AYLETH

They circled each other on the dancefloor countless times, Ayleth struggling to concentrate on the conversation of the lords and Heirs who held her tightly because she was working so hard not to look at Etan—or the women he was touching and smiling at and… But she could feel him, sense where he passed, as if she were a compass, and he was north.

Her skin prickled every time his eyes fell on her, as if his fingers had traced her nape, or his breath was in her hair.

Then, during one waltz, they passed within inches of each other and she felt it like a stroke up her spine. She shivered, and her breath quickened until she threatened to burst out of the top of her dress. She was forced to snap at the Heir whose arms she was in, and whose name she couldn't remember, because he kept staring at her chest.

That shimmering fire she'd kept at bay for days flared to life, low in her belly, threatening to overwhelm good sense. And worse, she could feel Etan aching for her—which only fanned her own flames higher.

This was not good. Not good at all.

As the music began to fade, Ayleth sighed with relief and curtseyed to her partner, who raised her hand and led her off the floor amid the gaggle of men stampeding towards her. But she fixed her eyes on the royal stage. She would plead fatigue, or some other feminine ill, and put them all off for a few dances. Perhaps by then Etan would have stopped dancing with those other women and she could concentrate when she returned to the festivities.

Or perhaps—

His presence bloomed to life in her chest as a shadow suddenly appeared from her left, just as her partner bowed over her hand and gave her eyes full of promises that she roundly ignored.

"Highness," Etan's deep voice rumbled and she sucked in, but kept her face blank as she turned.

"Yes, Lord Summit?"

"May I have this dance?" he offered his hand, bowing in that way that made it look like a challenge, rather than a plea. Her heart leapt.

He was so bold! They had to play this so carefully!

Staring at his hand as if puzzled, she tilted her head. "One wonders if the Heir of Summit has, perhaps, taken too much to drink this evening? Do you know to whom you propose a dance, Sir?"

He glared out from under his heavy brows before straightening from the bow and standing to his full height.

She didn't even reach his chin.

"It is the Festival of Peace, Princess. What better gesture to offer before the eyes of the people than for enemies to step in harmony? Unless… you're frightened that I dance better than you?" His eyes gleamed promises at her that she allowed her own to return, his black hair shining in the low light as he casually ran the hand she hadn't yet taken, through it.

Oh, she did love the candlelight balls.

"You flatter me, sir," she said through her teeth for the benefit of any watching.

"I know, but it seemed like the right thing to do."

Someone nearby choked. Ayleth thought it might have been Borsche.

It took a full breath for Ayleth to control the smile that wanted to form at the twinkle in his eyes. But she couldn't allow anyone to see anything but tension between them.

With a slow look to the left and right, at the other couples sweeping onto the floor, she turned back to him. "Since no one else seems to be available able this point…" she shrugged and offered the small smile she usually reserved for her competitive peers.

He extended his hand again and she took it. That impossible energy crackled between them where they touched, raising all the hairs on her arm.

*****

ETAN

The wicked smile she gave him made his cock twitch. His control hung by a thread.

Praying they'd made a good enough show of hostility to fool any who were watching, he offered his hand. When she slid her cool fingers into his and they gripped, an electric jolt travelled all the way up his arm and into his shoulder, making the nerves hum.

He kept a distance of feet between them as he walked her out onto the floor, then she was finally in his arms and it was as if he'd come home.

He could breathe.

Eyes followed them at every step, of course. Some scandalized, some angry, some merely curious. But as they swept around the floor without speaking, slowly, slowly the gazes peeled away to be replaced with whispers, or indifference.

He didn't dare speak.

But Ayleth did. "I ache again, Etan," she whispered through unmoving lips.

His entire body tightened. "You are not alone in that," he managed finally, his fingers tightening on hers. "I find myself... weak to you tonight. Weak to everything."

Their eyes locked.

"Do you know the butterfly garden?" she said in a small, desperate voice.

His heart raced and he blinked. "The one behind the royal wing?" Where all the royal families had been housed, except his.

"Yes."

He hesitated. "Ayleth—"

"If you pass through it, there's a pond at the back under the trees, and a small pavilion that hides within them."

Etan sucked in. "I'm not sure we should—"

"I am," she said her voice tight and strangled. "I am. Very certain."

He allowed himself to look down at her then, to meet her shining eyes, fierce and bold, staring a challenge at him. Anyone watching would think he had said something to displease her. Which, he supposed, he had.

He should refuse her, he knew. He should protect her from her own desires. From his, as well. But in that moment, he discovered he was a much weaker man than he'd realized.

"One hour," he said, swallowing, squeezing her fingers. "One hour in the pavilion in the butterfly garden."

He felt the tension in her ease, and knowing what she proposed, his own tension spiraled.

She didn't meet his eyes again, but scanned the room. He couldn't let his sight of her go so easily, though.

"You are always beautiful, Ayleth. But tonight… you shine."

"Not just me," she whispered. Then blurted, "When you reach the pavilion, I want to you take off your jacket, and I will unbutton your shirt and—"

He tightened his grip on her hand. "You must stop," he hissed and let his alarm look like anger on his face. Within him, the fire roared high. He trembled with the tension borne of fighting his own desire to take her mouth, to pick her up and carry her off the floor and out of the hall, and politics be damned. Virtue be damned.

He shivered. He was so weak!

She didn't meet his eyes, but she did squeeze his shoulder in apology.

For a long moment they simply danced around the floor, neither of them looking at the other. Then as the music began to build towards its end and he knew they were out of time, Etan swallowed and whispered. "One hour."