ETAN

Neither of them wanted to sleep. They talked through the night, discussing everything from their childhood adventures, to their hopes and dreams for the future.

But throughout, Etan was working to accommodate the tightness in his chest.

Then, in the early hours of the morning, Ayleth stopped talking and her breathing evened out.

Etan's did not.

He was not ready to believe his father had been the instigator of the ill-feeling between their kingdoms… but neither could he dismiss Ayleth's account. And if there was any chance she was correct, that it was his father's actions that had spurred the Zenithran King to uphold the generational feud—to make it a public line of conflict, rather than an undercurrent at court—then… suddenly his father's humility in the face of all this looked very, very different.

Suddenly his father's insistence on taking whatever bait the Zenithrans and their allies might throw in order to reach the Peace Accord did not seem so noble.

Was it possible his own parents were responsible—in more than a small way—for the suffering the Summitran kingdom had endured these past years?

Had he been lied to?

Or was this another manipulation? Had the Zenithran King—more likely Queen—used some kind of sorcery on Ayleth to make her see the events in a different order?

But, why would they?

He'd been surprised since meeting Ayleth how sweet and giving she was when she was raised by such a tyrant. He'd wondered why they hadn't done more to taint her or harden her, to mold her to their whims. Surely their desire was to pass the throne to someone as ruthless as they?

Unless their ruthlessness was only pointed at Summitras, and only because of the actions his parents had taken?

Etan prayed it wasn't so. Then cursed himself for the thought.

It would be better—perhaps easier—to walk into the fight they were about to face if Ayleth's parents were not ruthless killers, but rather, parents whose worst nightmares were almost realized.

Etan swallowed, stroking his fingers absentmindedly up and down Ayleth's arm as she rested.

He had witnessed for himself the truth hatred the King and Queen of Zenithra had for his parents and his kingdom—himself, as a part of it. That emotion was real—and in contrast to their ways with people of other Kingdoms, though the King had a reputation for being ruthless and brutal when he was angered.

Then Etan tried to imagine how he would feel if someone tried to take Ayleth from him. If they violated her bedchamber—with men, at night—and tried to remove her while he slept.

It would be his worst nightmare come true.

Rage tightened his throat and made his breathing come faster.

It was like being splashed with cold water to think what he might be willing to do to avenge her.

While Ayleth slept, he continued to think. And grow more disturbed.

*****

AYLETH

She woke with a start, convinced for a moment that Etan had gone because she felt cold. But her jerk disturbed him. He was laying behind her and he rolled, sighing, to throw an arm over her waist, pressing his warm chest into her back, and his face into her hair.

Sliding her hand down his forearm at her stomach, she threaded her fingers through his. "I didn't mean to sleep!" she whispered.

"It's okay, you needed it. It's been a helluva few days, Ayleth," he said, his voice rough and harsh with sleep—or lack of it.

"Did you sleep? Did I wake you?"

"Not really," he said, nuzzling her neck. "I've been thinking."

"About what?"

"About how to convince our parents to let us be together."

She tightened her fingers on his. "Have you had any ideas?"

"Nothing genius," he said, pulling her in tighter until she felt him, hard against her back. She smiled and pressed herself against him, moving a little to rub. He grunted and kissed her neck, sliding his hand up to cup her breast. "You are giving me other ideas, though," he said, a new rasp added to the gravel in his voice.

"I think I have had the same idea," she murmured, her breath catching as he leaned into her back, but slid his arm back, then down, between her legs.

From behind her.

Ayleth blinked. "What—oh!"

His magical fingers found her, gently kneading, sliding, exploring. It was an entirely new sensation and for a moment she was distracted. "Etan?" she said as her breath got faster.

"Yes?"

"Is this… are you… can we…?" She wasn't sure how to ask what she wanted to know.

"There are so many ways, Ayleth," he rasped, his breath hot on her neck. "I will show you all of them in time. But you must—" he cut off, cursing, as she dropped her hand back between them, to find him. It was an awkward angle, and she was still unsure how to go about it, but he pressed into her palm and his breath shuddered. "That's… you should stop," he said hoarsely, though he still rubbed against her.

"Why?"

"Because I want this to last and if you keep touching me, it will be over."

Ayleth filed that away for later thought as he grasped her hand and brought it up, placing it on her own breast.

"If you wish to do something," he said in a strangled voice. "Touch yourself there, so I might see it." He spoke as if his jaw was wired shut.

"H-how?"

"Whatever feels good to you," he panted. "Experiment. Tell me what you find so I might do it later."

Ayleth's breath was shallow, but she sucked in when he cupped her thigh, lifting it to slide himself between her legs—not yet at her core, but close—and he began to slowly rock towards her, their bodies meeting in a new way that promised great pleasure. Ayleth sighed.

Etan dropped a kiss on her shoulder, his stubble rough against her skin.

She liked it.

He nipped at her ear and brought his hand up to hers that was still curled at her chest. "Show me, Ayleth," he rasped. "Show me what you like… please?"