Page 59 of The Fox Heir

His gaze drops to the glowing pool. “When she died, everything fell apart. My father, Corrin, and my mother, Ilsa … they didn’t last long. Grief hollowed them out. I watched them fade away. And when they were gone, I was alone. I was only twelve years old.”

The same age I was when I lost Grandmother. My heart aches for the boy Tristan was. The boy who had to suffer the loss of his entire family at such a young age. I know that particular flavor of despair.

“That must have been unbearable,” I say.

His jaw clenches. “It was. I hated everyone and everything.” He turns to give me a sidelong glance. “I suspect you might know about that.”

I swallow hard. “I do.”

This conversation feels fragile, like it could collapse at any moment. Tristan has never opened himself up so completely before. It feels like a rare gift.

“You surprise me,” I say.

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Half the time I think you hate me.”

His eyebrows furrow. He lifts a hand to my chin, tilting it up until my gaze meets his. My skin tingles at his touch.

“I could never hate you, Red.”

My cheeks burn, but I keep my eyes fiercely on his. “You’re a difficult person to read.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe I don’t want to be read like a dusty old book.”

This makes me laugh. “Some of us happen to love books.”

“And what of wolves?” His voice is hesitant when he says it, like he hadn’t meant for it to come out. But it has. And some words can’t be pushed back into the depths of our secret souls.

He moves his hand to where mine rests against the cold stone. His fingers curl through mine, steady and certain. The world outside might be cold and isolating, but here, beneath the light of a thousand glowing sea stars, I feel wanted.

“Why do you refuse to call me by my name?” I whisper.

“Because it reminds me of him. The Fox King.”

“I’m not my father.”

“No. But you are the Fox Heir.”

I give my head a small shake. “Not anymore.”

“Maybe not to him. But to us, you’ll always be. He can’t take that away.”

Something painful claws at my heart. I’m afraid to say the words, but in this moment of vulnerability, I do anyway.

“What if I don’t want it?” I take a deep, steadying breath. “What if I’m afraid it would make me cruel, like him? Like all of the Foxes before me.”

His eyes grow fierce as they search mine. “Foxes are known for being cunning and cruel.”

I scoff. “You’re starting to sound like Nalina.”

“No,” he says firmly, his hand gripping mine tighter. “You’re not those things. That much was clear to me, even back in your father’s kennels. You’re more than your family, Red.”

“But ‘red’ is just a color.”

He looks taken aback. “That’s not true. Red is the color of fire. Of power and … passion.”

“Also love.” The word slips out before I can consider the repercussions. Or, maybe I no longer care.