Loving the Forbidden Prince

ETAN

He sat in the chair in the corner of his bedroom, no lights on, his breath heaving. He'd taken off his jacket, and then later his shirt as well. He felt on the edge of violence, and his body shook with it. Yet there was no reason for it. Unless the pressure was getting to him and he was losing his mind.

Then another wave of warmth and love came at him through the bond with Ayleth and almost stole his breath—how had she learned to do that? But as quickly as it touched him, it was gone. He wanted to send it back, but the moment he thought of trying, the flames inside him surged and wanted to travel the bond. He yanked all feeling back and raked both hands through his hair. He began a groan that turned into a growl. Then he was on his feet and pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Something was wrong with him. What was wrong? Why was he feeling this way?

The door suddenly burst open and he had his knife out of his boot and thrown before he'd even had time to think. Borsche dropped with a yelp, flat to the floor to avoid it. The knife thunked into the doorframe behind him, trembling with the force of its travel.

Borsche got immediately to his feet, hands up in front of him. "It's just me! Etan, it's just me! Breathe! Think, man!"

Etan stared at him, wide-eyed. He'd almost killed Borsche. Holy shit.

"Something's wrong with me," he said, his voice hoarse. "I can't control it. I want to hurt something… someone..."

Borsche blew out a breath, but kept his eyes on Etan. "You've been compelled… we think."

"What?!"

"Compelled. An Adept has interfered with you somehow to urge you to violence. We think they want you to Break the Peace so that they can exclude you from the Accord. You cannot give in, Etan, do you hear me? It will wear off. You must stay in your rooms tonight. And maybe tomorrow as well."

Etan turned away from him, though his skin itched. He wanted to turn back. To throw himself at Borsche. To see if he could take him down. He clawed his hands through his hair again.

He'd been compelled?

Well… he guessed it explained why he'd struggled so badly at the ball tonight.

"Bloody sorcerers," he spat. The rage became a tangible thing, turning over in his chest. "They try to force me to—"

"Etan, breathe. Think of something else. You cannot give in to this, Son," Borsche said. Etan noticed he stayed on the balls of his feet and his eyes never drifted.

"I'm not going to kill you, Borsche," he muttered.

Borsche arched an eyebrow. Neither of them looked at the knife sticking out of the doorframe right at Borsche's head height.

"Are you able to think clearly, Etan? We've had an idea I think you might like. And having something to look forward to might… ease the pressure?"

"What is it?" His voice was dark, but he did want something to focus on outside of the inferno building in his chest.

"I believe Falek is going to call the Old Rite. For the Tournament of the Accord. If he does, we'll be able to take you and Ayleth out for a training retreat. You'll have two days with no interference from others, and only time with her. And us of course, but I think I can convince Sir Ever-Defender to give you two some time even without us."

Etan raised his head and looked Borsche in the eyes. "You're… serious?"

"Deadly. There will be cautions to take, of course. But at least you won't be dealing with a ballroom full of peacocks and spies."

Etan hardly dared hope. "Surely her parents would never allow—"

"When the Old Rite is called, especially in the Time of Peace, it takes priority over all other traditions. They will likely try to thwart it behind the scenes. But they cannot be seen to undermine it publicly. And as you know, our friend Falek is a stickler for the old ways. You should have seen his face when I suggested it. It was as if hope had dawned," Borsche chuckled. "It hadn't occurred to him, but as soon as he heard it, he knew it was the answer."

"Answer to what?"

Borsche took a deep breath. Etan stifled the urge to reach over and shake the answers out of him.

"We're aware that both of you are under a great deal of pressure. To be honest, even if Ayleth weren't able to, I'd like to take you away for a couple days anyway. You need some relief from this. And we need time to plan the best approach to your father when you tell him what you've been doing. He's going to be absolutely furious, Etan."

"I know, I know. But… what do you mean, relief?"

"I meant that we know you're carrying the brunt of all this, and that it's been obvious the last few days that it's becoming a little too much. You're taking risks I never thought I'd see from you. And even Ayleth can tell—"

"You spoke with Ayleth? When? How?"

"I pretended to be trying to sell information to Falek and they brought me in so we could discuss what to do. To help you both."

"And Ayleth got to be there, but I did not?" Etan snapped.

Borsche put his hands up in apology. "Please, Etan, stay calm. After you left, Ayleth was concerned for you. She asked Falek to have me come to bring a message to you. She wished to find a way to help—and thought he or I might have an idea. Which, as it happens, I did."

Borsche looked pleased with himself. Etan knew the urge he had to slap the smug smile of the man's face was a consequence of the spell, not his real feelings, but…

They were right. He needed a break.

"Two days away from the Castle? And with Ayleth?" Etan rasped.

"Two days," Borsche said, smiling. "But hear me, we can't do that if you start roaming the halls and killing people. Right? You must be on your guard, Etan. Let us help you get through the night. Tomorrow a better day will dawn."

Etan blew out a heavy breath, then nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Etan."

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