ETAN

Etan was in the training ring with Borsche—who was doing his best to look less skilled than he was—ignoring the glares of half the other nobles, when he felt her. She'd been a vague presence in the back of his mind, the center of his chest, for every waking moment. But it was as if her presence suddenly bloomed to life. It was instinct to turn and look for her and it was only by the grace of the Father that he didn't lose an ear. In the split second he was distracted, Borsche swung an arc with the training sword—heavier than his actual sword, because Borsche was a sadist—and almost lopped one off.

As it was, despite the obviously awkward swing Borsche took with the training sword—little more than a clutch of reeds tied together—it clacked hard against Etan's shoulder. It was only by gritting his teeth against the grunt that he managed not to cry out.

Borsche stepped back and bowed. Etan, teeth gritted against the pain, bowed back, then straightened, forcing himself not to turn and look for her.

"Do not identify your weakness to your enemies," Borsche muttered under his breath, eyeing all the other young Lords that had been watching them train. "They will use it against you. Every time."

Etan nodded once and made himself keep his eyes on Borsche as they discussed the session.

"You're still dropping that shoulder when you lunge," Borsche said. "If you don't keep it up, your balance is off and if your opponent is quick, they can shift you off your center."

"Perhaps if I was allowed to train with a sword that was the correct weight," Etan began.

But Borsche only glared at him. "You know as well as I do that your sword will feel featherlight this afternoon after this."

"And I'll have to balance differently again."

Borsche shrugged. "If you can't adjust for a new weapon, you'll never succeed when you're taken by surprise and forced to fight with whatever is at hand."

"Certainly," he said tightly. "But perhaps next time we can wait until after the competition to throw in a new challenge?"

"Unlikely."

"Noted."

There was a rustle of activity from the direction that he'd felt Ayleth and Etan had to close his eyes to keep himself facing Borsche who spoke quickly under his breath.

"Do not let them see you struggle. Look at me. I will be your eyes. Look at me, Etan!"

He snapped his eyes open and stared at Borsche's face. But Borsche, slowly unwrapping the leather from his wrists, was watching over Etan's shoulder.

"She and her Ladies-in-Waiting have come to watch the men train," Borsche said with a smile. "And the men are… pleased."

Etan glared.

"They're less pleased that Ayleth seems distracted by a certain someone who is standing here, talking to me with no shirt on."

Etan, too, began unknotting the ties on his leathers and unwrapping them slowly. "Distracted?"

"Obsessed, would be more accurate," Borsche grinned. "She can't keep her eyes off you."

Etan smiled and tugged at the ties again. "Good."

Then Borsche hummed. "Someone has stepped between you, so she's forced to look at him. The pale-haired Lord—the one from Andaluve."

"Trystan?"

"That's the one."

"He's a good man."

"And a persistent one. He's planted his feet so she can't pass him without being impolite."

Etan's jaw tensed. She had to speak with the others, he knew—had to be courted by them, Lord help him. But seeing that, knowing when she spoke to or touched another man… it made his stomach clench.

Would she ask to touch their chests, too?

"Do not give yourself away, Sire," Borsche breathed. "Do not let others see that you know each other. Soon enough they'll learn. Do not make yourself—or her—a greater target."

Etan sucked in a breath and nodded. "We need to get out of here before I—"

"Yes, perhaps that rest is in order after all," Borsche said, and nudged him toward the gate to the training circle.

Etan turned and tried to keep his shoulders back and his chin high. She was hidden from his gaze from here, but they would pass her. Would he see her? Would he have to leave without even catching her eye?

His thoughts were so scrambled, he almost startled when he heard his named called by a deep voice.

"Etan! Well done, man!"

He turned casually, his skin burning, pulling for her, as Trystan turned toward him, smiling, and she was revealed, her eyes fixed on his chest.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and he almost groaned. "Thank you, Trys." His voice was rough. He prayed they'd all believe it because of the exercise.

"Have you met the Princess Ayleth?" the man said generously. "She and her ladies were here early enough to appreciate your skill."

Etan stopped walking and turned, his gaze following the man's open hand as he stepped aside to indicate Ayleth. Their eyes locked and Etan felt that clap of power, that jolt, shiver all the way to his toes.

Ayleth's lower lip dropped open.

Unable to think what else to do, he bowed as beautifully as he was capable. When he straightened, her eyes were wide on him. "Good morning, Your Highness," he said without smiling.

"Good Morning, Lord Summit."

"Oh ho!" Trystan crowed, flipping his corn-colored hair out of his eyes. "She knows of you, sir!"

Etan nodded and swallowed. "It is a pleasure, of course," he said without smiling. "But we must move on to allow the next Lords to train."

She nodded at him and he stared a moment longer before turning away and following Borsche. He might have sucked in his stomach. May have tensed, to give her the best view of his chest and arms without his shirt. That was what she'd said had ignited her curiosity, wasn't it? Watching the Knights train. He started to smile—then realized he was leaving, and the others would be walking into the training circle. Probably shirtless themselves.

He scowled.

"You know—" Borsche began quietly, quivering with amusement at Etan's discomfort.

"One word, Bor. Just one. And I will personally castrate you."

Borsche swallowed the taunt, but not the grin. "Touchy, touchy."

As they passed out of the training ground and into the cool shade of the courtyard, Etan turned to him. "My wife is back there being courted by other men. I don't find it funny."

Borsche's grin faded.