It was not a conscious decision, at least not one he was willing to acknowledge as such. He barely registered anything happening around him, even though everyone was working harder than usual.
He stopped only when he heard footsteps behind him.
“You have been avoiding your own house, I see.”
He did not turn immediately. He recognized the voice well enough to know that there was no point arguing.
“How did you know?” he asked.
“There is very little that I do not know,” Tristan replied. “But if you must know, it is evident, given that you are currently walking in the opposite direction of every responsibility you have.”
Dorian resumed walking without waiting for him. “If you are here to offer commentary on my movements, I am not in the mood.”
Tristan fell into step beside him, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “I am always in the mood to offer commentary on your movements. It is one of my more consistent habits.”
Dorian exhaled slowly. “How fortunate for me.”
“It is,” Tristan agreed. “Most people have far duller interests, such as gossip. You need not worry about me in that regard, although I do not know in this moment if that is still your preference.”
Dorian did not respond.
They walked in silence for a moment, the gravel path crunching lightly beneath their shoes. The stable roofs were visible in the distance, though Dorian made no move toward them.
Tristan glanced sideways at him. “Denial,” he said after a moment. “Is that what this is?”
Dorian stopped walking. Tristan stopped as well, undeterred.
“Say what you came here to say.”
Tristan’s expression shifted slightly, losing some of its usual humor. “I heard your wife has been living in the stables.”
“She has been working with Tempest. A most important race is coming up, and we cannot afford for it to go awry.”
Tristan sighed lightly. “Dorian, you are very good at pretending you do not understand things you absolutely understand.”
“I understand perfectly well,” Dorian said. “She is dedicated to the horse. It is not unusual, given his condition and her involvement in his recovery.”
Tristan watched him for a moment longer than necessary, studying him, then he shook his head slightly. “No,” he insisted. “That is not what this is.”
“And what exactly is it, then?”
Tristan gave a short, almost incredulous laugh. “You genuinely do not see it?”
“I see everything that is relevant.”
“That is your problem,” he scoffed. “You only see what you deem of immediate importance and forget everything else.”
Dorian looked away and resumed walking. “If you are finished speaking in riddles?—”
“She is pulling away from you,” Tristan cut in.
Dorian froze, and he did not respond immediately.
Tristan followed him again, unbothered by his silence.
“And instead of asking yourself why,” he continued, “you have decided the most logical explanation is that she simply prefers distance now.”
“That is certainly one way of looking at things.”
