ETAN

He couldn't stomach the behavior of the other young Lords at the feast. True, none were at his table, cornered as he and his parents had been, at the back of the feast hall. But they surrounded him at other tables, and he shook his head at their stupid bellows and drunken arrogance.

He was reminded of the man who'd put hands on his Ayleth earlier that night and almost bit through his own tongue, fighting himself to not seek the man out and challenge him to a duel for her honor.

He knew she couldn't see him in this crowd, but he could at least watch her. He'd been careful to take a seat that faced the front table for that reason. Borsche had eyed him suspiciously, but not said anything since his parents were there.

Dear Lord, he was going to have to tell his father.

He was watching when she stood to take her leave from her parents. He watched closely to make sure she was attended as she left the room, and that no one followed, relaxing only when she'd climbed the stairs with the woman servant and no one else had climbed behind her.

But as soon as she was gone, it was as if a piece of himself had gone with her. What had she done to him? Was it possible her mother had bewitched him? But no, Ayleth hadn't wanted to accept the union once she'd known. He thanked Father Light that she'd been as unable to deny her feelings as he was his.

And her mother, the witch, wouldn't have bespelled her daughter to fall for him—their sworn enemy. No, this had to be what they were created for. That they were meant to be. There was no point fighting it, no matter what Borsche thought.

He was owned, heart and soul. It was impossible. But it was true.

He waited twenty minutes, then made his own excuses, and strode out of the Great Hall towards his own chambers—the opposite end of the castle from hers.

He hadn't noticed Borsche leave with him, but the man appeared as his shoulder as he opened the door to his chamber, a silent watch over his shoulder while he got himself inside, then a judgmental one as he undressed from the ball. Etan could feel him like a boiling pot, simmering behind him.

"Say it," he muttered a few minutes later after he was down to his shirt and breeches.

"Say what?" Borsche said, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded.

"Say whatever thought it is that you have simmering in that head of yours. I know you don't approve. So, let's get it out, because I'm tired and I don't want to spend the next month having the same argument over and over. So, say it."

Borsche stared. "She's your sworn enemy."

"I'm aware."

"Her parents—"

"Will disapprove just as surely as mine will." He threw his dress boots into the wardrobe against the wall and turned to face his man. "None of the circumstances can be changed. So, tell me, Borsche, would you have me simply abandon her because she's inconvenient?"

"I'd have had you not make a blood vow within hours of meeting the chit!"

He crossed the space between them in a flash and took Borsche by the front of his tunic. "She is my future wife, and your future Queen, and you will not refer to her in that manner again in my presence," he growled.

Borsche put his hands up, but his eyes glinted with restrained anger. When Etan shoved him away, he caught his own weight, but didn't back off. They stood toe to toe, both angry, both determined.

"How can you be so certain?" Borsche asked a moment later, his voice low and hard.

"I can't explain it. It's within me. She's… necessary."

Borsche swore under his breath. "Do you have any idea what you've done—what she's done? What havoc the two of you are stirring together? Do you know what that vow meant that she gave you?"

Etan blinked. "It was a vow of chastity and faithfulness—"

"No, Etan, it's a vow of martyrdom. She literally put her life second to yours. In her culture, to make that vow… from someone in her position, it's treason!"

"How could she possible be treasonous—?"

"She vowed your life before hers. Before King, War, Nation. She vowed before God to die herself, before letting you die. You, Etan. Her enemy."

Etan's chest swelled. He'd known it was a beautiful vow, but he hadn't known the cultural meaning behind it. "It's only more proof that she isn't playing a game, or—"

"It's only more proof that the two of you are about to light up the entire continent in war!" Borsche hissed. "You are both rulers of powerful nations, blood sworn enemies, and members of separate allied factions. There is literally no woman under the Father's eyes that would have been worse!"