By the day's end, Everett Hembry and James Wilmington had both found themselves approached by Jameson, who had observed every formality with great care. Not once during the day did his smile fade, but as Everett Hembry began to discuss returning home with his daughter, Jameson finally donned a serious expression.

“If I might interrupt,” Jameson begged, “I would like to discuss your daughter's imminent return to her home.”

Aylee stared at him with confusion.

“During the past month – when I have found time to think about anything – I have worried about Aylee because the greatest threat to her well-being remains at large.”

“Malchus Lorne,” Everett nodded.

At the name Malchus Lorne, Jameson wrapped an arm around Aylee's shoulder. “The miscreant!” he cursed. “Yet, I think I must thank him for this one circumstance: since he remains at large, I am forced to insist that you remain in the castle for the duration of our engagement.”

Everett hissed a breath through his teeth. “Would you allow me to think on it?” he inquired. “Her immediate absence will cost us dearly, though -” He smirked a shrug at his daughter. “If events had unfolded as we had imagined, you might not have returned home for an undetermined period.”

“Please do not mention that again,” Jameson shook his head, though he did not offer the words as a command. “We will bury all of that in the past, never to resurrect it.”

“Of course,” Everett agreed, regretful that he had allowed such a lapse in judgment to escape his lips.

“You may certainly take the night to consider my request,” Jameson smiled graciously.

With the rising of the sun the following morning, he quickly sought out the hallway that led to Aylee's room. He tapped on the antechamber door, and a moment later, a maid appeared to answer the summons. When she saw Jameson, she gaped for a moment, stunned by the honor of serving the heir, then curtsied a deep bow.

“I am at your service, your highness.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I would like to speak with Miss Aylee, if you please.”

Again, the woman curtsied before turning back into the room. Jameson paced as he waited for Aylee to arrive at the door. When she did arrive, she still bore her sleeping clothes, covered by a robe, and her hair streamed nearly to her waist.

“I am afraid, Aylee,” Jameson urged, “that I will not successfully carry on a conversation with you while you are dressed thus. How long would you require to join me in the little parlor across the hall. I will call a small breakfast for us.”

“No more than a quarter hour,” she smiled, unabashed by his loaded statement about her dressing gown.

“Perfect. By then, I will have a nice little meal for you.”

Adopting the more formal manners of the court, Aylee offered a gentle curtsy, and, charmed, Jameson responded with the slightest of bows. “Until then,” he smirked.

After ten minutes, Jameson replied to a knock on the door. “Please, come in,” he requested, rising to his feet as Aylee breezed into the little room.

“This is lovely,” she complimented, examining every corner of the space. Cushioned chairs stood around a stained-wood table that sat laden with fruits and cheeses and eggs so tiny they resembled a children's toy. Pale yellow curtains adorned the windows, and flowers graced every free surface save the floor. In the corner stood a small collection of books, and Aylee gawked at the quality of the binding and beauty of the covers.

“If you like it so much, it can be yours. Though,” he paused, “there are grander spaces throughout the castle.”

“I will examine them, then,” she nodded, taking the seat that he offered, “though I doubt I will find any as pleasing as this. To what do I owe the honor of such an early morning visit?” she wondered.

Jameson peered down at his spoon that swirled listlessly in his tea. “Yesterday was an unexpected pleasure,” he ventured, though his voice did not reflect pleasure in its tone.

“It was highly unexpected for me,” Aylee agreed. “Though I can safely say that I approved of the outcome.”

“As did I,” Jameson nodded, then raising his eyes, he squinted at her with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “I believe, though, that I failed in my responsibility to communicate exactly what I ask of you.”

Confused, Aylee's stomach clutched. What serious information could paint such strain on Jameson's face? It brought a pang of fear into her heart. “Please do not say that you made a mistake,” Aylee begged.

“What?” Jameson gaped. “What? No!” He reached for her hand, pulling her chair closer so that he could hold her hand close to his heart. He turned her palm upward and kissed it affectionately. “I did not err in my request yesterday, I assure you. No, where I erred lay in my disclosures to you of exactly what my asking entails.”

“Okay,” Aylee nodded, only slightly mollified. “What exactly does it entail?”

Jameson lowered their hands to her lap. “I fear that marriage to me will involve so many sacrifices on your part that you will resent me.”

To his surprise, Aylee nodded. “I can understand why you would think that,” she agreed, “though you need not worry. I can see that marriage to you will entail a vast amount of compromises, sharing you with your subjects and sacrificing a portion of my freedom.”

“Yes, but there is so much more,” he stood to his feet, pacing a circuit before her. “There are certain protocols one must follow when at court.”

“Do you think me unequal to acquiring them?” Aylee huffed, incensed. “I will apply myself for as long as I need in order to learn them, and I am a fairly rapid learner.”

“It is not your behavior in general that I am concerned about. You so naturally speak and act with such graciousness that I have no doubt of your always bearing yourself well. No, I am concerned that you will grow to resent the deference you must show to me while we are in public. Your frankness will revolt against it.”

“Jess,” Aylee leveled. “Please stop pacing." Catching himself, Jameson glanced back at Aylee, running his fingers through his hair. He retook his seat, forcing himself to recline in the chair as far as he could. “You will find me quite willing to defer to you in every proper situation, but I do hold one fear.” Jameson took her hand attentively. “I would not begrudge you any respect due you in court or before the people; you cannot know how often I restrained myself in the camp to protect the equanimity of the men. As much as I also care about giving you proper deference, it is the concern I bare for others that will ensure my proper behavior.”

She was not sure if he would take the words as unkindness toward himself, but when she read his expression, he wore appreciation more than anything. She thought she was beginning to understand him: her words made him hopeful that she would care about the people as much as he. Every moment he shows me he is good.

“But I do worry,” she returned to their discussion, “that you might require of me the same etiquette in private that is meet to show you in public. Such restraint, in moments alone, would stifle me.”

“Never, Aylee. Never are you to treat me in private as you would in court. I must have your complete honesty in private lest I lose my bearings.”

“So, I am not to fear you more because you could throw me in the dungeon?” she teased.

“Aylee!” he sang a reprimand. Kneeling before her, he placed a hand on either side of her face. “I hereby invest in you the authority to banish me to the dungeon if I ever displease you, and I hereby renounce my own power to reciprocate.”

Though Aylee recognized the jest in Jess's declaration, she could not mistake its significance. She honestly believed that he meant the words, though he could not codify them into law. “See,” she smiled. “You have answered your own question. Now there are no obstacles for your conscience.”

For Aylee, she had spent her fears during her two months on the run with the troops and month of interminably waiting her punishment. Now that she realized the pointlessness of those fears, all her others languished with the strength of her new convictions. Loving someone entailed hoping – anticipating – the best from them. If Aylee believed Jameson someone worth loving, then she would expect him to act honorably toward her. Expecting anything less meant that she thought too little of him. With Jameson, she knew that she should only expect the best.

“So, what you're saying is,” she continued, “I have leave to abuse you at my whim? I will call Itchy in to witness if I must.”

Though she had spoken the words in jest, Jameson’s countenance fell slightly – so slightly that Aylee doubted herself.

“What is it, love?” she demanded.

“Nothing, sweet Aylee. Do not let yourself worry.”

Aylee pursed her lips. “This will not do, Jess. Now I know that something is bothering you because you will not look me in the eye.”

For several moments, Jameson said nothing, merely sat up straight and crossed his arms across his chest. Finally, he seemed to steel himself. “I will speak of this, but I will honestly apprised you that I fear the conversation, and I would almost rather remain in ignorance than hear that I have made a mistake.”

Placing her hand on his cheek, she raised her eyes up to his. “Do you believe me kind, Jess?”

Jameson’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Beyond anything. It is not your kindness that I doubt; it is myself.”

“Jess…” Aylee stroked her thumb against his cheek. “Since I doubt you in nothing, you must let me alleviate this weight you bear. Because I hold no doubts about you.”

“But Itchy…you hold confidences. Are you not saying yes to me because of my position? Would you rather not go with Itchy than with me, but the honor of my offer has superseded your desires?”

“Oh, my love,” she sighed, lowering herself to sit on the ground before him where he knelt. “You are far too humble. Itchy is a good man, and I have created this problem myself by wronging both of you with my ploys. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

Jameson peered down at her in surprise. “I have already forgiven you!” he insisted.

“And now I must unravel your forgiveness. I adore Itchy. I find him incredibly entertaining, highly intelligent, and pleasant to look at…”

As she had expected, hurt flashed across Jess’s face.

“When I was in insecurity, his friendship offered me a support, certainly, but my friendship with him was always about you.”

“How does that make sense?” Jameson demanded, resting his weight onto his heels so his eyes sat more level with hers. “How can one relationship be about a different relationship?”

“It is true that Itchy holds attributes which render him a good friend in his own right – wisdom and loyalty among the most notable – but I at first accepted his friendship only as an entre to understand you. His loyalty and connection to you offered a conduit for me; when reaching for you promised danger, he acted as insulator. I could seek you, learn about you, understand you from the safety of distance. It allowed me to hold onto hope that you were the good man I believed in and not the scoundrel that I feared. Itchy has done you the greatest service in regards to me that any man could do, because his true admiration for you matched my own.”

Moved by her words, Jess clasped her hand, still not fully unpained from her disclosure of admiration for Itchy.

“But outside of his obvious wisdom and friendship, he holds no other claim on me, Jess. I have appreciated his compassion and patience, but as they allowed me to know you better. I am poorly suited to him because we are both too irreverent to take anything seriously, even each other. And somehow you have earned the respect of us both so thoroughly that we have handed you our utter commitment in a way reserved for none other.” She leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek, and he finally raised his eyes to hers.

“I will try to believe this,” he agreed.

“It is only your self-doubt that makes you question, dear. You do not hold enough understanding of your own value, irrespective of your title. We will not change you, Itchy and I, because it is your very lack of self-importance – along with your commitment to honor – that renders you uniquely able to perform your responsibilities. Itchy and I will coordinate to protect the man behind the title so that he is not swallowed by it, but I am determined to make that the entirety of my connection with Itchy. Itchy will have to find himself another companion for his personal reasons. Certainly, I do not have the patience to manage the quixotic nature of that man, not restrained enough by common politeness to stay within the bounds of honorable behavior. Two rebels, you see, could not restrain each other. We need someone to deserve our respect, and neither of us can merit it from the other.”

“Aylee, you are the most honorable – ”

“Only within myself, not to others. I will be kind but, for the most part, only as I see fit, not because I believe in the grievances of anyone with the means to effect their own benefit. And Itchy is kind because it is politic. You alone hold true nobility, both in title and in person. As for Itchy, he must needs find a companion elsewhere, perhaps – do you have any women troops, maybe a peace officer or someone who keeps order? Someone like that might be able to handle him for you. Keep him in line so he does not distract you from more important endeavors.”

“I guess you must undertake to train some for me,” Jess smiled, finally losing his somber mien. “If we are to find a proper wife for Itchy.”

“Of course, if I am to undertake this, I must spend some more time with the man to ascertain what he would seek in a woman.” A wicked glint flashed in her eye. “It will likely involve my training with him some more.”

Glaring at her, Jameson grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him so their foreheads touched and eyes riveted together. “You, my dear, must learn some respect.”

“Of course, my lord,” she murmured, her eyes resting suddenly on the lips that lay only inches from her own. Memories from the forest filled her mind's eye, and she leaned in to recreate the sensation that had swept over her then. For a moment, Jameson merely gaped at the focus in her eyes, but as he processed her intention, he leaned his face down by a minute degree. She had not seen his movement, and the unexpected rapidity of their connection sent a pulse of utter delirium through her.

“I think we have some explaining to do,” Jameson whispered as he finally leaned back from the kiss.

“Mmm?” Aylee purred, not quite sure what he had said.

When she finally grew aware of his meaning, she slowly turned her head to take in the sight at the door. It sent her scurrying to her feet in a state of complete disarray. Across the room stood three men – her father, the Duke, and Itchy – all bearing varying expressions of amusement and reprimand.

Jameson stood to his feet beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist. When he whispered in her ear, she had to concentrate with every ounce of her attention to hear him.

“You have greatly amused my father; you realize that?”

“I don't know your father,” she whispered back, “so how could I guess as such?”

“One thing you should understand about my father. He does not fear offering his honest opinion. If he did not like you, you would know from his demeanor.”

When she glanced again up at the men, Duke Wilmington's expression most closely resembled diversion. Jameson – more self-possessed than Aylee – finally ventured to ask why the men had sought them out, and after a mumbled, “You obviously need supervision,” from Everett Hembry, all of the men lost the amusement in their eyes. Aylee grew anxious when she recognized the look on her father's face. While the Duke wore simply a sober mien, Everett Hembry had adopted his battle stance, ready for some imagined confrontation that might at any moment occur. Itchy looked more of discomfort than of any other emotion.

“We have agreed,” began Aylee's father, “that you may embark on this engagement.”

Confident, Jameson wrapped his arm tighter around Aylee's waist, maintaining eye contact with his intended father-in-law. Aylee could hear the codicil latent in her father's voice.

“We attach only one condition which I think you will find reasonable.”

Aylee had no patience with “conditions,” but she restrained the words she would have unleashed upon her father if he had not stood in the presence of the Duke.

“What is it, Father?” Jameson prompted.

“Dear Aylee,” the Duke began, and Aylee softened immediately at the endearment. “If my own Lauryl still lived, she would greatly desire to witness the formal announcement of her son's marriage. Your own mother would find a journey to the palace difficult and cumbersome with her infant and small boys. All we ask is that we all journey to your home and formally announce your marriage in Bennigton rather than in the palace. After which time you will return to stay with us until your wedding, an event for which we will offer transport for all of your family.”

For once, Aylee stood completely speechless. Not only had the Duke considered her mother, he had laid down his position of honor to share it for a few moments with her family and herself. Reaching up to Jameson's face, she kissed his cheek. All of the weight in her chest lifted, and she smiled up at her intended. “Your father is a great man,” she murmured, though everyone in the room heard her sentiments.

“Though not as amazing as you, father,” she assured Everett, extracting herself from Jameson and gliding over to kiss her father's cheek as well.

“Thank you, my lord,” she turned and clasped James's hand. When he raised their joined hands up to his lips, she leaned in and planted a kiss upon his face as she had done her father's. “I do not deserve this happiness.”

“If we only received what we deserve, dear child,” admonished the Duke, “we should all share quarters with Paulus Maximus. We strive not for perfection, but for a spirit of love and mercy.”

“So let it be,” Aylee agreed.

“So let it be,” Jameson and Everett chimed in unison.

With such sentiments shared by all, both Jameson and Aylee felt secure in their hopeful expectation of joy. Though their love had forged through deep hardships, it had formed as durable as iron, and Aylee held every reason to anticipate a magnificent future.