Trystan was still waiting on a response, eyeing her curiously. If he guessed she was having a private conversation with Ruckus, he didn’t show it.
“You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t,” she answered. What she really wanted to say was that he was staring at her like he had the right to it, but she was smart enough to know that would only serve to open another set of doors. She didn’t want to bait him. She just wanted this whole ceremony bullshit to be over.
“I know lots of things you don’t,” he said. “I guarantee it. Some of them concerning you. Like the date of our binding, for instance.”
She tried not to let those words get to her, yet her heart tightened and she realized she was inadvertently holding her breath. To give herself a moment, she sought out one of the waiters, motioning him over. She had no idea what was on the tray, but accepted with a polite smile.
It was circular and a toasted white color that sort of reminded her of custard. There was a small golden fork on the platter already, and she took it up and cut a small edge off what she assumed was a dessert.
She practically gagged when she placed it on her tongue. The texture was sort of akin to scrambled eggs, but the taste was a mixture of sweet and bitter, emphasis on the latter.
At her side, Trystan laughed. “I told you to ask for the pumpkin pie. You should have taken my word for it.”
“Is there a problem, Lissa?” The waiter hadn’t moved away, and now addressed her with a sharp frown. He glanced between her and the plate in her lap. “The Basilissa informed us that gremming was your favorite. If it’s not to your liking, we can have another batch made up right away.”
“Oh”—she gulped—“no. It’s not that.… My tastes have just changed, I guess. Sorry.” She was painfully aware that Trystan had stiffened and was staring at her differently now. Gone was the teasing glint; it’d been replaced with that calculating look that always sent chills up her spine and sent her into flight mode.
Self-defense was all well and good, but really what they should have done was teach her about Olena, testing her on the ins and outs of what the Lissa liked and hated. She should have pressed more for it herself, but in the beginning she’d been in denial that this would go on so long. A few weeks could easily turn into a few months.
What if she really was stuck here forever?
Her chest pinched painfully, and she lifted a hand to press against it, focusing on keeping her breathing even. Having a mental breakdown here was so not a good plan. She needed to stay vigilant. Fortitude would get her through this. She couldn’t wait for the day when looking back on this would be a laugh.
Or, at least, a slight chuckle.
On the upside, how many people got to say they’d been to another planet? Or that they’d made out with an alien? Her gaze wandered over toward Ruckus, and she smiled. A very hot alien, too.
He stood with his feet apart, shoulders back. His traditional outfit was snug enough that she could see the curve of his spine, wanted to trail her fingers all the way up it and delve them into his dark locks. She’d never really been one for touching, but as she sat there, her mind couldn’t help but wander over all the ways she’d love to feel him up.
Which was ridiculous.
But it was certainly more stimulating than trying more of the gremming, that was for sure.
She was so distracted with her perusal that she almost didn’t recognize the pinging sound for what it was. It whizzed through the air so fast, she barely even had enough time to pick up on it, the heat searing past her cheek the only initial sign the shot had missed. With a frown, she spun her head in the direction of its origin.
Everything seemed to still, people moving in slow motion as her breath felt like it eased out of her lungs instead of burst. The shooter was staring right at her, standing clean across the room in front of one of the gaming tables. He was dressed up like everyone else, wouldn’t have stood out in the crowd if not for the weapon in his extended arm.
The one pointed at her.
She didn’t recognize it, so it wasn’t a fritz, but that was only a small comfort. His finger moved on the trigger. Considering how time seemed to lapse, she probably could have attempted to move out of the way, but she was frozen to the spot.
She must have blinked, for the next instant something heavy was pushing her against the back of the throne, cutting off her air supply so that she gulped desperately in a poor attempt to breathe.
It took her a moment to realize the object was actually Trystan, and that he’d turned himself into a solid shield around her smaller form. His head was up higher, above her own, leaving her face pressed against his steely chest so she couldn’t make out his expression. When he didn’t move, she tried to wiggle her hands free from where they were caught between them. She wasn’t able to get them far, shifting them up only half an inch or so.
Her fingers instantly touched something wet, and she stilled. She was touching the spot directly below his right pec, the part of him that happened to be positioned right in front of her chest where her heart would be. Where the shooter had been aiming.
“Oh my god,” she said, the words rushing out of her, and she felt renewed panic. With more force, she tried to shove him away so she could get a look at the wound. Was he dead?! Concentrating proved otherwise, for she was able to separate the pounding of her own heart in her ears from the clear deep gasps coming from him above her.
Then the surrounding screams reached her. She couldn’t see it, but it was obvious the room had spun into a panic.
“You’re bleeding out!” she told Trystan as loudly as she could, her face buried the way it was. “You need to get off so we can stop it!”
He didn’t respond, and there was no way she was strong enough to budge him, so she did the only thing she could. Pressing her palm flat against the wound, she attempted to stanch the blood flow.
“This was supposed to help,” she rambled through clenched teeth. “That’s what you both said! This was supposed to make things better—not get you shot! What happened to their not risking another assassination attempt? I frickin’ hate this stupid planet and you stupid ali—” She cut herself off abruptly, realizing what she’d been about to do.
No way would Olena call her own people aliens. She just had to hope that Trystan was too out of it to have really heard anything she’d said. He had yet to acknowledge her at all, so … that was a good sign.
Right?
“Olena!” Ruckus was suddenly at her other side, and she could sort of peek out from beneath Trystan’s left arm and see him. “Are you all right?! Are you hurt?!”
“I’m fine,” she said, voice shaking slightly.
“Zane,” Ruckus said, directing his comment toward the massive paperweight holding her down, “we’ve got the shooters. It’s all right. You can move now. We need to get that wound of yours treated before it’s too late.”
Trystan shifted and let out a sharp breath, stilling instantly.