"Thank you," he told Abelard, anxious to work though this alone. "You've given me a lot to think about."
"Walk carefully, my prince." Abelard bowed low, leaving Tris alone with the fire and his thoughts.
As THE DAYS grew shorter, Staden's court prepared for Winterstide. While Staden welcomed Tris's participation as Summoner, many at court were curious as to what such participation might add to the feast day. Tris knew that most residents looked forward to a week of revelry.
Carroway was thoroughly enjoying the chance to entertain once more at court. When he was not practicing in the salle, he was rehearsing with the minstrels. His skills gained him the respect of Staden's musicians, who, knowing his stay to be temporary, did not see him as a rival. Carroway commented dryly that perhaps Staden's minstrels eyed his odds of surviving the return to Margolan, taking this opportunity to learn his songs and stories in the event of his untimely demise.
Even Tris couldn't resist the lure of the festivities. Winterstide was a festival of light at the year's darkest month, glittering with candles, stuffed with traditional delicacies, and brimming with ale and merriment. Staden kept the feast in high style; balls and jousts marked the weeks leading up to the feast night itself. In Margolan, Tris had often excused himself early from the revelries, to keep his distance from Jared and the nobles' predatory daughters.
Now, the prospect of accompanying Kiara heightened his interest tremendously.
Tris had to admit that his record with the ladies was every bit the disaster Soterius joked it was. He was realistic enough to know that his title and rank alone would have gotten him almost any young woman he set his eye on. He'd been told often enough that he was handsome, though he privately had his doubts. A few early crushes had gone badly; the girls he'd trusted with his heart had been more interested in becoming a princess than in the particular prince it took to achieve that goal. And then there was Jared.
Jared's reputation for promiscuity was legendary, but beneath that lust ran a fondness for violence. There were too many retainers at the palace eager to cover Jared's indiscretions, either to save Bricen from embarrassment or to court favor with the heir apparent. Perhaps they knew Jared's rages and learned to fear him. Even before the murders of the coup, Tris had formed a loathing for his half-brother. He'd vowed to never take after Jared. So while courtiers bedded each other without a second thought and trysting became the favored sport of the young nobility, Tris held back. It wasn't piety, and it certainly hadn't been for lack of interest. He had no intention of having his heart toyed with, or being a prize for the winning. And while the warmth of a bedmate would have been pleasant, he had no desire to callous his heart to the casual partings.
