AYLETH

As Ayleth took her seat at the dinner ball a mere five days before the Peace Accord she felt nothing less than weary. Her limbs were heavy and sore from the training every morning—especially now that Falek was beginning to work her with the smallsword more. He said fighting alongside another, weapons were usually preferable.

Her eyes wanted to close because she was having trouble sleeping, wondering what would happen when Etan finally declared himself to their parents. And now she had to endure yet another ball. Despite another new, beautiful gown, she was struggling to find the energy to meet this night, let alone enthusiasm for it.

A month ago, if anyone had told her that all the Festival of Peace celebrations would quickly become boring and feel like a chore before the Accord was even signed, she would have told them they were touched in the head. She'd been looking forward to this season for a year. And yet… with her heart given away, and all the tension—both the fear of what was to come when they were finally revealed, and the particular tension between them, the desire that would not ease—all she wished for was a month of quiet evenings in her room with a good book, and Etan in her bed.

Even that simple thought made her breath catch.

She stood at the side of the dance floor. Trayn to her left, Dayce beyond her, Trystan to her right, and a couple of the Lords near him, all of them watching the couples on the floor. When she and Trystan had chosen not to dance, but instead to stand and chat, the others had followed their lead, and now they made a rather large group under the stage that held the Royal table.

She stifled as yawn as Trystan leaned down to murmur in her ear.

"Did you hear about Lord Isolde?"

"No," she whispered back without turning to look at him. "What happened?"

"He was discovered with a young servant, naked and tied in his quarters."

Ayleth's eyes went wide and she turned then to meet his gaze. Trystan looked at her from the side, the gleam of justice in his eyes. "The servant was a young man. From the stables."

Ayleth's mouth dropped open, then she closed it with a snap. "Why would he tie the poor man?" she hissed. "Was he… going to kill him?"

Trystan choked. "No, Highness," he coughed. "The stableboy was… a willing participant. However, they had apparently made too much noise. A neighboring Lord thought someone had attacked Isolde and burst into the room brandishing a fire poker." Trystan descended into giggles like a child, and despite her shock, Ayleth couldn't help but join him. His glee was contagious.

"But… a willing participant, you said?" Ayleth asked when they had settled down. "Why would anyone want to be tied up?"

Trystan's eyes went wide and, oddly, he looked at Etan—who was on the dancefloor with one of the youngest of the Ladies, a tiny blonde woman that made Ayleth feel like a lumbering beast when they stood next to each other. "I think, perhaps," Trystan said carefully, "That is a question for you husband… when you get one." He gave her a significant look and she nodded.

The laughter had helped her mood, but she was still exhausted, and there were hours of the night to go. Trystan looked at her thoughtfully. "Would you like to dance for the next song, Ayleth? I didn't mean to take all your time over here."

"Don't be silly," she said. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

Trystan snorted. "We both know that isn't true."

She glared at him from the side. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do," he said, smiling his wide smile again. He really was rather handsome. Ayleth thought it a pity that he preferred men. There were any number of ladies he could have introduced him to. But how did one go about finding out if the Lords were… interested in that sort of thing? "So would you like to dance, Ayleth, or do you prefer to stand here and make fun of our peers as they pass?"

"Oh, let's make fun of all of them," she said with a grin. "Especially the Royals."

Trystan chuckled.

*****

ETAN

No matter when he looked, no matter what time of the night, all he saw was Ayleth and Trystan. They danced, they stood alongside the dancefloor. She took his arm to walk to the refreshment table. He escorted her to and from her parent's table more than once.

Always, always his Ayleth with that blasted man!

As Etan danced with Lady after Lady, spreading himself thin in an attempt to throw attention off the idea that was brewing, his thoughts became slowly more jumbled. He was more and more distracted—less and less able to maintain proper manners as his jealousy began to sear inside his ribs.

And always, he could not stare. He couldn't seek her out. He had to dance, spinning until he was naturally facing them. He had to choose a seat that put her in the corner of his vision. And move seats when she returned from the dancefloor so that he could still watch over her.

Then they laughed. Again. As if they hadn't done enough of that already tonight?

He was returning a young lady whose name he couldn't even remember, to the side of the dancefloor near when Ayleth and Trystan suddenly burst into a wave of cackles, full of such joy and gleeful humor, that it struck him like a blade between the ribs. He stiffened, and Borsche—who'd been walking towards him, obviously with something to say, caught his eye.

He bowed before the lady who hand he was releasing, then snarled at Borsche, turned on his heel and stalked over to Trystan.

Trystan, whose eyes widened when he saw Etan coming. And Ayleth, who stood next to him, the laughter fading from her as she saw him approaching too.