Tristan finally makes his way out of the stable on the back of a gleaming white horse. I sort of feel like he and Windsor should switch; it would suit their personalities better. But then I see the way he rides, his back straight, head up, like a true aristocrat, and I shiver all over. In that red jacket no less, he looks like a king. A god. “Damn, if I were you, I’d want to fuck him, too,” Zayd murmurs,
