Loving the Forbidden Prince

ETAN

Etan lay in his bed, eyes wide and aching with tiredness, but sleep had never been further out of his grasp. He couldn't breathe without thinking of Ayleth and the pain she was in.

He had been forced to stay for the ball, dancing attendance on Sarya until well after midnight. It had been perhaps the most painful few hours of his life, watching himself deceive and manipulate an innocent woman, his parents, hers… 

And through it all, the vision of Ayleth—her back stiff and straight, hair quivering with her tension. The malicious glare of Falek. The image of Ayleth comforted, protected, guided by other men, their hands supporting her, their assurances whispered in her ear, when it should have been his. It should have been his!

He'd begun to sweat again. He threw the blankets off to let the cool night air chill the sweat on his skin, his heart pounding in his ears—growing louder every time he saw her face in his mind, accusing, broken, shining with tears. 

He'd devasted her, he knew that. He also knew that it was the only thing that would convince her mother that he wasn't lying. That there was not plot to take her. That she didn't need to kill Ayleth to keep her from Etan.

Etan swallowed hard and his heart raced faster. The sheets under him were becoming damp. He fisted them in both hands and prayed, earnestly, that once the shock had passed she would remember what he'd said. That she would take hope from it. That she wouldn't give up and marry the Andeluve. 

But as he tossed and turned, cursing and raking his hands through his hair, punching the pillow in an attempt to make it more comfortable, nothing eased his mind. Nothing touched the ache in his chest that bordered on pain. 

What if?

What if he'd told her and relied on her to act the part?

What if he'd used the last day to find someone within Zenithra that followed the Father of Lights and knew how to break the spell? And what if he'd succeeded?

What if the Queen was bluffing? What if there was no spell—or she wouldn't murder her own daughter? What if she only wanted him to think that and it was designed to manipulate him as he was trying to manipulate her?

Etan sat bolt-upright at that thought.

Was it possible? Was there a way to find out?

Would Ayleth know if her mother was capable of that kind of magik?

There was only one way to find out. 

Not giving himself to time to doubt, he leaped out of the bed and threw on his leathers and a shirt, buckled on his sword belt and ran for the door to his chamber and threw it open—to find Borsche barring his way, arms folded across his broad chest.

Etan went very still, one hand automatically going to his sword hilt.

Borsche raised a single brow. "Really, Etan? You'd threaten me?"

Etan ground his teeth. "I have to see if she's okay. We're leaving in the morning. I have to tell her—I can't leave her here, she'll marry Trystan or… or someone. Her parents will force her—"

"If she isn't strong enough to hold to her vows in the face of this, she doesn't love you the way I think she does," Borsche said quietly, calmly. "But regardless, you undo every good you have achieved if you're discovered pursuing her tonight. Not only revealing your true intentions to Ayleth's parents, but also to Sarya and hers. Stay the course, Etan."

"But—"

"Stay the course. We will go home and speak with Quwan. If he doesn't know the answer he'll certainly know who can find it. And then we'll return for her—armed and equipped. And when suspicions are eased."

"It'll take weeks—!"

"One or two. I knew you weren't going to be able to handle the tension. I've convinced your father that we are better to get out of Zenithra as quickly as possible. We won't travel with the cavalry this time. We're taking a small, mobile guard and your parent's fastest coach. We'll be in Summitras within a week. If Quwan knows the answer, we'll be back here ten days after that."

"The Festival will already be over—she'll have been married off—"

"Sometimes the only thing we have the choice to do is to trust the Father's ability to mold circumstances with His power, Etan," Borsche said quietly. "You can't control what's going to happen here in your absence. You can only control what you do."

"Which is exactly why I need to go find her! Make sure she knows—"

"She knows, Etan. You know she knows. The question is whether she believes."

Etan blinked. His heart throbbed with pain and he almost reached out through the bond—he'd been stifling it. It was too painful to feel her hurt—but he pulled it back. He couldn't do that to her, couldn't let her feel his hurt as well when she was already feeling so much.

"Etan," Borsche said gently, stepping forward to whisper to him, "I'm not going to fight you for this… but I can't caution you strongly enough. The only thing you can achieve if you insist in going to her right now is ruin—and you know it. You know the right path, you could see it before it started to hurt. You have to keep going. You have to follow the purpose you've been given and trust the Father of Lights to do the rest. Please… don't go."

Etan stared at his man, this man that he loved like he loved his own father. His dark hair was mussed and raked back with thoughtless fingers. His eyes were lined and dark with lack of sleep. And yet, here he stood—determined and attentive to what Etan needed, rather than his own weariness.

And he spoke wisdom. Etan knew it. But it wasn't wisdom Etan wanted to hear.

"But she's got to be so broken," he rasped and his throat pinched.