Loving the Forbidden Prince

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*****

ETAN

Etan sat on his horse watching the servants load his parent's coach while his mother tried to get comfortable inside. The seats were well-sprung, but there was little to keep the interior warm with the doors open for servants to load food and supplies for his parent's convenience. Because they were travelling with the minimum of attendance to allow them to move as quickly as possible, the servants were piling large amounts of reading, food, blankets, and even clothing into the interior of the coach in the event the royals needed to change during the day. 

The ranks of Summitran soldiers and battery of servants would follow in the days to come. But a small troop of their best trackers and guards had already been sent ahead to clear the road of ambushes. Twenty guards would keep watch over the coach as they travelled, and a second coach carrying the servants would follow. In that way they could easily cover dozens of miles per day, rather then the ten or so the troops would manage.

Etan had chosen to ride on horseback, rather than within the coach, though there was room. When Sarya heard this, she leaped at the chance to join him. He'd had no choice but to agree. Now his fiancé—the word made him want to vomit—was on her way from the stables and would join them on her horse forthwith.

Etan's gelding felt his tension at the thought and snorted, dancing on the spot, his breath shooting from his nostrils in streams that looked like smoke in the chill night air. Steam rose from his coat and he jerked his head against the bit, chomping with the desire to run. Etan kept his body still and as relaxed as he was capable until the horse's head came down and he stood still again. 

The Courtyard was remarkably quiet for such a bustle. They'd already been packed for the trip, so this only brought their schedule forward a few hours. But Etan's skin itched with the compulsion to leap from his horse and sprint back into the castle to find Ayleth. 

Somewhere—probably in her chambers—she lay awake, he was certain. Unaware that she would rise from the bed in a few hours to discover that he was gone.

Would she weep again? Or swear? 

Would she decide to wait for his return? Or curse him to the hounds of hell?

He imagined rising from a sleepless night to learn that she was gone unexpectedly, and his hands tightened on the reins until his knuckles strained the limits of his gloves. 

What had he done?

What could he do?

Borsche sat his horse a few feet away, watching Etan. Etan ignored him. Just because he was right didn't mean Etan wanted to hear it again. He wasn't moving. He wasn't running back to Ayleth. He wasn't giving anything away.

But he was dead inside—and beyond caring if anyone noticed.

He heard the clop of Borsche's horse's feet approaching from behind and beside them, felt his animal ease to the side, turning his head against the bit to watch the gelding sidle closer. Etan didn't turn. 

"Etan," Borsche began, his voice apologetic, but firm.

"I don't want to hear it."

"I know, but—"

"I'm here, Borsche. I'm not going anywhere. I haven't left any secret message, or… or anything. She knows nothing but what she's heard and seen. You don't need to worry."

Borsche was quiet for a long moment. "She will wait for you, Etan. I'm certain of it."

Etan whipped his head around, snarling at his man. "She may not be given that choice!"

His mind filled then, with images of a broken-hearted Ayleth, forced into marriage—into the bed of a man she did not want or care for, and all the while believing him given to another. Touching another. Knowing her responsibility as Queen, to provide an heir…

His body recoiled and he went very still. He almost vomited. 

Was that really the fate he was leaving her to?

Fight, Ayleth… he prayed. Fight. 

Then, more hooves rang on cobblestone, and Sarya appeared, walking her horse through the arch from the outer limits of the castle. She was beaming, dressed in a very tight, very striking riding habit, her shoulders swathed in a thick cloak against the cold, but her nose and cheeks pink from the bite in the air. 

Their eyes caught and she beamed—excited to ride with him. Excited to travel. Excited for the future. 

And Etan hated himself so deeply in that moment, loathed himself utterly for the way he was using her, and how it might affect Ayleth, that he had to swallow bile.

He sat his horse stiffly, the animal's ears flickering back and forth as it tried to read his tension and identify the threat. It danced on the spot, chewing the bit and nosing the air until Etan was forced to focus on his horse, rather than his own pain.

A few seconds spent soothing the animal and bringing it back into submission were a good distraction from the moment Sarya reached his side and, still smiling, leaned forward from her horse to pet his horse's neck in such a possessive and intimate gesture that Etan wanted to slap her hand away.

"He's eager to go, isn't he?" she said quietly, her eyes flicking up at Etan as if the words were actually meant for him.

Etan nodded stiffly. "Too many weeks cooped up in the castle. Too many enemies. It's time to move," he said, answering the unspoken question in her eyes.

Sarya's eyes stayed on his horse, her fingers trailing through its mane, but her lips curled up in small smile. "Perhaps… perhaps we should ride ahead? Do you know where your parents plan to rest for the evening?"

Etan blinked. "Y-yes. The servants have been sent ahead already and the guards…"

Sarya's smile stretched wider. "I would bet our mounts can outrun any pursuit. I am eager to be away from this place as well. Why don't we… just go?"

Etan regarded her carefully, his heart pounding, torn between the idea of being able to move, to flee the terrible grief and anger he felt—but to be stuck alone with Sarya for hours… 

"I would be happy to accompany you, and the Lady's man as well, I'm sure," Borsche murmured. 

Sarya's smile faltered at that, but Etan's heart rose. "A good idea," he said quickly, turning to look at Borsche finally, whose face was granite and his eyes glittering, fixed on Etan. "Would you speak to my parents then catch us up? My mother still thinks I am twelve and I find I don't have the energy to fight with her this morning."

Borsche snorted, but nodded, wheeling his horse around to circle the coach and speak with the royals who waited inside. "Keep your pace slow through the City," he said. "No running until we're all together. She'll have my head if I don't catch you right away."

Etan nodded, and with a reluctant glance at Sarya, turned his horse towards the archway out of the castle grounds. 

And even though he wanted to go—needed to leave this place—and even though he was finally pointed towards his home, his land, his people, and the answers to regaining his wife, his heart thudded painfully.

The skin on his back felt as if it were prickled by hot needles that jabbed and hooked into his skin, pulling him back towards his wife and her home. But he pressed on. 

And Sarya followed, her smile returned as they began to ride, almost knee-to-knee, out of the dark courtyard, through the castle wall, and into the City of Zenith.

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