He rarely spoke about his ascension, and he seldom needed to; everyone within the Kasenon knew the story, but naturally, she didn't.

He hadn't thought about that devastating day for years. If there had been anyone the Vasaath had looked upon as what the humans would call a father, it surely was his predecessor.

The former leader had been a reckless man, yes, but he taught the Vasaath and all his brothers and sisters everything they knew. To be the one to end his life, was agonising—not to mention the fact he barely made it through alive. But it had to be done, for the good of the People. The man had turned vain and selfish. He was no longer fit to lead. It had been an honour fighting him, nonetheless. He lived with honour and died with glory. He died a warrior. Left to helm the title and bear the responsibility, was the new Vasaath.

He wondered if the girl would ever understand the horror he lived through the first few years of his reign. He was so young then, unprepared, and he had so much left to learn. Every other soldier defied him; they didn't do it out in the open, that would have granted them death. No, they did it in the shadows, mocking him and making his life miserable, but they were clever enough not to make themselves known.

As a young warrior, it had been very difficult to keep his head cool when all he wanted to do most days was to knock someone's teeth out—or burst into tears. Eventually, of course, the challenges came.

They all had the same appeal to the Triumvirate; the Vasaath was too young, not experienced enough, and posed a threat to the whole community. It was all very credible arguments, and neither the Vasmenaan nor the Vasenon could refuse them. During the first few years, he fought and killed thirteen of his brothers. As of this day, he remembered the dying breaths of each and every one of them.

He looked at the girl. Her eyes were lowered and her loose braid hung over one of her shoulders, like a curtain. He didn't regret anything he had done during those first few years, but he was very happy she met him now when his leadership was firmly established, accepted, and revered. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps it was insecurities, but he was glad he did not meet her until now.

He said, "I believe there are more uplifting things to speak about than the brutal nature of my ascension."

The corners of her mouth twisted. "Yes? What did you have in mind?"

He sighed. "I don't know." Then he knitted his brows together, pondering for a moment, before saying, "It's not befitting for a noble lady in your culture to be without your own room, is it?"

She looked at him, bewildered—her eyes were hazed, sensual. "No, but perhaps it is in yours?"

At first, he didn't know what to reply. Her eyes bewitched him. But then he pulled himself together, chuckled, and said, "We don't have noble ladies. But, a person of importance would surely have a private tent. I will issue it tomorrow. Of course, you should have your own tent with your own bed, your own desk, your own private washing area, your own privy, your own library." He was running out of things to suggest, and finally just said, "Anything you want!"

Her silver eyes were sparkling, still bewildered, still sensual—but he saw the gratefulness in them. "I don't know what to say, or how to repay you for your kindness."

"No, you don't need to repay me," said he. "It's a simple decency for such an honoured guest, not a favour." In that moment, he was sure he would do anything for that girl without ever wanting anything in return. "It will take a day or two, but it will be done."

She shifted awkwardly, and suddenly, her soft hand lightly touched his arm. "I am very grateful, my lord, but I cannot let you do something like that. Sooner or later, I suppose I have to return to my fiancée."

He tried to compose himself—it was only a hand, innocently resting on his arm. He had felt her touch before, but there was something about the atmosphere that evening; her scent, her eyes, her presence... he had to restrain himself from putting a strand of her hair behind her ear.

But when he heard her words, he frowned. "Why? Do you want to?"

"No!" Her grip tightened, her countenance urgent—fear.

With his jaw tightly clenched, he took her hand in his. "Then you won't have to. You may stay here for as long as you'd like." He wanted her to stay forever.

She looked at their hands and the Vasaath could see her cheeks redden. She pulled her hair behind her ear and her movements, however small they might have been, were enthralling.

He leaned in, just a little, wanting to inhale her wonderful scent, but straightened again. He couldn't lose control, couldn't impose himself upon her. He had to steel himself. "Lady Juniper," he began, "there is something I must confess."

She gazed up at him. "Yes, sir?"

Now was the perfect opportunity—surely, he didn't imagine the effect he had on her, or the effect she had on him—but as she looked at him with her soulful eyes, he could not bring himself to tell her the truth. Her face was still bruised from the last man who thought he was entitled to her, so how could he justify his own desires, no matter how ardent they were?

He sighed and shook his head. "I miss my own bed."

The lady smiled. "I am sorry to drive you out of your own chambers." Then she straightened her back and her smile turned elusive. "But a lady needs her privacy."

With a deep sigh, she rose on round feet. She swayed, lost balance, but the Vasaath was quick to reach out his arms and hold her steady.

She giggled—a sound that sent strange and violent shivers down his spine—and she looked at him. "I'm so sorry! I must have had a bit too much wine."

"Oh, but you've impressed me," he chuckled. "You only need to find your balance."

"Thank you," she said, and then—much to his surprise, horror, and absolute delight—she leaned in to place a sweet kiss on his cheek. "Good night, my lord." She walked away on unsteady legs, but made it all the way to the inner chamber without stumbling.

The Vasaath remained in his seat, frozen in place, unable to move. It was only a small gesture, and yet it was enough to cause complete disarray inside of him. He felt strangely lightheaded, and for the first time in a long time, he felt giddy, but also unassertive—what did it mean?

The Kas rarely showed such endearment to one another, a kiss was a most intimate act exclusive to those nearest to heart, but he knew the sentiment was far more common with most humans. But why would she, a noble lady, kiss a general?

Slowly, he touched his cheek where her soft lips had landed. His skin burned, as though her touch was still there, and it was driving him mad.