Loving the Forbidden Prince

ETAN

The one thing he hadn't anticipated was the Lady Sarya Playne.

Etan had been at dinner, his very skin burning as if Ayleth, at the other end of the hall, were the sun and he stood too close. He'd had to keep his chin down and eyes averted, or he would have drunk in the sight of her right in front of his parents. And his mother was already suspicious, he knew. She'd shown no excitement for the negotiations of his betrothal at all, which was entirely unlike her.

When a great shriek of laughter had erupted from the royal table and Ayleth's ladies, he'd almost leapt out of his own boots getting to his feet. "I need some air," he said when his parents both looked at him as if he'd passed gas. "I'll be back momentarily."

His mother's eyes sharpened on him, but his father waved him away and turned back to speak with one of the Merchant Nobles he was trying to convince to come to Summitras.

Ignoring the question in his mother's eyes, he strode away from the table towards the closest door, not even attempting to smile or look casual. A man could walk to the bathing rooms with intention—sometimes it was unavoidable. The sauce on the duck tonight was very rich. No one would question him.

But he was barely beyond the intersection of hallways past the banquet hall itself when slippered feet pattered on the stones behind him.

He did not turn. His heart throbbed. Had Ayleth come to meet him? He wanted to sing. And he wanted to curse at her to go back, not to risk it. But instead, he cursed his own weak heart and, in a last minute decision, turned the corner of the hall to the door that would lead out into the garden beyond the great hall, into the shadows of the perfectly manicured trees and bushes.

Throwing the door wide as if he had not a care in the world, he stormed out into the darkness, slipping sideways to walk on the grass verge of the path so his boots would not crunch, and secreting himself behind a stand of pencil-pines that the royals here were so fond of. 

Peering around the tree, sure enough the door opened again and the silhouette of a tall, slim form in a lush ballgown was revealed.

Etan's heart sank. 

It was wrong. All wrong.

Ayleth hadn't followed him. Sarya had.

As she closed the door carefully behind her—she'd snuck out without a chaperone!—he considered staying hidden. But she must have heard of his proposal by now. If he didn't speak with her, she might suspect him of having a tryst. She might refuse him. 

He could not allow that to happen.

So, as she trotted along the path, her slippers crunching on the stone, her skirts fisted in her hands, Etan stepped out at the last minute to catch her elbow and draw her into the shadows.

"Sarya, what are you doing?!" he hissed. "I thought you were one of the Kingsmen come to attack me in the garden."

She put a hand to the wide expanse of her bared chest and giggled quietly. "Oh dear, I am sorry. But I wished to speak with you and didn't see how we would have the chance before the signing tomorrow."

She gazed up at him, her eyes bright and round, her dark hair swept into one of those impossible rolls that the female servants seemed to achieve with hairpins and magic.

Etan frowned darkly down at her. "If you were caught, your virtue would be sullied!"

She tilted her head. "Would it matter? We are to be married… aren't we?"

Etan took a breath too long to rush in with reassurance. "Of course, of course. But… I do not wish to create any scandal. I cannot risk the Zenithrans deciding I have given them reason to hold Summitras out of the signing."

"No, no, of course not," she said absently.

They stared at each other a moment and Etan began to sweat. He liked Sarya. She was down to earth and spoke frankly, which he always appreciated in any person, but especially females who seemed so given to innuendo and mystery. She loved horses as much as he did. And while she may not have Ayleth's fierceness, she certainly shared his sense of adventure. The mere fact that she was out here in the dark with him now proved that.

In another life, another time, he might well have proposed to her. But now? Now she was a friend. Someone whose company he had appreciated. 

And someone he used as a pawn. 

His conscience struck deep and ruthlessly. He sighed. "Sarya…"

"You don't need to say it, Etan. I understand what's happening."

He looked at her warily. "You do?"

"You had to name someone. I'm guessing your parents approved and you were on the spot. I know you are not in love with me. I have… come to peace with that," she said with a careful smile. "But I'll admit, I was somewhat shocked that you did not speak with me personally first, before allowing your parents to approach mine."

He bowed his apology. "I am sorry. There were… extenuating circumstances. But I assure you, I have never wanted to hurt you, Sarya."

"Oh, I know. And I know that I am not a romantic figure," she said with a shrug and the first laugh he'd heard from her that struck him as inauthentic. "But can you tell me… are we to be betrothed in truth? Or is this one of the games?"

He lifted his head then and held her gaze. She always addressed him as an equal, and with the truth of what she thought. He appreciated that more than she would ever know. 

He couldn't do anything but return the favor.

But how to speak of what he needed—what he wanted from her—without lying outright? Borsche would tell him that to take this course it would be necessary to lie. That the ancient texts reminded them that even the Father of Lights saw virtue in lying to the enemy to save lives. 

But this? 

Etan sighed heavily. "I need to tell you something, Sarya.. And I hope at the end of it, you will agree to remain my friend and… and join me on this journey."

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