Loving the Forbidden Prince

AYLETH

Falek made a great show of snarling, "What do you do at the Princess's chambers?"

Ayleth wondered why they felt they had to put on the show when the corridor was empty, but she knew better than to ask. If they were both giving the cue, she would follow.

Borsche rolled his eyes. "Gracious, you Zenithran's are ridiculously touchy. I was looking for you as it happens, but—"

"To what purpose?"

"I have… information Her Highness may wish to make use of."

Falek tilted his head and looked at Borsche suspiciously. Ayleth tried not to gape at how good both were at acting. If she hadn't known otherwise, she would not have been suspicious of Falek's motives at all. She would have been utterly convinced he knew of this man, but did not trust him.

She doubted anyone knew Falek better than she, yet he could have fooled her. It was frightening.

Still staring at Borsche as if he didn't trust him, Falek told Ayleth to open the door wide and leave space for them to pass where Borsche couldn't reach her. She did as he asked, then stood back while Falek pushed him through.

Borsche made an excellent show of being the awkward servant overwhelmed by the aggression of a Knight until they were inside and Ayleth had closed the door behind them. Then he shook off Falek's grip and the two glared at each other for a moment.

"We shouldn't be risking this," Falek growled, rounding on Ayleth—who suddenly understood he hadn't been faking the anger at the door. "What could possibly be so important—"

"He's going to break," she said quietly.

Falek hesitated. Borsche went very still.

"Are you certain?" Borsche asked.

She nodded. "We have a… a strange bond. I can feel something of what he feels. He is enraged tonight. The tension has been building, but I've never felt him like this before. He confronted Trystan tonight, despite knowing Trystan is an ally. He risked asking me to dance again, which he shouldn't have done. And when Lady Playn touched him in front of me, he left."

They both stared at her and she widened her eyes. "He never leaves when he knows I have to be there," she said. "I'm telling you, he's cracking. I don't know what caused the shift, but he is struggling to control himself and I fear what may come of it if something doesn't change. There are still four days—and the Ball the night before the Peace Accord will be… raucous. The Lords will get drunk. What if we have another Isolde moment?"

Borsche looked at Falek. "She's right," he said quietly. "He is wound tightly. The Pavilion the other night… it isn't like him to take these risks."

"We need time. Time without others watching over us. Time to connect and just… rest," Ayleth said, ignoring the sharp look Falek gave her when she mentioned connecting. "If I can get some time with him I'm confident I can calm him down. But our time is always rush and hurried, always looking over our shoulders. Is there any way we can go riding together with you both, or something? Something away from the Castle where others won't know to be there to see us?"

"Not for more than an hour—and you'd never be far enough away from the castle to not have to worry about watchers," Falek said. "But even if there were a place or time, the risk is too great. It would draw too much attention to you both—especially after dancing together."

While the two men discussed and discarded options, Ayleth turned her attention inward, feeling Etan. She could sense him, in the direction of the opposite end of the castle, but that fire inside him, it continued to roar. How did he restrain it?

Sending love and calm, the ache of missing, but the joy of having seen him along the bond, she waited for him to sense it, for the fire to flicker as it had earlier when she'd reached out. But this time it was as if everything she felt and sent was merely swallowed by the fire inside him.

"Something's wrong," she murmured. Etan was angry, yes, but he'd never felt like this before. And there had been no trigger. It was like… "Oh holy fuck," she whispered.

Both men jerked their heads around to look at her. "What did you say?" Falek asked.

"I think… I think my mother, or someone—and Adept—has done something to him. Perhaps to others as well."

"Why?"

"His feelings are too intense. Too overwhelming. There was nothing to have created them. Even the other night when we met, he didn't feel anything like this. It's as if the anger within him keeps growing despite him having nowhere to put it. The only time I've ever seen people act the way this feels is when my mother has placed a compulsion on them."

"Why would your mother place a Compulsion on Etan?" Borsche snapped, his eyes fierce.

"It wouldn't have to be her. She is powerful, but she isn't the only Adept in the Castle. Not even in the Court."

"Why would any of them target him?"

"Because he is Summitran!" she said. "I told Etan I thought there was a plan to attempt to keep them from the Peace Accord. If he were to create conflict with another nation, especially a powerful one, if they could accuse him of Breaking the Peace—"

"Yes, yes," Borsche breathed. "Shit."

"You have to get back to him. Keep him down for the night. Compulsion never lasts more than a day, and it will begin to ease well before that. But if we don't reach him soon—" She cut off as the fire she could feel in him flared again. She shoveled as much love and calm towards him, but her breath caught when it seemed to be absorbed and burned up without taking any of the heat. "You must go, Borsche. You must help him."

Borsche nodded and started for the door, then caught himself and turned back. "I will warn the King also, he is far more careful about these things. But, Falek, I am in agreement with Ayleth—even without this… it would be wise to get them away from the castle. I think… I think perhaps it is time to invoke the old Rite. The Peace Accord tournament is reason enough, don't you think?"

Falek's mouth opened slightly. "I hadn't even thought—"

Borsche nodded and turned for the door, his tunic flaring behind him. "I'll throw myself out," he muttered.

When he reached the door he hesitated with his hand on the handle, took a deep breath, then yanked it opened and toppled out of it, yelling, "That's hardly a peaceful resolution!" Then he made a show of getting to his feet and dusting himself off, muttering, before striding down the corridor towards Etan.

Ayleth willed him to get there quickly. To help Etan overcome the tidal wave of rage that was washing over him. She put her hands to her mouth and opened herself towards him. No longer imaging a parcel to be sent to him. But seeing herself and her love as a cord—something that tied them together. Something she could feed.

As Falek watched her worriedly, she sent her love to Etan and prayed.

Don't let him give in. Let Borsche reach him in time.

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