“Titania, dear, you can let go of Aralik and I now,” said Antigones.

Titania shook her head and purred as she rubbed her cheek into her husband’s chest, whilst grabbing onto Aralik’s shoulder.

“Mom… no… seriously,” Aralik sighed and patted Titania’s back gently as she continued to snuggle them.

Timur swallowed. It was nice watching the much taller Antigones and Aralik get cuddled by his normally acerbic sister. However, the gnawing feeling at the back of his head, the anxiety and nervousness he felt toward the battle ahead, forced him to cough loudly.

“Sister, I don’t mean to kill the mood, but we do need to see if Whitey accepts you or not,” said Timur.

Titania’s smile faded and she let her family go, before glaring at her brother. “Fine, let’s get this over with. Where’s that crown?”

“Over here,” Whitey growled from Aralik’s backpack by the door. Taking a deep breath, Titania’s step son walked over, over the pack and using a handkerchief, pulled the crown out.

Titania took a deep breath and several slow steps, before kneeling on the floor and closing her eyes.

“The heck are you doing?” Whitey asked.

The princess opened one eye, and glared at the crown. Now that she was so close, it was a lot less impressive than she’d thought. In fact, while it was very strange how the horn the crown was made of still stayed white, and how she couldn’t tell from which animals or what animal the horn was made of, there wasn’t anything particularly eerie about the crown or even intimidating.

“I’m kneeling so my stepson can put you on me?” Titania said, trying to keep the drawl out of her voice.

You could practically hear Whitey roll his non-existent eyes. “I think we’re past the need for ceremony at this point.”

Titania snorted, but shut her eyes again as Aralik put the crown on her. For a moment, she just felt the warm bone around her head.

Then she could feel Whitey’s presence in her mind. It was deeply uncomfortable, like something was running fingers through her brain.

“I’m going to warn you, this is not going to be pleasant, Titania Greyhammer, Daughter of Thorgoth Greyhammer and Aurelia Onyxstone, wife of Antigones Greenshield. I must search your memories and I am aware many of them are not pleasant,” said the crown. It almost sounded sympathetic, which Titania supposed was nice of the rude bastard.

“Do your worst,” she whispered.

“You do realize I can read your thoughts, right?” Whitey said, but his tone, while snarky was a bit gentler. “I admit, I did not endear myself to you, and for that I apologize, but our situation is desperate. Now, let us begin.”

Titania, took a deep breath and braced herself. “Alright.”

Flashes of memory started to flow like a trickle. Of playing with her birth mother so long ago, before she’d died of a disease. Of playing with her older brother Teutobal before he went off to begin his training. That happy time was short, because her father started to hurt her.

She’d forgotten how it’d started, but she’d been throwing a tantrum when her father had suddenly exploded with rage. That was when he’d first unleashed Ivy’s Sting’s ability against her. He’d healed her after that with a warning.

After that, any time she stepped out of line, any incident she caused, or any mistake she made was met with some kind of punishment. He was careful. He always healed her afterwards, but they both knew that the scars remained in her mind. She was helpless, unable to turn to anybody, as her father continued to turn her into his killing machine.

So she’d done the only thing she could do, lash out at anybody who she could. Titania shivered as the horrified looks of shock at her first targets appeared. Many of them were unpleasant individuals, plotting against the Kingdom of Alavaria. She’d let them know she had killed them and made sure they suffered.

There were others, though, that she’d killed that she regretted, shoved away in a vain attempt to forget. The one that made her blood run cold, however, was a reform-minded goblin civil servant.

She watched, helpless, as Whitey examined through her eyes, how she’d poisoned the goblin’s drink and stayed in the room he shared with his wife to make sure he’d died of what looked like a freak heart attack. To her horror, she suddenly remembered what came next.

“Wait, stop. Please—” she whispered.

The goblin’s wife had been awoken by her husband’s writhing, and unseen behind an illusion, Titania had watched as she screamed for help and tried to keep her husband alive. She’d watched as the goblin’s two young children had come in, trying to help.

And Titania remembered how jealous she’d felt at this family. She was jealous of a person she had killed, how he’d been so happy, and how much she hated him for his happiness. She could have saved him, and yet, she hadn’t. Now, she wished she did. She wished she hadn’t felt that way back then, but it was too late. All that was left was a horrible guilt that ate away inside of her.

Whitey said nothing, instead, the crown moved on and the river of memories continued. To her relief, it did not linger on her training to seduce targets. That training had left her sometimes vomiting in a bucket beside her bed, sobbing.

Suddenly the flow of memories stopped.

“Your Highness… I… I am sorry. I underestimated what your father did to you. If you would like to pause this—”

“Like I said, Whitey, get this over with already,” Titania hissed. She swallowed, feeling the crown’s regret. “Look, I accept your apology, but we haven’t got any time to waste.”

“Understood.” The flow of memories began again, this time, dropping her back into the rare memories she had about interacting with her brothers. She’d been… cruel to Timur, belittling him whenever she got the chance, laughing at his interest in geography and history, and taking pleasure in the court’s lack of affection for her.

Yet, she’d adored Teutobal. She wondered why she never told him about her abuse. It just… it felt like she’d sully her older brother in some way if she ever let him know what she’d done. It probably was her father’s fault now that she thought about it. He made her strong, powerful, and yet, broke her down.

In the end, she was glad that she had never told him before he died.

And that… had been her life for years. Death, sorrow, and self-loathing, interspersed with moments of terror and fear. She’d seen the darkest underbelly of Alavari society, no, she’d been immersed in it.

That abruptly ended when she’d been married to Antigones.

In hindsight, her father’s plan had been rather good. Marry the daughter he had under his thumb off to a grieving general and one of Alavaria’s most powerful lords, who’d he’d just widowed. Not that they knew at the time. It’d have planted a spy in a potential rival and tied Antigones closer to the royal line.

It’d just unexpectedly backfired.

She’d met General Antigones before at her father’s council meetings. The orc general and lord had exuded dignity and power, though, there were moments that he’d shown a degree of levity. They had always been when he was with his wife, the cheerful Archmage Zirabelle. As terrible as Titania’s life had been, even she hadn’t been able to resist giggling with Zirabelle. She told very funny jokes.

When Zirabelle had been murdered, Antigones had been beset with grief and locked himself away at his estates. He’d only appeared in court after her father offered her hand in marriage. Honestly, Titania had been happy to be married off. She had thought at the time that she couldn’t escape her father’s control, but having a handsome and powerful husband would be a benefit.

That had changed when she met him at the wedding. There was no fault in her husband-to-be’s posture, or attitude. And yet, one look at the orc and she could tell that he was still grieving. She would learn later that Antigones had only accepted her hand in marriage to silence all the other suitors that were propositioning him, and due to pressure from her father.

What was she going to do with a husband still grieving for his ex-wife had been her first conundrum. She had known that she had to play the part of a good wife because her father had demanded she seduce Antigones to ensure his loyalty. However, it wasn’t like she could just use her good looks. She had to approach this carefully.

So on their first night, she’d made it very clear that she was only offering pleasure, if he so desired, but that she would always respect his love for his first wife. To her surprise, Antigones had taken her up on that offer and they had a fairly pleasurable first night. The day after they’d gone to Antigones’s estates in western Alavaria, the province of Hordale.

Whilst her husband continued to administer his lands, he’d given her control of managing the Great Hall that he called home. While called a Great Hall, it resembled more of a cross between a manor home and a castle. It was a boring job, but Titania did her duty and in a way, it was quite fun to hunt down corrupt servants taking advantage of her husband’s grief.

She also met Aralik, her step-son. When they first met, she expected open hostility. After all, she had just replaced his mother. However, the orc had met her with a friendly, though, guarded smile. He didn’t bother her, she didn’t bother him. Yet, when she needed his input when his father was away, he didn’t hesitate to assist.

Perhaps that’s what started her on the path to loving this family of hers. The fact that neither Antigones nor his son judged her on her reputation, but by what she did. It was why she couldn’t abide it when she heard that her step-son was being bullied in the Alavaria Academy of Magic. At the time, she convinced herself she was doing it to ensure her standing in the family and to do her duty as a wife. In hindsight, she liked Aralik and didn’t like that he was being hurt.

The memory was a fond one, and her musings were interrupted when she heard Whitey chuckle as he saw her storm into the principal’s office and demand him to take action against the mages who dared slander her husband’s house, the House of Greenshield. When the principal explained they couldn’t, Titania was so apoplectic with rage she’d taken matters into her own hands.

She’d challenged the bullies to a duel, and promptly destroyed them, sending them all home with injuries. That had been the first time Antigones raised his voice with her for causing such a scene. She hadn’t cared, at least at first, until she’d been overtaken with fear of her father finding out about this.

Only, once in private, Antigones had promptly apologized and thanked Titania for standing up for his son when he hadn’t noticed. That was perhaps the first time they had honestly talked, and when she’d discovered that the grieving general and stoic lord was a genuinely funny and charming person in private.

Those moments started to become more and more frequent. They started with an evening chat here, or a talk over breakfast, and expanded to hunting together in the woods… going on inspections of the surrounding cities and villages. Soon she realized that she really loved seeing Antigones smile and laugh. More importantly, she realized she’d do anything to see him do so more often. Before long, she realized she wasn’t just content, she was happy.

Until her father had asked her to hand over and copy information Antigones had to him. It was fairly unimportant information to give out, and she’d done worse to others. Her husband would never find out.

Only, none of the Alavari she’d done this to were her husband. As she’d held the coded order in her hand, she realized that she cared for Antigones more than she should have.

Then she’d sent that information to her father.

Whitey slowed this memory down, examining her thoughts and feelings at the time. Titania of the present, squirmed.

“There’s more,” she told him, feeling her lips move as she said so.

“I’ll hold you to that.” And the river of memories continued and Titania could suddenly feel the crown’s realization.

Because the next few days after she passed that information on had been the worst in her life. She’d tried to hide her guilt, except she couldn’t find the happiness she’d once felt. Her husband’s smile and laughter, which had once made her smile, now shot a dagger through her heart. She couldn’t tell her father, and what use would that be? And she couldn’t tell her husband because that would just make it worse.

In the end, when Antigones had confronted her about what was going on, she’d been half crazy with guilt and regret. She’d told him about what she’d done and when he’d demanded why, she told him everything. Her father’s orders, what he’d done and as best she could, made it clear how it was her fault.

She expected to be slapped, hit, to be punished for what she’d done. Instead, Antigones hugged her.

And that had changed their relationship entirely. Suddenly, she wasn’t alone, with her father holding her hostage. Antigones helped her defy her father, and held her, sometimes literally, through the darkness that dogged her. For that, she’d been forever thankful.

It wasn’t always easy. There were times they had to use separate rooms. Yet, Titania never wanted to lose the chance to see her grumpy husband smile and laugh. She enjoyed the side of her husband that nobody ever got to see and didn’t want to lose that. So she’d tried her best to change, to treat her husband well.

That was how she came to the epiphany she had fallen in love with Antigones, and how she realized the orc general loved her too. Not just for her looks, but because of who she was, especially the person she could become, free from her father’s control.

Whitey was silent as they went through the latest memories, her missions in Erlenberg, the compromise they’d struck with her father, her telling Antigones about Zirabelle’s killer, and the last year of rallying support. It said nothing as the river of memories came to an end, and Titania panted. A deep exhaustion seeped through her body as she tried to push back the old memories and cling onto some fond ones.

“So, I was wrong about one thing, you are not the ruthless assassin princes I considered you to be. You are one of the most resilient Alavari I’ve ever met, and you can be kind,” said Whitey.

Titania pursed her lips. She could easily hear a “but” in the crown’s thoughts, though she decided not to interrupt it.

“The question I have yet to find an answer for is this: Do you want to be queen? Your thoughts are ambivalent, in opposition and I must hear the answer to this from you.”

The princess stiffened. She had suspected this question would come as soon as she had put the crown on. She hadn’t had an answer then, she didn’t truly have an answer now.

No, that wasn’t true.

“I don’t want to be queen,” Titania whispered. Despite her mind, almost entirely in communion with Whitey, she could hear gasps as she said this. “I know I am not good enough to be the queen. I think my brother Timur would be better, but he doesn’t want it. But I… I know you should accept me.”

“Why should I, Princess Titania Greyhammer, Daughter of Thorgoth?” Whitey declared.

“Because I am your best shot at ending this war. I am of the Greyhammer House and I have the skills necessary to bring this war to a close and overthrowing my father,” Titania hissed.

Whitey didn’t reply at first. It seemed to mull over her suggestion.

“No.”

“You can’t be serious!” Titania exclaimed.

“I thought you didn’t want to be queen, princess. And why can’t I try your brother? Indeed, he doesn’t want the throne, but he may be far more suitable,” said Whitey nonchalantly.

Titania felt her teeth gnash. “The throne would break Timur. I don’t like to admit it, but he’s right. He should not be king.”

“Just because he shouldn’t be king doesn’t mean you should be. You have other siblings.” She could practically feel the smugness in the crown’s emotions. “Curious, you want the crown, but you don’t want to be queen. Why is that?”

“Don’t you know? Aren’t you reading my bloody mind,” Titania growled.

“As I mentioned, your thoughts are chaotic, jumbled. I need to hear it from you, Your Highness. Or I cannot be sure.”

Throwing her hands up, her eyes still shut. “Fine! I want the throne. I don’t want to be queen, but I want the throne. I want its power! Happy? Is that what you want me to say?”

“No. There’s something else you want. Tell me. What do you want power for?”

“To protect those I love, and to create a world where… where any children I might have won’t turn out like me,” Titania whispered. She bowed her head. “I mean, I know it’s selfish and Galena knows I am probably going to be a horrible mother, but I… I want children and I don’t want them to grow up in my father’s Alavaria.”

Warm joy, and satisfaction emanated from the cold bone sitting on her head. Whitey chuckled so loudly she could hear it echo in the room.

“You’ll do. You’ll do. I will accept you, Titania, Thorgoth’s Daughter. You are not the best person, you may not become the greatest of Alavarian monarchs, but you have boundless determination, an iron will, and more importantly vision. It may be motivated by selfishness, but what ruler isn’t selfish in some way? More importantly, your vision is a kind one that Alavaria needs.”

Shock took away the breath in her lungs. Titania whispered, “Does that mean…”

“You are worthy. Alavaria kneel.”

Titania’s eyes flew open and she saw her brother, awestruck on one knee, head bowed. Her stepson, smiling with joy, looking up with her with admiration.

Her eyes were, however, for her husband, who slowly, his entire body trembling, bent his knee and knelt. His eyes were full of tears, love, and certainty.

He hadn’t doubted her for a second, and that more than anything, in spite of everything, made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

“All hail Queen Titania Greyhammer! Rightful Queen of Alavaria!”

“All hail Queen Titania!” roared Antigones, Aralik and Timur, their voices as one.

Tomorrow was the night. The enemy cavalry wing would still be two days' march away from Delbarria and they’d spent the rest of the day coordinating with Lapanterian and Erlenberg. The staff of the respective ambassadors had also spent the day getting essentials ready.

Princess Clawdia suspected something during that morning meeting, as did King Throgoth, but the Roranoak princess was deflected by Prince Sebastian. As Frances vividly recalled from her Vertingen experience, the prince had a charming smile and a flattering tongue that did much to calm Clawdia down.

It did nothing to calm Frances down as she and Edana checked her equipment one more time.

“Firebombs?” Edana asked.

Frances checked a pouch on her belt. “Primed.”

“Estoc?” her mother added.

“Alanna’s stowed and polished,” said Frances, patting her hand on her weapon.

“That’s everything.” Edana pursed her lips. “Did we come to a decision on what to do about Silver Star?”

Frances nodded, glancing back at the tent’s desk. There, the broken staff and her wand were placed next to one another, presumably deep in conversation. “Yes. Ivy’s Sting convinced Silver Star to accept being taken to Salpheron where the White Order can repair it.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “Does Spell—your wand know any spells that might be able to fix Silver Star?”

“I’m afraid not. We’ve been practicing for tomorrow.” Frances took a deep breath. “I don’t really know how to describe how it’s like to use them with Ivy. It’s… you’d think it’d be like using a library of spells, but no, it’s more like being the librarian, but not being it.”

Edana nodded once, her attention on the wand and staff on the table. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she opened her arms. Frances accepted the hug, though, it seemed far more for her mother than for her.

“Frances, you’re so brave. I know you’re scared, but well… I’m so very proud of you.” Frances swallowed as she felt her mother kiss the top of her head with a desperate fervor. She hugged her mother, not wanting to let go. In spite of all the bad, there had been so much good, and even now, so much to look forward to. She didn’t want her stay in Durannon to end. She didn’t want to be parted from her mother.

“I… thank you, mom. I love you. Always,” she whispered.

Edana gave Frances a last squeeze, before gently pushing her so that there was a bit of space between them.

“Now, don’t let me stop you from spending the night with Timur, dear.” Edana wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her lips managing a cheeky smile.

Her cheeks warm, Frances looked away. “How did you… how did you know?”

Edana giggled, and gently traced her daughter’s cheek. “Well apart from the fact that this will be the most dangerous fight you’ve been in yet, and the fact that you’re officially together with Timur, I noticed the dress you didn’t pack and the anti-pregnancy charm you’re wearing around your neck.”

Groaning, barely able to her mother in the eye, so Frances nodded. “Oh. Okay. I… I’ll get changed then.”

Edana smiled. “Goodnight dear, and please remember, you can stop the moment you feel uncomfortable. It’s your body.”

Frances, biting down bubbles of trepidation, nodded. “I will mom.” She managed a sincere smile, “Thanks mom.”

Edana, smiling, left, and only then did Frances’s smile fade.

Because if she was being honest with herself, Frances didn’t completely want to sleep with Timur tonight.

Frances knew Timur was expecting her, but she’d deliberately not informed him of what they were going to be discussing. He probably thought that they were just going to talk a bit more about the next day’s fight.

Right now, she was dressed for a completely different kind of fight. In hindsight, it made absolute sense that her mother had figured out what she was planning. For tonight, she’d chosen the white chemise she usually wore on really warm nights. Sleeveless, and not even reaching her knees, it was perfect in keeping her cool.

It would be perfect in seducing him and that was what Frances wanted. Or… did she?

The good thing was that she’d left Ivy’s Sting to catch up with Silver Star. She didn’t think she wanted her wand, as good of a friend she was, to be reading her thoughts now. For they were torn, and warring with one another.

On one side, her desire to touch her boyfriend and be touched by him, and the fear that she may never ever know that sensation. The thought of being gone and banished from Durannon without ever experiencing what her friends and family had so enjoyed lit a fire under her skin and drove her to put on the dress and do her makeup as best she could.

And yet, even as she tried to make sure she looked as pretty as she could, she was shaking, trembling, barely able to use the powder and cream she had to cover up her scars. There were just too many on her body. Despite the use of magic in healing, the war and all the fighting she’d done left what looked like a myriad of little marks on her skin. In her rational mind, she knew that most of them were just noticeable, but would Timur not see them if they were up close? And there were older scars too. Long ago, her birth mother had buried the tip of a hot iron into her left thigh, matching a battle scar on her right thigh from a lance wound. Those two marks were still there, two mottled dots that to her dismay, her dress was too short to cover.

To just make everything worse, she didn’t know if she wanted Timur to run his fingers over her bare skin. It was a lump in her throat that choked her as she picked up Ivy’s Sting.

“Ivy, do you need to talk to Silver Star more?” Frances stammered.

“I’m good Master. Let’s get you to Timur. The wand sent a warm, relaxing sensation to Frances that ran up her arm. Master, relax, whatever happens, you’ll enjoy it.

Frances swallowed, nodded, and cast the teleportation spell. Their tent vanished and Timur’s bedroom appeared.

The bedroom in the gatehouse was simply a room with a four-poster bed, a desk and mirror, cabinets, and a washroom area divided off by wooden screens. Timur was sitting at the desk, hands clasped over what seemed like magic storage gems. It was actually well-furnished for a frontier fortress, but Frances could only think of how close Timur was to where she appeared next to his bed.

Timur had been clasping his hands around what looked to be a gem glowing bright red, the color of his magic. As he turned around, the gem continued to shine, bathing his casual white shirt and black trousers with a crimson glow.

“Hey Frances—” her prince’s voice trailed right off as his eyes widened. For some reason, she was rather happy that he was looking at her like that. Yet, the anxiety in her chest didn’t fade. In fact, it seemed to clench even tighter around her chest.

“Timur, um… I was wondering if I could spend the night with you and if you and we could…you know… ” Her face burning, Frances put down her wand on the bedside table and sat down on the bed, kicking off her slippers in the process.

Timur got up and was sitting beside her in what seemed like a flash. He didn’t touch her, though, he just sat down beside her.

“Frances, are you sure? This is a bit… sudden,” he whispered.

Arms crossed, Frances swallowed. “Timur, I might not be here tomorrow. I don’t want to go back to Earth without ever having known… this. If… if you’re alright with it, can you please, help me know what this... feels like?”

It was at this point that Frances took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and readied herself for her boyfriend to touch her. To help her undo the buttons on her chemise, to kiss her, or maybe to slip one of his long slender fingers underneath the thin cloth.

Except as the seconds passed, Timur didn’t.

“Frances… I don’t think you want this.”

Her eyes flew open and she met Timur’s gaze and took in the pained expression on his handsome features. “Wait, but I do, I mean…” She forced her shaking fingers to reach towards the buttons on her dress, only for his hands to reach out and stop her. “But I want you!”

Timur clasped her hands firmly, not letting her escape, and yet, he didn’t squeeze them too tightly.

“And I want you too,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I… I really want to make love to you. Sometimes, I have a hard time not thinking about it, but I can tell you don’t want me to, or at least, you’re not sure about it.” He let go of Frances’s hands, instead, gently caressing her cheek. “I mean, when you kissed me, you were almost giggling. Now… you just look scared.”

Frances’s heart stopped. She couldn’t move. She was paralyzed, but for the tears that started to pour down her cheeks. All she could feel in her stomach was the cold sense of abject failure.

“I… sorry. I’m sorry. I… damn it,” she buried her face in her hands. How stupid was she to think that he wouldn’t notice? How did she fail to convince herself that she wanted this? How could she fail at trying to make what might be her and Timur’s last night, the best night ever?

Timur chuckled softly and opened his arms. Frances tried to resist the offer, but hating herself as she did so, leant into her prince. Her prince, who she might not see again, who she couldn’t even share her body with, something all couples she knew did.

“Hey, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Timur whispered, gently stroking her hair.

“I’m your girlfriend, and I can’t even convince myself to have sex with you,” she croaked bitterly.

Timur stiffened and his fingers suddenly pinched her hair. Too late did Frances realize she’d said that thought aloud.

“Frances, you… you think that because you’re my girlfriend you have to be intimate with me?” he growled.

He didn’t tighten his grip on her, and neither did she feel unsafe. Yet, it was perhaps the angriest she’d ever heard Timur and the stare that his black eyes fixed her forced her to look away.

“No—yes, I mean… I might be gone tomorrow! Your father might kill you tomorrow! How could I let you go without doing what I should be doing?”

Timur frowned. “Should be doing… but Frances, you don’t really want to make love or for me to touch you.”

“I do! I just…” she hiccuped, and buried her face in her hands again. Her mind was blank with nothing but grief. All the excuses she created to convince herself, crumbling away. “I don’t know. You’re right. I’m scared. I want you to touch me, but I’m terrified.”

“Why are you scared?” Timur whispered.

“I don’t know! I mean… maybe it’s because my birth parents hit me all the time? I know it’s not you. I trust you. I want you to touch me. I—I’m trying to tell myself that you won’t hurt me, that you really want me, but all I feel is scared, and worried that you won’t like what you see.” She winced, waiting for Timur to pull away. Yet, he didn’t, he just continued to hold her, even though he had to be so confused and annoyed at her.

Except she only felt fingers on her hands, which parted her own hands so she could see his worried face.

“Frances, are you worried I won’t love you because you don’t want to be intimate with me?” Timur asked.

“No,” she whispered. Meeting Timur’s eyes, she stammered, “I… I’m worried I’m not being a good girlfriend for you.”

Her prince’s face winced and he leant down towards her. They were so close, his nose almost touching hers. She could see the odd freckle on his face and every concerned crease between his brow. From his hands on her face, she could hear the beat of his pulse.

“Frances, I don’t want you—truly want you, to force yourself to like sex. I would hate that,” he said.

That confused her, and yet the intensity in his dark eyes arrested her. “But I… I know you want to touch me, to make love to me,” she whispered.

“Yes, but only if you enjoy it too. I don’t want you to lie to me about something like this.” He grimaced. “What sounds worse, Frances? Me feeling a little disappointed that we can’t make love to one another, or you forcing yourself to be intimate with me and then me finding out that you lied to me?”

Frances blinked, staring at Timur. She opened her mouth, trying to explain, to excuse, to just do anything other than feel like a complete and utter idiot. It made her want to cry, and bury herself under a pillow and never come out.

“I’m sorry. I… I thought…” she blinked, her vision blinded by tears, that Timur gently wiped away with the corner of his blanket. Shaking, she burrowed back into his arms again because what could she do at this point?

That and her prince just held her, rocking her, one hand gently stroking the back of her head. It was calming and felt so safe.

“There there. You’re not the only person to think like this, or have a bad thing happen. Did I ever tell you about my first time and how awful it was?”

That brought Frances out of her shame a bit like cracking a whip in a silent room.

“That’s… a very odd topic to bring up to your current girlfriend,” she sniffled. Timur blinked, opened his mouth and winced. Frances, cursing herself inwardly, squeezed her boyfriend. “Hey, sorry. I… please, tell me. You know I don’t mind what happened between you and your old partners.”

“Huh, right, you don’t.” Timur took a deep breath. My first time was when I was around sixteen, and it was with Nikea, daughter of a minor troll lord who had come to court to get a spouse. She was very pretty, though, not nearly as pretty as you are and since my sister had no interest, she went after me.”

Suddenly, the trogre fell quiet. Frances could feel his muscles tense up. Wiping her tears, she shifted her arms up so her hands were on Timur’s neck, her fingers intermingling with his long red hair.

Timur swallowed. “Long story short, we did it, and it sucked. She was only into my status. And in hindsight… both of us had no real idea of what we were doing. We both didn’t really want to do this and well, it didn’t work.”

Through his tense muscles, Frances felt rather than heard the regret and embarrassment in his voice, and she whispered, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her prince nodded and exhaled, slowly. “I know, but it was that bad. We both found it quite painful and after we finished, there was an unspoken agreement that we would never see each other again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Frances whispered. She frowned. “Wait, so how did you learn about… all of this then?”

Timur chuckled. “I did have another partner after Nikaea, a centaur kitchen cook called Epomonia, but um… it was fun, but it didn’t work out. First, the size difference meant bedroom activities were quite awkward.”

Frances couldn’t help it, she giggled as the image popped into her head. She clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter, tears well and truly gone. “Sorry! I’m so sorry. But I can only imagine… how did either of you not get hurt?”

To her relief, Timur chuckled as well. “We got really lucky, and we both wanted to try it out. She was a really sweet girl, and we both found each other attractive, but when I started to share my burdens… she got scared.”

Even as Timur fell silent, Frances didn’t interject. She knew he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. All she continued to do was hold her boyfriend, letting him know she was there for him.

“So yeah… I didn’t learn much other than not what to do. I only really started learning after Olgakaren and I made an… arrangement of sorts. You know we were stressed by the war and lonely. So we kept each other company in bed and over time we learnt what we both liked and how to make each other feel good.” Timur sighed. “Even then, I… Well, you know how I thought I wasn’t important to you. I think that’s why we never went further, Olgakaren and I. We care for each other, but I’ve never been able to be open with her.”

A pang of sadness struck Frances’s heart as she watched Timur’s melancholic expression.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t find someone.” She blinked and felt her cheeks warm as her boyfriend stared at her. “I mean, I love that we’re together, but I thought you were… happy with them and I was glad you were.”

Timur grinned and shook his head. “Has anybody told you how kind you are?”

Frances smiled at that. “Yes, but it’s nice to hear it from you.”

Squeezing her gently, Timur took a deep breath. “Well, Frances, it’s late and we ought to get some rest. Besides, your mother must be worried.”

“Oh, no. She knew what my plan was and knew I was going to stay the night with you.” Frances brushed back a lock of her hair. “Um, I might not be able to make love to you but… can I stay?”

Timur’s eyes widened. “Of course! What would you like to do? Maybe share a drink?”

“I’m good.” Frances took a deep breath. “Timur, I was wondering that since I’m here is there anything we could do to… to well, help me be more comfortable with you.”

A look of interest and deep thought came over the prince’s features and he let Frances go to scratch his chin. “There are things we can do but… well, what are you comfortable with? Are there any intimate activities you’d be interested in trying?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I… I don’t know much about this,” Frances stammered. At her question, the prince’s tail twitched slightly, which Frances was beginning to realize was a tell for when he was thinking deeply about something.

“Hmm, well to start with,” Timur took a deep breath. “How do you feel about me touching your bare skin? Are there places I shouldn’t touch? What clothes would you be comfortable keeping on or taking off? Would you prefer me to take off my shirt and trousers or keep it on? What do you think about touching me and where would you be comfortable touching me? Um… let’s start with that.”

Frances blinked owlishly. “There are more questions?”

Timur smirked. “There are a lot of intimate things you can do with people, other than simply making love, Frances.”

She nodded slowly at that, simultaneously apprehensive and yet very intrigued by what Timur meant. “So, um, I think I’m alright with you touching me. Just… not well…” she placed a hand lower down on her body and across her chest and Timur nodded in understanding. “As for clothing…” Frances winced, trying to get her thoughts together. There was an easy question to answer at least on that topic. Blushing, she looked away. “I… I do want to see you without your shirt on. But… but for my dress… It’s not that I don’t want….it’s….Damnit.”

“We have all night, Frances,” said Timur gently.

She exhaled. “Well, I don’t know if you’d like what you’ll see, Timur. I… I have scars, from the war, my birth mother and stepfather. I know I’m still pretty, but I can’t help but worry.”

Timur was silent at first, then he rose from the bed and walked over to kneel in front of her. His eyes unwavering, he gently put his hands on her thighs, just before her dress. Her eyes widened and she froze as his slender, smooth fingers drew slow circles over the spot where her mother’s iron had left a burn mark, and over the discolored skin of her old lance wound.

“I… I think I’ll like what I see even if this is the least of it,” he said, smiling. “If that’s alright with you?”

That knocked the breath from her lungs and his touch, sent her heart racing. “Oh. Um. Okay then. I… um, what were the other questions?”

“Would you be interested in touching me intimately and where? Oh and um, I should ask this too.” He leaned forward and bent down towards her thighs. “Would you be interested in me kissing you, a lot?”

On a normal sunny morning, in the cold light of day, where the eyes of so many were on them, Frances wouldn’t want to be kissed. She wouldn’t feel comfortable. She wouldn’t want to touch her prince either, though, she’d thought about just what was under his shirt. And yet, in the candle-lit room, after being held and holding her boyfriend, she yearned for Timur to kiss her, and she very much wanted to run her fingers over his lean body.

She reached forward, hands on his neck, just underneath his collar. “I want to touch you, except for um, the obvious. And… I would like you to kiss me.”

Timur smiled lovingly and kissed her thigh, right over where her mother had burned her. It sent what felt like an electric shock through her body, a tingle that made her gasp.

“Then let me show you how much I love you, Frances,” said Timur, his voice husky. He let go of her and reached for the buttons of his shirt. At the same time, before her mind could catch up, Frances found herself reaching for the buttons to her nightdress.

And when her mind did catch up, she didn’t stop undoing the buttons.

A while later...

Frances rested her head against Timur's shoulders, breathless and panting. She yawned sleepily as Timur wrapped his arm around her and she wrapped her arms around his chest.

“So?” he whispered.

“That was amazing.” Smiling, she glanced up at her boyfriend. “Timur, thank you. For talking me out of having sex with you, and for showing me... how incredible just touching can be.”

Timur, grinning, kissed her brow. “You are most welcome, my love. It was my pleasure.”

She planted a kiss on his lips. “Our pleasure, Timur.”