he’d taken a few second glances at men, but he wasn’t generally interested in the male form. That, and everyone—including Opal, it seemed—expected him to be some noble knight like the stories told of, and Tristan was far from that. No man or woman could distract him from the quest at hand.
Opal didn’t respond to Tristan’s bewilderment, though. He let go of Tristan’s arm, but he took hold of Tristan’s hand instead and began tugging. “Come on! We should get the food portion of it over with, and…” He looked over his shoulder and frowned. “Am I going too fast? But I’ve been told it’s best to be direct. Sometimes people don’t understand what I mean otherwise, or they misunderstand and get silly ideas.”
“What kind of silly ideas do they get?” Tristan asked, feeling stupid for even having to ask as he let himself be led along.
“If I’m too subtle, they might not understand what I’m talking about! I once hinted and hinted to my one sister that I would love a present featuring royalty and knights—as in, romantic ballads and stories! But she got me a history text instead. I really don’t care about the genealogy of local royalty dating back three hundred years.”
Romantic ballads and stories. No, he probably hadn’t misheard, but Opal would see soon enough that he was no knight from the too-pretty tales.
“Here we are!” Opal said, pointing to the inn before Tristan could think too much on the whirlwind that was this strange man.
The inn was a very nice one, with flowerpots out front and little window flower beds too. The facade was clean, and a lovely smell wafted from inside. The sign by the door labeled it Unicorn’s Rest.
“I wonder why it’s called that.” Opal pointed at the sign. “Are unicorns known for their resting? Have you met one before? I don’t think a unicorn would like me very much, but then…” Opal trailed off, twirling a lock of hair around a finger. “Well. They’re picky, aren’t they? Anyway, I don’t want to meet a unicorn. Humans are better.”
Tristan wondered if Opal always talked so much. He wasn’t necessarily the quietest man, especially when he had some drink in him, but he didn’t think he ever talked that much. “I don’t know much about unicorns,” he said. He knew they were horses with one horn extending from their foreheads, and they had a penchant for virgins.
He didn’t know enough about dragons either, really, no matter how much he tried to research them. He just knew they were destructive, and killed people, and that they were probably green.
Oh, and that one of them was married to the fucking king of Kithage, and he had no idea how that arrangement worked because the crude ballads all mentioned two cocks and that had to be… difficult at best.
“Well, just so you know, I don’t care either way if a unicorn would theoretically like you or not.” Opal backed up into the inn, pulling on Tristan’s wrist the entire time. “I’ll show you a very good time—no, wait. That’s definitely too forward. Pretend I didn’t say that. We have to eat dinner first! That’s how it always goes.”
What?
What the absolute fuck?
“Opal—” he started to say, but Opal dragged Tristan deeper into the inn. He pulled him to a stop, though, just beside the entrance. He was prepared to try to tell Opal that he wasn’t interested when the pretty young waitress greeted them.
Before he could think of anything, he found himself in a chair, and… He really needed a drink. That would make this easier. Yes. A little bit of beer would definitely make it easier to figure out how to turn Opal down.
But first, a drink.
“Beer, please,” Tristan burst out, only to realize he’d interrupted a conversation between Opal and the waitress.
Rather than be put out by the rudeness, Opal smiled. “Yes! Of course. Beer for him. And, um… Do you have a sweet ale? Or a red wine. Red sounds like a tasty color. I generally like red foods. And bring the roast lamb stew, and…”
“I’m so sorry,” the waitress said, smiling awkwardly. “We don’t have the lamb stew today. The cook prepared chicken pot pie.”
Opal looked at the waitress in utter shock. “No… lamb? Why chicken? Chicken is barely a meal. Chicken is… it’s just a small bird. Do you have beef? Venison? I’ll settle for pork, but… chicken?”
“No, sorry. We rotate the dishes. Today is chicken.” The waitress looked at Tristan pleadingly. “Is that all right with you, sir? Or I could bring bread and cheese, if the chicken isn’t agreeable…”
“Bread? Cheese? That’s not real food.” Opal buried his head in his hands. “That’s what birds eat. Like chickens—”
Tristan took pity on the poor waitress and interrupted Opal, “The chicken pot pie will be fine for me. And…” He frowned. “Can your cook cut the cheese into squares?” His young cousin always liked cheese cut into squares. Maybe a picky eater like Opal would enjoy something like that as well.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back with your food and drink.” She hurried away from the table, probably to complain to the rest of the staff about the unreasonable customer.
Opal groaned and slumped forward onto the table. “Chicken doesn’t sound romantic at all. Lamb is a romantic meal. And it’s red. Red is a romantic color.”
“We, ah…” Tristan really, really wanted that beer. Or something stronger. He should’ve asked for something stronger. “You know we aren’t on a date, don’t you?”
“Of course we are,” Opal answered, so confidently that Tristan had to wonder if he’d agreed to that when he’d accepted the invitation for a thank you meal. Opal sat up again and adjusted his hair. “I should have dressed a little nicer, I know. I just wasn’t expecting to meet you so soon. But obviously it was love at first sight, and—”
“Opal,” he interrupted again. “I’m not…” How did he put this without offending the man? “Love at first sight only happens in ballads and fairy tales. It isn’t…”
Opal wasn’t paying a single bit of attention to him. Instead, he was fidgeting with a pretty jeweled flower on his vest. Tristan eyed it, then looked back at Opal.
What had he been saying again?
“This is how it happens in all the stories, though,” Opal said, a lot quieter. “A dashing knight rescues a maiden—well, I’m not a maiden, but close enough, right? And we live happily ever after. I have a lovely home. You could live there, and I’ll take care of you… oh, wait. You’re the knight, though. You’re supposed to be the caretaker. Why is this so hard?”
Right. Tristan was trying to tell Opal that there was no such thing as love at first sight. “Can we, erm… slow it down a little bit?” Tristan suggested, feeling overwhelmed by the entire situation. “Back up to the… er… date.” That was still a little much, but he could at least deal with that. For now. Until he could tell Opal he wasn’t interested in a little more gently. “Before the happily ever after bits…”
Gods, where was that fucking beer?
“Before the happily ever after bits…?” Opal looked at him expectantly. “What happens before those? I mean, I’ve read the stories, of course. But usually they end with the rescue. If I write our story down, I should probably make it sound like I went on an epic journey first—no, wait. You’re on an epic journey, and I’m the prize.”
“We should get to know each other. Those questions you were asking me, remember?” Tristan was absolutely not going to tell Opal that he was going to be leaving the city on a quest soon. The last thing he needed was for the man to follow him, thinking it was some noble and romantic journey instead of the selfish, miserable trek that it was.
“Oh. Yes! I can do that!” Opal fluffed up his hair and smiled eagerly. “So, Sir Tristan. How old are you? Where are you from? Do you have family? What brings you to Lurina? You didn’t mention. I was visiting the sorcerer, of course—oh, wait. You need to talk too.”
Shockingly, Opal finally quieted enough for Tristan to get a word in.
“I’m twenty-six,” Tristan replied. Thankfully, the beer arrived before he had to answer the other questions, and he guzzled down a good half before turning back to the waitress with a thanks and a request for another. He was going to need more alcohol to get through this.
Opal picked up his goblet of red wine and sniffed it, his nose scrunching up adorably. “This is red? It doesn’t smell red.” He set the goblet aside with a sigh.
“Red doesn’t have a smell,” Tristan pointed out.
“Anyway,” Opal said, waving off the words. “Any siblings? I have ten. Most of them are all right. One of them is terrible but she’s never around anyway. Because she’s terrible.”
Tristan’s stomach lurched at the mention of siblings. “I have—had one,” he said gruffly, still having to correct himself because his mind simply wouldn’t accept that Evan was gone. “A brother.” He gripped the mug of beer more tightly.
He didn’t have a brother anymore.
His sister-in-law had barely managed to escape, one arm missing and her face half-charred, but his brother hadn’t been so lucky.
All because of a fucking dragon. He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to talk about it, and he wished he’d have just changed the subject. He didn’t know why he hadn’t.
“Oh. Had?” Opal’s energy seemed to calm down, and he looked down at his long, manicured nails. “I’m sorry. I know I just said I didn’t like my one sister, but I don’t think I’d want anything to happen to any of them. That would be… anyway. I’m sorry. How did it happen? If you want to say. You don’t have to.”
Tristan downed the rest of his drink. He wanted to get away from this. He wanted to be away from here. “He was on a trip with his wife,” he said, feeling separate from his words somehow, like he was reciting them instead of feeling them. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “They were attacked by a dragon.”
Opal inhaled sharply. “A… dragon attack. That’s… oh. I’m sorry. Truly, truly sorry.” He sounded genuinely upset, in a way very few of the people who’d heard the story did. Most people offered platitudes, the generic they’re with the gods now, but none of them truly cared.
Tristan glanced up at Opal and was surprised at how Opal’s eyes shimmered with tears. Tristan had cried, too. He’d cried, and he’d cursed, and he’d thrown things, and he’d left his entire room in shambles. He’d been ashamed, when he’d finished throwing his fit, but he’d quietly cleaned up after himself before going out to find something to drink.
That had helped.
Drinking always did.
The waitress set down their food—a chicken pot pie and another beer for Tristan, and bread and cut up squares of cheese for Opal. He definitely needed something stronger, but it felt like it would be rude to order something more expensive on Opal’s tab. Just the beer, then… and he’d go drinking with the guards later on, where he could imbibe to his heart’s content.
She quickly departed before Opal could even react to the meal she’d put in front of him.
“That’s, ah, date food,” Tristan said.
“It is? So why did you get the chicken?” Opal picked up one of the cheese cubes and brought it closer to his mouth. His tongue darted out briefly, as if he wanted to lick the cheese before allowing it into his mouth proper.
Tristan only stared, unsure of what to say to that bizarre behavior.
After a few more of those pseudo-licks, Opal finally ate the piece of cheese.
It didn’t even seem like he chewed it.
“I guess it’s all right. I like that it’s easily picked up.” Opal popped another cheese cube into his mouth. “I think my brother said he and his husband feed each other little foods like this.” He picked up his goblet of wine and took a very delicate sip from that. Tristan expected another remark about the flavor or the color, but Opal ended up bowing his head over the goblet.
“You must have loved your brother a lot. And then some asshole dragon just… If I ever meet that dragon, I’ll give them a stern talking to. I promise.”
“A stern talking to?” Tristan asked, his voice sharp as anger started to build within him, stoked by Opal’s casual idea of punishment. “A talking to? When I find that dragon, I’ll kill it. I’ll kill all dragons.” He drank more of his beer and slammed the mug down on the table, and some of its contents spilled over the sides. He didn’t care.
He didn’t have an appetite anymore either.
“All dragons? It was just one that killed your brother.” Opal gave him a pleading look. “You don’t need to kill all—”
“Yes, I do! Not even a month after Evan’s death, a fucking dragon razed a town in Kithage. How many people lost their lives there? How many mothers, fathers, brothers died in that attack? All dragons are evil creatures! I’m not going to stop until every single dragon is dead,” Tristan said savagely, despite knowing that people near them could overhear them.
Let them. They needed to be afraid of dragons too.
“You can’t,” Opal said with open alarm. “Even fighting one dragon… a dragon would kill you. You’re a very capable knight, Sir Tristan, and very valiant, and brave, and dashing, but… dragons are a little tougher than some brigands. Humans don’t usually stand a chance against a dragon.”
“Not without help, they don’t,” Tristan said grimly. He didn’t know why he was talking to Opal about this, but there was something about the man that seemed to invite him to talk. He’d met a few people like that before, and, well… He’d never see Opal again, so venting to him could be beneficial. It could clear his mind and purge the bad thoughts so they didn’t affect him on the way. “I’m not stupid enough to go after a dragon like I am now.”
“You could probably handle a wyvern? Would that be close enough?” Opal suggested. “I’ll help you track down a wyvern and kill it. They nest in large groups but if we lure one away, you could take it easily.”
“Why the fuck would I want to kill a wyvern when it was a dragon that fucking slaughtered my brother and crippled my sister-in-law?” he asked, barely managing to keep his voice below a shout. More people turned to look at him, and he shoved his food away from him and stood up. He didn’t even finish his fucking beer. “Avoid traveling the roads alone, Opal. There are many, many dangers.”
Tristan stalked out of the inn, fury bubbling inside him. Fuck. It was Opal’s fault for bringing up the subject, and he hadn’t had nearly enough to drink to handle the conversation. Normally the beer made him feel better. It made the feelings less intrusive… not this time, though.
It wasn’t quite sundown yet, but Tristan could get to the White Hart and start drinking before the rest of the guards arrived. If he could just drink enough, he could forget about all of this for just a little while. For only a few hours, maybe, but he could escape from the misery of reality.
“Tristan! Wait, I’m sorry!” Opal shouted, catching up to Tristan surprisingly quickly. He grabbed Tristan’s wrist and, with a force that seemed counter to his lithe frame, managed to yank Tristan hard enough to make him stumble back.
Tristan stared at Opal when he regained his footing, and he scowled at him. He couldn’t keep attracting attention. He was a fucking knight of the kingdom—whatever that meant, when there was no king anymore. He still had some honor to pretend to uphold.
He schooled his expression to something more neutral, even though he knew his eyes were blazing. “I’m not interested in a relationship, Opal. Not with you, not with anyone. I have…” He couldn’t mention the quest. “I have other, more important matters.”
“I screwed it up.” Opal got closer, and now the height difference felt a little more menacing than before. “You were having a lovely meal, and I ruined it. I’m really sorry, Tristan. I… Can I help you, though? I can make you feel better, even if it’s just for tonight.”
Tristan shook his head. “I’m sorry, Opal. I’m not interested in men.”
Even men in skirts.
Even pretty men in skirts.
Opal’s lip quivered, but he inhaled sharply. “You don’t have to be interested in men to have sex with them. My other brother… oh, never mind what he says.”
Before Tristan could protest further, Opal clutched Tristan’s jaw and brought their lips together.
Tristan went to pull away, but Opal’s grasp was surprisingly strong… and there was something alluring about the kiss. The same sort of feeling that had made him want to talk to Opal seemed to apply here, too—the same sort of feeling that he got when he drank, too.
His lips tingled, and he found himself wanting more—even if this was a man, and even if they were in the middle of the road. Fuck propriety and his sexual preferences; it had been a long time since he’d been kissed.
Their tongues wrapped around each other, and Tristan swallowed to clear his mouth of spit while they continued to kiss. The way Opal kissed, the way he smelled, the surge of arousal he hadn’t felt in ages—
He whined when Opal broke the kiss. There was saliva on Opal’s chin, and Tristan leaned closer to lick it away.
“Oh. Shoot. I didn’t mean to do that. Um…” Opal glanced around, as if he actually cared that there were people staring at them.
Tristan gripped Opal’s hips and pulled him closer, pressing up against him until he started to come back to his senses. Despite his desperate arousal—despite the way his cock strained against his breeches—they were in public.
“Okay. Definitely didn’t mean to do that. You’re just… You seemed really upset, and… Let’s go back to the inn and rent a room, okay? Then you can kiss me as much as you want. Is that what you want, Tristan?” Opal asked pleadingly.
Opal wanted it every bit as much as Tristan did, it seemed. Why would he say no? He would get to forget for a little while, and it wouldn’t even result in a hangover. Gods, he wanted to forget. He wanted more of those kisses that made it impossible to think. He wanted to experience even more of them.
“Yes,” Tristan said without much hesitation at all.
“Then let’s go.” Opal took Tristan’s hand and guided them back to the inn. It seemed like it took forever for Opal to negotiate for a room, although mostly it was the proprietor saying Opal had overpaid for the dinner, and was trying to return money to Opal, and finally after some debate and a bit of grumbling from Opal, they were given a key to a room and several pieces of silver.
As soon as they were in private, Tristan grabbed Opal and kissed him again. “Gods,” he groaned. “Why do you taste so divine? I didn’t know men could taste like this.”
“Oh, um.” Opal giggled nervously. “Men can taste like anything! Maybe it was that red drink. This is just what red tastes like.”
“Red doesn’t taste like anything,” Tristan said absently, but he stopped caring about that when Opal’s lips found his again.
Who cared why Opal tasted so good? The only thing that mattered was that he did.