Page 85 of Promised to the Nightmare Realm
This place has been an actual Nightmare, and yet, since Tristan saved me, I’ve grown to find charm in magic again.
I gasp and back against the wall in terror when a dark shadow emerges beyond the balcony with a swish. It takes me a full second of absolute panic to realize I’m looking at Tristan, his shadowy wings flapping behind him.
“Spying?” he asks with a smile, face a little flushed as he sits on the banister. He’s holding a bottle in one hand, and a box wrapped with a blue silk ribbon in the other.
I fight off the panic mode that turns my body rigid.
It’s just Tristan. And if it were an illusion, Lady wouldn’t be wagging her tail and whining happily at his feet.
I’m safe.
“No.” When his brows rise, I give up and tell him the truth. “Maybe. I— it all looks so beautiful I’m feeling slightly jealous.”
“It’s not as fun without you. If I wasn’t obligated to be there, I would have probably stayed here. But since you decided against it, I brought the ball to you.” He holds up the bottle. “Some of our finest cherin, and…” Tristan hands me the box as Lady tries to sniff it.
“Oh no, you don’t! Not until I see what it is,” I tell her and open the heart-shaped container. The scent of cocoa overpowers me the moment I lift the lid. Inside, on a bed of colorful berries, is a cake encased in a layer of chocolate and decorated with a crab-shaped drawing rendered in white chocolate.
I smile, and not just with my mouth. My chest radiates warmth all over my body. “Smells delicious…”
“It’s vegan,” he adds quickly, always so proud of himself when he brings me a new treat of this kind. It’s adorable and makes me feel so special. “Let me just get some glasses.” He walks into the mausoleum where we set up a living room, and where he sleeps behind a curtain. It’s hard to believe how natural it feels to share the space with him, but for a week now we have lived together inthis little apartment, because he’d rather stay at my side—or in my walls—than sleep in the comfort of his official rooms in the western wing of the castle.
I resent that it makes me feel special, but at the end of the day I am just a guy who’s always longed for love, and no matter how many times I’ve told myself my expectations were unrealistic and would inevitably lead to heartbreak, I’m clearly desperate to bleed out on the altar offeelings and vibes.
Sue me.
I scratch Lady behind the ear and follow Tristan inside, my gaze trailing after the shimmering cape attached to his back for the event. I’m tempted to ask if it’s an element of formal wear, like a tie is in my world, but that would require explaining human dress codes, and I don’t really give a damn about them at this point.
This is the land of capes and sashes, not of bowties and ironed slacks.
I imagine Tristan in a tailored suit, crab cufflinks, his hair slicked back, and even though men dressed like that were never my thing, I’m salivating a little. He’d looksogood. But then again, he always does. Even when he spilled some soup on the crab hoodie yesterday and refused to take it off.
“I hope you’re not just running from someone?”
Tristan laughs and pours the cherin into two glasses. “See? I knew you were spying. Such is the life of a dashing prince, Nate. It would be rude for me to not dance with at least a few of the royals at the ball.”
“Would you have to if your spouse was there?” I ask without thinking, and when he meets my gaze, I stare into my glass as heat crawls up my neck. “I mean… the Lord, or his husband… do they also dance with others?”
Tristan clicks his glass with mine. “They can, but everyone knows they only have eyes for each other. Especially at a love-themed ball like this one. If I came with a… guest, no one would question why ‘I’m lavishing them with attention.”
I tighten my fingers on the cherin, then lift it to my lips with both hands.
I’m so unreasonable where Tristan is concerned…
“I noticed you’re very popular,” I say, finally lifting my gaze. His is so intense, so bright and golden. I feel like a rabbit caught in snares, and yet it doesn’t hurt. Maybe the teeth of the trap are rubbed with some sweet drug to bliss me out?
“Well, I’m an experienced dancer.” When he winks at me, I wonder if he’s also trying to imply experience in other matters. He definitely knew what he was doing in bed and on soft moss. Tristan downs his drink, and bows, holding out his hand. “Would you like to see for yourself?”
My breath catches, and our cozy little apartment filled with books and tapestries seems brighter, louder with the sound of music coming in from the gardens below. My heart races. My temples pulse. And, somehow, I find myself reaching out.
I catch myself, spooked like a deer barely missed by the hunter, but then my gaze settles on Tristan’s face, taking in the flush on his cheeks, and the soft smile he has for me, and I touch his palm.
Sparks erupt where our skin touches, and some of the cherin spills down my hand as my fingers tremble. I need the liquid courage, so I down the sweet alcohol and let Tristan pull me in.
He’s all regal elegance and grace while I’m in a sweater covered in dog hair and saliva. Tristan doesn’t seem bothered by it as he grabs my other hand as well, and when we’re chest-to-chest, he guides me with his body.
I’m not a complete newbie to dancing more formally. My grandparents taught me some of their favorite swing moves, but the way he glides with me across the floor takes my breath away. I don’t know if it’s the liquor going to my head, the intense violinin the music, or simply the way he smells, but I’m getting dizzy with how badly I want him.
It’s undeniable, no matter how desperately I attempt to divert my thoughts whenever they turn to romance. It’s been an uphill battle even when I refused seeing him, but since he stepped back into my life I—deep down I know that eventually I will succumb to my weakness for him.
