ETAN

As he passed Borsche he hissed, "Watch her for me, please, will you?" But he didn't stop when Borsche gaped at him. Just put his head down and plowed towards the doors. He had to get out of there. He couldn't look at her in the arms of some other man for another second. He couldn't hear her laugh echoing across the hall and not know what had given her joy.

He couldn't be touched by other women and play along as if it didn't make his skin crawl. His skin that felt too tight. Restrictive. As if it closed in on him and threatened his air-supply. His hands twitched toward his blade and he realized he actually wanted to cut a man down. Take the head of her father. Take the head of any man that touched her.

Rage made his heart pound and he shook with the effort to control it.

What was wrong with him? Why now? Why hadn't it been this bad before?

As soon as he was clear of the Great Hall and the immediate corridors around it where nobles milled in the cooler air, he began to run. The heels of his boots ringing on the stone floor, his breath beginning to tear in his throat as he took the stairs two at a time.

He didn't want to leave her. He didn't want to be anywhere but with her. But if he didn't put space between himself and the men in that room, they would all regret it. Most of all him.

"Help me," he panted to the Father as he ran. "Something is wrong. Help me."

*****

AYLETH

She saw the Lady Playn touch him and it was like a knife to her belly. But worse, the way his face looked when he saw her watching. He'd left then as if… as if he was angry about something. And not very long after, the Lady Playn had left as well.

Was she going to meet him?

No. She shook her head to herself. Etan wouldn't do that. He loved her. She knew that. It was impossible how they had found each other. The devotion they both held. But he loved her. She could feel it.

So why did his anger burn with such intensity tonight?

He'd been tense when he'd joined her and Trystan. And they'd had to find their feet in the dance. But they had. He'd left her in good humor, she'd thought.

But the longer he'd stood alongside the dancing the more rage she'd felt building within him. His tension climbing with each step she took, whether alongside Trystan, or in the arms of another nobleman.

He felt so much more pressure than she. It wasn't her life in danger if this went wrong. It wasn't her Kingdom at the disadvantage in the event of continent-wide war.

She wasn't walking through the halls of his home, missing her supports, and always expected to hide or stay quiet.

It hit her then, how much more he carried than she.

Across the dancefloor, leaning on one of the pillars as if he'd just happened to decide to relax there, Falek caught her eye with his eagle gaze. She gave the slightest shake of her head and he was immediately in motion, his massive shoulders made even broader by the formal cape he was forced to wear at these events.

He made it to her side in seconds, eyes fixed on her face. She gave him a warning look, then turned to Trystan. "I must go for a short time," she said. "But I will return. Do save the space for me—unless you find better company." She forced herself to wink and Trystan looked at her with concern.

"Ayleth, are you—"

"Just in need of fresh air to wake my scattered wits," she said with a smile. "I will return."

Trystan nodded, but glanced at Falek before bowing as she turned to leave.

As soon as they stepped away from the group and were still circling the dancefloor, Ayleth hissed, "Do you have a way to communicate with his man?"

"Yes."

"Get him. Now. We need to speak."

"I'm not sure that's wise—"

"I am. Certain," she said, lifting her skirts as they stepped up to the stairs. "Bring him as quickly as you are capable."

Falek strode along next to her silently, his eyes darting in every direction as they always did when he watched over her personally. But when they turned a corner towards her suite, he hesitated and pulled a passing servant aside, murmuring something in their ear. The servant nodded and trotted back in the direction from which they'd come.

Ayleth prayed they went to retrieve Borsche.

"Ayleth," Falek said quietly as they stalked the corridor towards her chambers. "Do you want to tell me—"

"No." She bit the word off.

They continued along the long, stone corridors, Falek's tension rising with every step. She knew it was unfair to keep him in the dark, but she didn't trust anyone.

Four more days. That was all. Four more days before the Kingdoms were safe and they could risk their own lives—their hearts—in an attempt to save the lives of thousands.

And yet, she wasn't sure he would make it. The light in his eyes tonight had been… erratic. His anger towards Trystan not forced, but apparently real.

She'd thought she'd distracted him enough, helped to him to calm while they were dancing—it and of itself, a risk they should not have taken. But he knew that. The fact that he had asked her anyway.

She could feel the pressure inside him building and wished she could reach out to him along this impossible bond, to share her feelings with him. To soothe.

Could she? She had never tried. Had only ever received his feelings along this impossible thread between them.

Tentatively, as they walked, she attempted to… feel the comfort she wished him to have. To push it toward him. To let him feel her love and her regard. She imagined it as a small parcel, wrapped in ribbon, tied to this bond between them and pushed towards him.

She felt the wavering in him then—as if something had shaken him from his rage, just for a moment. A small pinpoint of light in the increasing darkness.

She bit her lip. This demanded greater examination and experimentation.

Then suddenly, as if a ball hit her in the chest, there was an explosion of Etan behind her ribs—his love, his desire, his anger, his care.

So intense, so overwhelming, it took her breath away.

"Ayleth?" Falek asked, concerned.

"I am… I am well," she said shakily, huffing. "Just surprised. I will explain later."

As they reached the final corner towards her chambers, she wrapped another invisible parcel of warmth and love and peace and sent it to him. Felt it land inside him, wondered if he'd felt her shock in the same way when his arrived to her.

She smiled, so grateful to have discovered this tonight. Then they took the corner and the wide, tall doors to her quarters were before them and Ayleth slid to a halt mid-step.

Borsche stood there, speaking to the guards, his hands flashing. Magic tricks? She didn't know. But he had that expression of stupidity on his face that he used to distract nobles and servants alike from the true depth of his intelligence.

Ayleth looked at Falek, who glowered, but stepped ahead of her. "Hold that man!" he snarled.

Without question, the two guards leapt forward to take Borsche's arms and hold him.