ETAN

Letting Ayleth go, knowing what she faced for hours yet to come, knowing that she ached to be close to him instead, felt like tearing off his own arm and handing it to his enemies. Ignoring all the wide eyes and whispers, Etan stalked back to the other side of the dancefloor where Borsche was at the center of a cluster of nobles, entertaining some of the Rulers with sleight of hand tricks, and balancing feats.

Etan rolled his eyes and turned his back to stand, watching the dancers on the floor again until his friend was done and came to stand nearby.

"What happened?"

"The man pawed her like a beast and she was too polite to slap him and call him out. I reached them faster than her Knight."

"You were far too obvious, going in after her like that," Borsche murmured for his ears only.

"I don't care. I also doubt it. If anything, they'll see that I stood in for a powerful woman when a man was taking advantage. If they see anything at all. These people seemed determined to only see what they want to see—no one is as perceptive as you, Borsche."

"I wouldn't bet on it." The tone of his voice caught Etan's attention and he turned to follow Borsche's gaze across the floor… to Ayleth's Knight Defender.

The man saw them staring and glared at Borsche—whose eyes narrowed.

"His name is Falek," Borsche whispered. "He's renowned. And humble with it, which is to his credit. He trained with the Ninchant."

"That explains Ayleth's scarf," Etan muttered.

"I do not trust him. He is a true strategist, and likely a spy, or at least a spy-catcher."

Etan grimaced. "I just learned that it is only because his loyalty is stronger to Ayleth herself, than to her father, that I am not in chains and in the hands of an interrogator. He caught her when she returned this morning. And she was forced to tell him the truth."

Borsche froze.

"And that is interesting," Etan continued, "because when she was dancing, and I was watching over her he… made an agreement with me."

"He spoke to you?"

"No. It was a look—an agreement to be on watch from opposing sides. Together. As if we were allies. But I recognized it. I was confused because I didn't think he'd known. But she's just told me that he does."

Borsche's lips twisted. "Far, far too close for comfort."

Etan nodded, but then Falek caught his gaze and held it. Neither of them smiled, but they didn't glare either.

Borsche grunted. "What the hell kind of line do you think you're walking, Etan, stop staring at the very people who are supposed to be avoided—they're your enemies, remember?" he hissed.

"No one cares if I stare at her Knight Defender."

"They do if they are watching for a connection between you two. Do not fool yourself—even the empty-headed Heirs are politically educated and driven by the wealth they can gain if they find valuable information. They watch and maneuver like they're on a chessboard. Do not underestimate their interest in you, Etan. Even if they haven't guessed, they know to bring the King information that would damage your throne is to become the powerful King's ally."

"I don't underestimate them. I know," he said flatly. "I just… I wonder what this Falek thinks. Whether he will be an ally, or a foe."

"I would be more concerned to know whether he can keep his mouth shut. If the truth about you and Ayleth comes out without your control—if either of your parents finds out before you two are the ones to tell them… it will be the end of you, Etan. At best he will have you out of the castle grounds and off the Peace Accord. But at worst… the King is ruthless. He will literally kill you if he finds out you've been touching his daughter."

"I know that," Etan snapped, turning his head to glare at Borsche, who glared back.

"Do not vent your anger at the situation on me. I speak true and wisely, and you simply do not want to hear it because it doesn't suit you."

Etan's mouth tightened and he turned back to the dancefloor. "It isn't about being suited to it…" he muttered finally. "I fear for her. She is very strong and capable, but she trusts her parents. I fear they could manipulate her."

"To turn on you?"

"No. But perhaps to ignore what they're doing. If they were to find out…"

"All the more reason for you to stop staring at inconvenient people and go dance with some empty-headed chit that thinks 'your muscles are divine.'" His voice crawled up into a mocking singsong at the end, mimicking the giggling squeals of many of the young ladies.

Etan gave his man a very flat look from the corner of his eye.

"What?" Borsche said with a smile, "I heard no less than three of the ladies already discuss the cut of your trousers—they're very impressed."

Etan turned to face him, and snarled, "I am betrothed! So, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from speaking about me like I am a breeding stud!"

Borsche whipped his head around and made a clown's face. Startled, Etan was about to ask why, but realized someone must be watching them as Borsche played the clown, all the while muttering through unmoving lips.

"If you do not now show more attention to one of these young ladies than you did to your future wife, the rumor mill will be aflutter before breakfast. So, stud or not, get out there, Etan, and woo someone else for an hour."

Etan trembled with frustration, but he knew Borsche was right. He forced himself to smile at the tricks his man did, then act like he lost interest quickly.

Reluctantly, he scanned the crowds of Heirs and nobles with a sigh—until his eyes fell on Lady Playn. She smiled hopefully at him and he nodded once, then muttered, "Twelve more days."

"Twelve more days," Borsche repeated, producing his juggling balls from somewhere in his impossible clothing.