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Tristan led the way with an effortless grace, his long strides carrying him up the hill with ease. Aurora found herself watching the way he moved, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he led the way up the cobblestoned path.
There were no guards in sight, which could only mean one thing: that was Tristan’s home.
Aurora knew from experience that if he had any guilt about trespassing, or the slightest sense that he didn’t belong there, the property would be swarming with guards. But there were none at any post. And when Tristan pulled open a set of ornate French doors overlooking a small garden, it wasn’t locked.
As he was about to step inside, Aurora put a hand on his shoulder. Her touch must’ve interrupted his thoughts because he blinked at her as though he was seeing her for the first time.
“Don’t be so trusting,” she warned, peering warily into the castle. “Always anticipate traps.”
He nodded, then took a careful step into the castle. With a hand on the hilt of her sword, she followed him inside. They entered a grand ballroom, the marble floor decorated with seashell designs that sparkled in the sunlight. The walls were lined with paintings of mermaids, their beauty captured for all eternity.
Aurora couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the grandeur of the place, even as she remained vigilant for any signs of danger.
“Cousin Tristan!” A little girl in a dress and golden locks ran down the elegant staircase and leaped into Tristan’s arms. He caught her with ease, but by his puzzled expression, Aurora could tell that it wasn’t a memory.
“Lily?” he whispered, staring at the little girl as though he couldn't believe she wasn’t real. That was precisely what made illusions so dangerous.
“Grandfather is at the study, waiting for you,” she said in a sweet, melodic voice. “Everything is ready. Everyone is waiting.”
Tristan’s brows furrowed, and he put the little girl down on the floor. She giggled and scampered away, disappearing into one of the corridors. “Was that…?”
“An illusion, yes,” Aurora replied.
“What did she mean by ‘everything is ready’?” he asked, turning to Aurora.
She let out a sigh. “That’s another thing about illusions. They love blasted riddles,” she grumbled. “Now, she did say your father was waiting for you. Where would he be?”
“Right.” Tristan shook off his initial shock and started toward one of the hallways to the left.
Aurora’s heart thumped in her chest as she followed Tristan down the narrow hallway, trying to push aside the unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t like enclosed spaces. It didn’t take much for a door to disappear, leaving them with no way out.
When they reached the mahogany door, Tristan hesitated, his hand trembling as he pressed it against the wood. Aurora placed her hand on his shoulder, her fingers lightly grazing the soft fabric of his shirt.
“Take a deep breath,” she whispered. “Whatever happens, don’t lose control of your emotions.”
Tristan nodded, and with a deep breath, he pushed the door open, revealing a spacious room filled with bookshelves, a large oak desk, and a roaring fireplace.
Seated at the desk was a tall, imposing man with dark hair and even darker eyes. It was the same man from the beach, but older. He looked up as they entered, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“Step inside and close the door,” he said, his eyes intense. “We have much to discuss.”
Tristan swallowed hard, his gaze locked on the man. “Father,” he breathed.
For a long moment, there was silence as the two men regarded each other, each lost in their own thoughts and emotions.
Finally, his father spoke. “Is it guidance you seek?”
Tristan nodded, his expression grim. “Yes,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’m ready to face the truth, no matter what it may be.”
As both men locked eyes, Aurora wondered if she could have prepared Tristan better for this. Dealing with an illusion was much more intense than simply reliving a memory. And judging from the tremble in his voice, she could sense that he was shaken to his core. Her only hope was that he could keep his emotions under control.
“You are no longer a child,” his father said, rising from his seat and moving toward the window.
Aurora couldn’t help but notice how the once-bright day had turned cloudy, and the wind outside had picked up, making the branches scratch against the glass. She looked at Tristan with concern.
“You have a duty to your kingdom, Tristan.”
Kingdom?Aurora shot Tristan a glance, but his eyes were fixed on his father.
