ETAN

He spoke thoughtlessly, so desperate to share everything in his heart with her.

"When I am King, there will be no restrictions in my Kingdom. I will outlaw it. Women should be educated and trained if they wish it—and where they show skill, they should be valued and engaged just as readily as men."

"Yes!" she breathed.

Etan could hardly contain himself. She shared his passion for a new kind of Kingdom? A new kind of life! His excitement was only fueled by the intensity in her gaze.

Then she said, "So… you are an Heir?"

He blinked as the moment stretched between them. To tell her? Or—

Shrill whistles and hand bells rang across the night, bringing shrieks of excitement and the rumble of male voices. Then the Master of Ceremonies voice, amplified by magic, rose over the hedgerows.

"Your Majesties, Your Highnesses, Lords and Ladies, please, make your way to the center of the maze for the unmasking! The bells will ring in ten minutes."

Etan looked at her and she stared back, her eyes wide and shining. He swallowed hard. "We should…"

"Before we go," she whispered. "May I ask one thing of you?

"Anything."

She blinked and dropped her chin again. "May I… would you be offended if… I touched your chest?"

There were many things Etan had been prepared to hear—but that was not one of them. He shook once with the urge to laugh. But her forehead was furrowed, and she looked at him, her eyes as wide as if she'd just asked him to strip naked and dance the Behul for her.

"It would be my pleasure, my lady," he said, his voice deeper than usual.

"You think me strange," she said in a frustrated voice, clenching her fists in her lap.

"No, I promise," he chuckled, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "Only beautifully innocent, just as you should be."

"My mother doesn't think so," she muttered under her breath. He suspected he wasn't supposed to hear it, so he pretended he hadn't. But his rage and disgust towards the Queen slipped up a notch.

"Please," he said when she didn't seem to know what to do. He offered her an open palm and she laid her hand in his. Then he placed her hand to his chest. "Please."

He'd thought it an amusement—something sweet, not arousing—when she asked. But as she swallowed and stared at his chest, her eyes wide and breath speeding up, he found himself tightening under her gaze and cursed himself.

He'd placed her hand over his heart and at first she simply spread her fingers wide. But then she licked her lips and he had to take a deep breath. She slid her hand up, over the breast of his uniform to the place it opened at his throat and his collarbones peeked out of the white shirt. But then, just before her fingertips reached his skin, she yanked her hand back.

He frowned, "What—?"

"Cursed gloves," she muttered, and began wrestling with the buttons at both wrists. Etan's mouth went dry when, one by one, she tugged each finger of the offending garments, until she was able to slide one glove off, revealing her arms and hands in a seductive slide that, to Etan, felt so incredibly thrilling, it was as if he'd never seen a gloved hand before. By the time she was free of the second and dropped them both into her lap, his breath was making his chest visibly rise and fall.

But she didn't seem to notice his shift, only returned her small hand to that spot, just below the V neck of his shirt, and then, biting her lower lip, let her fingers slide under it, to his skin.

They both released heavy breaths. Etan had to close his eyes a moment. The sheer delight and fascination in her gaze made him want to strip her naked and show her what it was really about, and to hell with virtue. But he forced himself to sit very still as she slid her cool fingers under the collar of his shirt, to his collarbones, to his neck. His skin prickled and goose-bumped wherever she touched. Waves of tingles danced from under her fingers, down his chest, and raced straight to his groin.

Her fingers trembled and her breath caught as she pulled her hand back to his throat. He swallowed. She pulled her hand back with a huff, and he thought she was done. But instead, with a look at his eyes to make sure he didn't want to stop her, she reached slowly, with both hands, for the buttons at the top of his shirt and, dear god, she pushed his jacket back to make room to let it drop open.

One button.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

The last was just below his navel and they both looked down as it popped free, and then her trembling fingers pushed the soft, white fabric back from his chest.

*****

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