I NEED YOUR HELP! I love that you love Ayleth & Etan like I do, and I am committing to trying to write daily updates for it in July. However, as the third book I'm writing simultaneously, and a Spirity entrant, this book will be measured by Webnovel purely on its real-money income. It currently has about 25-30 readers paying to unlock chapters. Unless I can get that number above 500 by the end of July, I will be forced to put this book back on hiatus indefinitely.

If you have the choice to use fast-passes, or unlock the chapter, please consider unlocking rather than reading for free. If you don't have a choice, definitely make sure the book is added to your library and keep reading for free (and give your votes!), because those reader stats will encourage WN to show the book to others who may be able to pay.

Our goal is 500 paying readers by July 30th... LET'S DO THIS!

*****

AYLETH

That afternoon they returned to the arena for the sports. The young Lords and Heirs strutted and played at being soldiers. Ayleth was immensely bored, especially knowing that Etan wouldn't fight again that day unless he was challenged—which was far more likely to happen in the tournament at the end of the Festival, now that everyone had seen how skilled he was.

She found herself wilting in the sun, and despite the tent that had been erected over their box, by mid-afternoon, she was nudging Trayn and whispering a suggestion that they go for a walk and a cool drink.

Her friend's eyes brightened—a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead—and she stood. When the other ladies looked at them, Ayleth just kept walking, but Trayn murmured something about the Princess needing care.

Assuming she was just visiting the bathing room, the others turned back to the battle in the arena, where Vitren was fighting a minor Lord from Northe.

As they stepped out of the box, Falek—who'd been stationed at the door—fell in beside them. Ayleth rolled her eyes, but her stomach trilled. He still hadn't told her what his decision would be.

They cut through the barracks when Falek suggested it was safer, and Ayleth was unwilling to argue. When they finally made it to the castle Courtyard and the shade of the high walls, Ayleth sighed with relief. "They shouldn't make the men fight in this heat," she said to Trayn. "It can't be healthy for him—or their leathers."

"Be grateful you won't be anywhere near the barracks this evening," Falek muttered, scanning the courtyard from just behind her shoulder. "Many of the men avoid bathing where possible."

Both ladies wrinkled their noses.

"Remind me avoid men, then," Trayn muttered.

Ayleth giggled and Falek cut her an amused look. "Only the uncouth ones, Lady Trayn," he said with a small smile. "And the Summitrans."

That shut Ayleth's mouth quickly. Her instinct was to jump to Etan's defense, but she knew Falek was testing her, so she kept her chin high and kept walking.

As they approached the door into the Castle, it opened before them and Ayleth's heart leapt into her throat.

Etan was there, dressed in his fighting leathers, his head turned back to speak with Borsche who walked behind him, dressed in a garish teal blue and yellow tunic over yellow tights.

She felt Trayn stiffen when Etan turned, and all five of them stopped.

Etan remembered his manners first.

"Good afternoon, Your Highness," he said, sweeping a bow. "Will you be joining the sports today?"

Ayleth snorted without thinking, and Trayn looked startled. "Only if you need a challenger, Highness," she returned with a wicked grin. "We couldn't allow you to win, after all."

Trayn gasped, and Borsche spluttered, but Etan rolled his lips as if he were fighting a smile. "I'll remember that, and stay out of the lists if I can," he said quietly, a heat in his eyes that warmed Ayleth's stomach, though she prayed no one else noticed.

Of course, Falek did. "Lord Summit, you block our entrance to the Castle and her Highness's safety," he growled from behind her.

"My apologies," Etan said quickly, stepping aside and ushering Borsche with him. "Please, continue without our further interruption."

Ayleth inclined her head towards him, then walked as gracefully up the step and into the castle as she could, not allowing herself to look back, or to hear the muttering Falek was doing, and perhaps Borsche as well.

Was everyone in a foul mood today?

Trayn, however, craned her neck to watch behind them, and around Falek as they moved away. When she turned back, it was with a naughty smile.

"He's very handsome, for a barbarian," she said. "And impeccable manners."

"If you consider blocking a Lady's entrance to the Castle, manners," Falek seethed.

Ayleth rolled her eyes, but as they were both behind her, they didn't see. And she didn't turn, because her heart was pattering. Her awareness of him—always a simmering bubble at the edge of her consciousness—sprang to life being so close to him. She yearned to turn on her heel and rush back, throw herself into his arms, and to hell with the Kingdoms and the Continent. And their parents.

But she knew she wouldn't. And neither would he.

The only way they could hope to change this world was to be the change within it.

"Twelve more days," she murmured under her breath.

"What was that?" Falek asked sharply.

"I said, twelve more days."

"Until what?"

"Until the signing of the Peace Accord when we may be able to have some… actual peace."

"I wouldn't gamble on it," Falek muttered.

But Ayleth could feel Trayn watching her.

She kept quiet for the rest of the walk to the kitchen where she batted her eyes at the cook and secured them all a chilled lemon ice.