Chapter I: At First Glance

My first memory is of stars. Though most people might say that the first thing that they remember is the sound of their mother's voice, what I best remember is the night time sky. The constellations read as stories to me; they were the representations of my deepest desires as I wished upon each one. Each star, one individual wish, most of which I could not even understand. It was a simple wish for most, but being as young as I was I did not truly comprehend the power of wistful thinking. My wishing brought no harm as far as my narrow mind could see; how naive children are. But surely no consequence could come of wishing? Of course, no consequence

did

come of wishing at first. Not until I was well into my fifteenth year did any sort of consequence come of wishing. What most people do not remember is that consequences are not necessarily bad. Consequence is merely the result of action.
Nonetheless, my first memory is not of my mother. None of my memories are of my mother, if I were being honest. Not directly, at least. When I was born, my mother was extremely ill. The delivery was too much for her decrepit body and she passed before I had so much as taken my first breath. Father was distraught – he refused to even look at me during my first few days of life – and it is a wonder that I myself survived. I was a weak child, having taken on the aftershock of my mother's illness, and it was thought that I certainly would join my mother after a few hours time. But the gods smiled down on me that day; I slept through my first day and miraculously a wet-nurse was found. I am told that as a babe I hardly ever cried. I am told even more frequently that as a child I was silent, that even the treading of my feet made no sound. But of course, my childhood is of no interest; besides the fact that I grew up without a Mother and barely a Father, my existence was rather dull. Mine was a lonely existence. Being heir to the Duke of Aviena, let alone being an “inferior female”, is tedious and tiring. The only person in the world that I might call friend was Reg. Reg was appointed by my father to be my “caretaker” when I was eight; Reg was only thirteen, barely five years my elder. He was meant to guard me and make sure that I acted as a proper young lady should, but I could tell Father had a soft spot for him; he looked at Reg with a kind of respectful love that he had never shown me. All the emotion my father ever showed me was little more than bittersweet attachment. He saw too much of my mother in me; or perhaps he saw too little of himself.
Besides the lack of my father's attentions – he was most often attending to affairs of politics concerning Aviena – I was set apart from others as “too precious to be approached”. Even though I had often walked the streets of Aviena with Reg by my side, even though I longed to join in the games of the peasant children, I was raised too proud for my own good. Though I felt no inferiority from others, my tutors had attempted to establish very early on a sense of superiority in me. I was to be a perfectly mannered, perfectly spoken young lady who would one day inherit the title of Duchess, and I was not to partake in the silly trivialities of underprivileged youths. “You live a life of privilege,” one tutor or another would tell me, “and you mustn't forget yourself for even a moment. Be grateful for the status that has been given you by your birthright and do not go squandering it!”
However, I could never find myself in any state of mind but wishing I had not been born to privilege. The tight guard that was set about me, the stifling presence of locked doors and stone walls, the loneliness of being an intimidation to others; it was all too much for me to bear. My first and only companions were the stars, and I often found myself pouring the contents of my heart out to them in an immoderate act of wishing. Wishing for a different life, wishing for a loving mother or perhaps an attentive father; always wishing. Little did I know that my fifteenth year would bring about more change than even my wistful mind could withstand. Because, of course, no one realizes the consequence of wishing.
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“But Miss, it is my duty to keep you in check; I really cannot allow such foolish wanderings at night.”
I sighed; “Really, Reg, you are required to do no such thing as my caretaker. I truly hate to say this, but as the Duke's only heir and daughter, I outrank you; now move aside.”
Reg fumed at this, insulted by my careless brushing aside of our years of companionship. “'Move aside' she says! 'Move aside!' Iris, you wretched brat, return to your quarters at once before your father wakes at the sound of your nonsensical racket!”
“The only racket here is you. If you do not get thyself gone, my hand will be forced and something quite unpleasant will befall you.”
His eyes narrowed and his furious glare scathed my skin. “And what is so important this late in the night, I pray you at least give me that.”
My built up excitement was too much to bear, and without thinking I burst out the truth. Barely staying in one place, bobbing on the balls of my feet, I clasped my hands in front of me as if to pay respects to the gods. “A dream. Oh, Reg, the King of Thieves stole into my chambers by cover of night, came to me as I slept! He spoke of wonderful things: a life without the restrictions of privilege, no one would be afraid of my rank, free to roam the land as I like! Guidgen came to me, and he told me–”
“A dream is not enough to decide your fate.”
“But Reg, he–”
“Was nothing more than a figment of your fancy; you want freedom – gods only know why you would nothing from everything – and your wistfulness brought it to you in your dreams. Go back to bed, this can do nothing but harm for your state of–”
With a proud glare, I cut him off, “I am certain it was no figment, Reg, otherwise it would have flown from my memory with the stirring of my consciousness. Leave me, O wise and lecturing fool, for you insult the god of thieves for every second that you delay me.”
Eyes so narrow that they were barely even slits, he growled, “As you command, belittling wanton, but you shall find no comfort in me when you return to the displeasure of your father.” And with this he spun on his heel, stalking down the hall with heavy footfalls that made me wince with each echoing resonance of the marble floor.
But it made no matter to me, my silent feet padding across the cool stone and drawing me nearer my destination. Though Reg was angry and did not believe me, I was not to be discouraged; I had the blessing of Guidgen. I had not told Reg lies; the King of Thieves had indeed visited me, brought me news of a life outside these suffocating walls. His dark skin had seemed to glow with the light of stars, his voice, soft and calm, carried on a warm summer breeze...
But I am forgetting myself; if anyone is to understand how my life began to change, I must begin my tale a bit earlier in time. There are many more works at play than just my visit with the gods, though this visit pushed all other thoughts from my mind. In all honesty, the “quest” given me by Guidgen was the least of my worries that week. Allow me to wind the hands of the clock back, dearest Father Time, to that morning seven days passed, that time where the wheels of a greater purpose began in their turning.

Alaunus sent the rays of his precious star, the sun, through my open window with a strange sort of power this day. Almost an urgency; but I am too bold, to believe the gods had any interest in my pathetic little life. My stormy blue eyes, blurred with sleep and sunlight, cracked open to the morning light. Faint – but sharp – discomfort made its way from my shrunken pupils to the back of my mind. The light seemed to fill my being, seemed to rouse my spirit from its heavenly dreams, erasing their memory almost completely. I abandoned my warm bed, ignored the white linens as they fell from their place about the soft mattress; my attention was held by the clear blue of the morning sky.
A sharp rapping on my great oak door broke me away from my captivated state. With quick, panicking flourishes, I seized my dressing robe from the bedpost and tied it about me as the door creaked against the marble floor. A foot booted with hard, thick leather was the first image that presented itself to my eyes as the man entered my room. Ogma, the mastermind of my tutors, cleared the doorway and made way for a servant girl to bring my morning meal. When she had been harshly dispelled, cowering in Ogma's great shadowing mass, he turned his brooding gaze to me. “I will assume, by the shining of your eyes, that you have rested well; if you have not, allow me the pleasure of ignorance. For if you have not rested well, this day will be a trial to us all.”
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes and seem unladylike took a fair measure of determination; he had always been one to speak in riddles. Clearing my sleep thickened throat, I voiced a much safer thought, “Dear guide to wisdom, who gives me knowledge where otherwise I would be blind and ignorant, what brings thee here this morn?”
Ogma's lips quirked up at the corners and his proud chin rose a fraction of an inch. “You flatter me with compliments, dear child, no matter how true they may be. Desist, I came here not to be glorified with my accomplishments but bearing news.”
Subconsciously I felt my head tilt slightly to the side, though I realized that it was not a very proper gesture for “higher class” creatures like myself. “What news could you possibly bring this early on in the morning?”
With an incredulous snort, Ogma raised an eyebrow in my direction and continued; “It be not as early as you think, for you have slept through nearly half of the day. The church bells have tolled and told it to be an hour until noon. But that has no matter; my news should intrigue and brighten your thoughts.”
Words of frustration at his refusal to make himself clear had barely formed on my lips when the door flew open once more. A loud crack of wood on stone brought with it the entrance of Brighid, dragging along the servant girl. Head clearer than when I had first awakened, I recognized her as Airmid, one of the best servants of the household. She often waited on me during meals and parties.
“Filth!” Brighid spat at her, disgust written clearly across her face. Brighid was, of course, another tutor; she was assigned the task of teaching me the proper manners and visage of the higher class.
Airmid cowered, pleading with me with her teary eyes. My heart went out to her, an overwhelming pity nearly overpowering me, but I knew what would happen if I broke countenance in front of my tutors; I would be repeating correct conduct lessons for weeks. Instead I spoke, “Calm yourself, Brighid, and do not leave us in the dark; how has this girl of no consequence offended your pride?”
Brighid turned her narrow glare to me, pride no doubt offended by my comment about her pride; she was a... complex woman. However, she set her issue with me aside and pointed a furious, shaking finger at the terrified servant girl; “This incompetent child has neglected her duties in the Grand Hall. Because of her insolence there is a very discontented lord waiting to be attended to with provisions, and now a surgeon!”
Airmid squeaked pathetically in the background as Brighid's hand lashed out toward her and Ogma began to order Brighid to cool her temper. Before he had even completed his command, his face flushed and he turned a very green sort of pale; “You could not possibly mean Miach?”
Abandoning her attempts on Airmid's life for the moment, Brighid turned back to Ogma with a sharp nod. “That is exactly whom I am referring to.”
“Idiot!” Ogma shouted at Airmid, before spinning to face me with heavy brows. “I suppose now my news is laced with displeasure. Your father has welcomed into his home a great lord from far off lands in hopes of a smart... alliance. Hopefully this little incident does not put him off such subjects; quickly now, dress! We must introduce the two of you, see if you might salvage what is left of happy negotiations.”

As it turned out, the dress that I was supposed to have been forced into was quite elaborate and seemed to be twenty gowns in one. However, with the surprise shortage of time, I was helped into a much simpler selection. Thankful that the servants had not been given time to lace my corsets nearly as tight as they most likely wished to, I rushed from the room and silently trotted down the corridor. I was just in sight of the Grand Hall when the bickering began to sharpen from a low murmur to actual words.
“No, no, no! Out of the way, fool, he needs a bandage!”
“He needs water!”
“Forgive us, sir, we'll have you right as rain in no time.”
“What are you doing, girl? Not the fine linens!”
“Please sir, don't be angry!”
I heard several other comments as I turned between one of the columned archways and took in the comical scene before my eyes; the lord, I assumed, surrounded by a cluster of doting servants, all trying to smooth away his wrath. The comical part was that he had no wrath to speak of. His sandy blonde hair was cropped short in a fashionable style, slightly ruffled by a speedy journey. The muscles along his shoulders and neck were easily distinguishable through his thin white tunic, and his eyes were a pale, sea-glass green. No anger or discontent blemished his handsome face, but the beginning of irritation was hidden in his gaze as he saw me.

The only incident here,

I thought

, is the foolishness of these servants.

Quietly I approached the crowd, shooing the women and waving their protests aside with the back of my hand. The man, Miach I once again assumed, gave me a small smile and thanked me kindly for saving him. I offered a smile of my own before realizing what the commotion had been about. There was a long, shallow slice down the back of his hand, creating a slow stream of red blood. With widened eyes, I gently took his hand to inspect the damage; he watched me with a masked expression, remaining silent. Finally I met his eyes; “If you would excuse me a moment, I am quite certain I might patch this up for you.”
Guarded, I decided, is the look in his eyes. He gave nothing away; “Of course, as you wish. I shall be here when you return.”
With a quick bow of my head, acknowledging his status, I disappeared quickly through a door to the kitchen. Summoning a young servant–she had been the least busy, being too young to do more than fetch supplies for the main cook–I bid her fetch a pitcher of warm water, soap, and a clean rag. As she hurried away, intimidated no doubt by her first encounter with anyone of higher status than noble's chef, I went myself to fetch a basket of bandages. The long strips of cloth were rather rough, but soon I found a basket of fine, soft linen that I quickly tore to replace them. Father would no doubt be angry at first, or at least the stewardess would be discontent for him, however they were for a purpose that would stay his hand. The servant returned with the materials I had asked of her, and I gave her a kind smile as I led her back to the Grand Hall.
Miach stood nearly exactly as I had left him only minutes before, though his eyes were roaming the walls absentmindedly. As the door swung shut behind the girl and I, announcing our entrance, his attention fell back on me. I placed the basket on the table beside him, eyes glancing quickly over a broken glass goblet and a poorly cleaned spill of wine, and the girl did the same with her charge. She stood uncertainly until I thanked her and bid her return to her chores. With a relieved, quick curtsy, she trotted back into the kitchen. The Hall was quiet once more, an awkward silence filling the chamber to the high ceilings. My eyes met his gaze as he gently cleared his throat; his eyes held an amused expression, expectant. I felt a small blush begin to creep its way into my cheeks, and I motioned for him to take a seat. I pulled out a chair for myself, next to his, attempting to make this process as painless as possible for the both of us.
When he had settled himself I held my hand palm up to him, silently demanding his wounded hand. Seizing his hand carefully in my own, I set to work cleaning the wound; he flinched slightly at the sting of the soap, but his muscles relaxed as the warm water soothed his inflamed flesh. Assuming that the cause of his injury was the broken glass, I kneaded the skin to either side of the laceration to loosen any shards still lodged within. Intently I tended to his wound, so intently that I hadn't noticed the amused smile playing on his lips until he chuckled. Blushing again, I lifted my eyes to his face; he was resting his chin on the heel of his free hand, leaning nonchalantly against the table. This gesture seemed odd to me, considering he was a noble; “Forgive me, kind healer; please continue.”
I awarded him with a small smile, wrapping his hand in the soft linen. “If I am not too bold, I would inquire as to why you laugh at me, sir. What, pray tell, could you find so humorous, that I might join with you in its hilarity?”
Focusing on properly dressing his injury, I only knew his grin had grown through the smile in his voice; “My intent is not to offend you, I meant only to observe privately the attention and care you seem to deal your patients. And if I myself am not too bold, I would admit to you that I am partially struck by how well mannered and spoken you are; such well-informed qualities, obvious in scholars and others who study the world, are quite rare in such a young beauty as you. But I forget myself; it would seem that I owe you and must offer you my deepest gratitude once more.”
He had a pretty sort of speech, strangely poetic in quality. It struck me that he was being much more open with me than was sociably necessary, and slightly more than many proper men would dare be with a young heiress. Little time is allowed one to sit silently when addressed with such compliments, however, and I was obligated to make my reply. “I dare say you are quite bold, sir, but I am grateful for such compliments to my manner and flattery's to my form,” we stood, abandoning the table for the moment, and I continued politely, “It would seem that we have not yet been properly introduced; I am pleased to make your acquaintance and to welcome you into my home. I am Iris of Aviena, daughter and heir to the Duke.” I gave a slight curtsy and bowed my head.
Gently he took hold of my hand and lightly kissed my knuckle; “Yes, it would seem we have skipped such pleasantries and frivolities. I am Miach of Ganior, Lord of Ganior Manor.” He tilted his head to me as one might tip a hat in greeting. The silly gesture was charming.
He held my hand for a second or two longer than was properly necessary. When my hand and eyes were finally released, as if from a spell, I turned my flustered thoughts back to the broken goblet. Guiltily I thought of Airmid, left to endure the wrath of Brighid and Ogma alone, wondering at how such a simple accident could fall to her to shoulder the blame. Worrying my bottom lip lightly, I strode away from him to investigate. Wherever the white, crystalline glass was mostly whole, it's surface was still riddled with thin cracks. Miach followed me with eyes guarded once more. Softly, voice strangely tight, I asked him, “This happened soon after you arrived, did it not? Might I inquire as to what caused this accident?”
Miach avoided my eyes, making my unexplained suspicions grow. “My sincerest apologies for causing such turmoil, has this incident truly caused such chaos?”
Resisting the urge to place my hands on my hips, I allowed my eyes to narrow fractionally; I am told that I take after my father in this gesture; “Truthfully it has, my lord; with no intent for rudeness I must inform you that if I do not know the cause of all of this, an innocent girl may be severely punished.” There was an odd biting edge in my voice that I had not intended.
His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. I could see him searching for words, but he was saved by my father's summons.
Hastily a young page boy hurried into the room looking desperate; with a relieved sigh he rushed to Miach's side and breathlessly announced that his presence was politely demanded in the Duke's study, so that they might hold the intended council that had brought the Lord of Ganior to this place, with apologies as to giving him no time to rest after his long journey. The lord smiled kindly, visibly relieved, and bid the page go with his best wishes to the Duke and his reply that he would join him momentarily. The page, having delivered his news, bowed deeply and hurried off to convey his new message. Miach turned back to me with a regretful expression; “I beg pardon from you, dear lady, but it would seem that your father is quite distressed and in need of my service by the demeanor of his messenger. I bid thee farewell, in hopes that I may see you again before I depart for home.”
“My pardon is freely given, seeing as you ask so politely. I can assure you that you will be welcome to stay as long as you see fit, my lord.” My words seemed tepid even to my own ears.
“Then I shall wait impatiently until next me meet,” he said, brushing his lips lightly against my skin for the second time, and disappearing down the corridor to follow the page.
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The Duke's chambers were several corridors and doors away from the Grand Hall. With the lightest rapping on the door, the softest permission of entry was uttered from within. Miach slowly entered, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room; as the Grand Hall had been filled with open windows and sunlight, the darkness was nearly overwhelming. Every window was covered by a thick curtain, the only light coming from the blazing fire in the hearth. The Duke stood to greet the lord, gesturing regally for him to take his place across from the master of the house, near the licking flames. With a bow of his head, Miach complied and sat with his hands clasped in his lap, obscuring the bandages from view.
The Duke spoke; “I trust your journey was pleasant? What news of my friend, your father?”
Miach lowered his eyes politely, staring into the fire. “Yes, quite pleasant, thank you; it is always a pleasure to be called upon by our companions of Aviena Manor. There is little news of my father, I fear. He has been campaigning in the east since winter and few messengers have arrived since then.”
“My sympathy; your father is a great man, and strong; I do not doubt his return.” The Duke motioned for a servant to fill the wine glasses that rested, waiting for use, on the small stand beside him. When the boy had gone once more, he continued. “I fear I am not in my usual state of mind; there have been tensions between Aviena and our neighbors, Liad and Carnell, to the west.”
Shaking his head lamentably, Miach raised his eyes and met Cerid's cool stare levelly. “These are harsh times we live in, with the death of the Sovereign King drawing nigh; many a small king and man have become doubtful.”
Pleased, the Duke nodded his head slightly in approval. “Tempers are boiling, the times of peace will soon see their end, I believe.”
“I fear that your words ring with truth, Your Grace, and before his campaigning my father held the subject with grim solemnity.”
“As well he should, Miach; times of war are dark for dukes and small kings as well as for the peasants and simple-folk.” Cerid sipped at his wine distractedly.
The Duke's comment was very directly aimed at himself and Lord Ganior's father. As the leader of Aviena, Cerid had adopted the title of Duke as opposed to King. The higher power, known as the Sovereign King, held together all of the small countries in one grand alliance; this “alliance” was known as the Sovereign Kingdom. Separated by name only, each country had a different, high standing figure to enforce the Sovereign King's will. Lord Ganior the elder, or Miach's father, had adopted the title of King, but of course still remained loyal to his betters. Ganior was widely recognized as the largest and strongest of the small countries, although in truth its size was only fourth greatest. Aviena was of the smallest countries, only surpassing the size of its neighbors Liad and Carnell. But tensions were high within this unity of countries; ambitious men in the Sovereign Kingdom had begun to muster their courage as the King's health began to fail. Very soon all hell was sure to break loose and the Kingdom would begin to divide.
Miach's answering smile was bittersweet . “Indeed, the future does not strike me as particularly bright.”
The amusement died from Cerid's eyes and his brows lowered to darken his features. “It is so; what is worse is that the future belongs not to your father nor to me, but to thee and Iris and your generation.”
His comment had not been meant to offend, merely to illustrate how the inexperienced were to suffer harsher times than those who had been through it before and who knew how to survive. Understanding this, Miach answered truthfully, “I do not wish to be a king in these times, and I delight in thinking that my father will outlive the days of darkness.”
Cerid's eyes continued to darken with thought, and it seemed he had heard none of Lord Ganior's words. Suddenly, the Avishian Duke cleared his throat and stood to face the hearth. “Forgive me for rushing past such subjects, however now we must be on the topic of why I sent for you; I wish not to delay you any more than need be. You have no doubt been welcomed graciously by my daughter?”
Amused, Miach's thoughts drifted back to the discontented young lady he had left in the Hall; he allowed himself a small smile as he stifled a chuckle. He thought of how, though there were fewer words between them than between himself and her father, she spoke much more prettily. Her speech, he thought, also held a modesty that was rare in those brought up as an only child in a Duke's household; she had no doubt been spoiled, but he could see she had not enjoyed it. The fact that she had known how to properly bandage his hand was proof of this; young ladies were not taught medicine, so she must have been rebelling. Finally, he managed to say, confused and tense, “Very graciously, thank you.”
The Duke spread his hands gallantly and smiled widely, a smile that looked too fake to be commented upon; “I am glad! At the risk of being too forward, I must ask if she was appealing to you?”
Rubbing the back of his neck with his bandaged hand and shrinking slightly into the plush, high-backed seat, Miach attempted a sincere tone; “You must be proud of her, Your Grace, she has a great deal of beauty and charm as her allies.”
Cerid rushed on with a wave of his hand, barely paying attention to the younger lord; “Yes, yes, she has been greatly blessed. As you know, Ganior and Aviena have been allied for many a year and–I do not doubt Ganior's loyalty, mind you–I would have it that we be bound by blood. Iris is of the age that she should be properly married, and yet she is not. She nears sixteen years, and yet no worthy suitor has presented himself. If I am not too forward, I would like to offer you her hand, Miach, if you would have want of it.”
Miach blinked, taken aback, and barely managed to keep his jaw from going slack; it would not do to offend the Duke. “Your Grace, I would be honored, but still I must ask; does the girl have any warning of this, have you her consent?”
Eyes narrowing ever so slightly, enthusiasm ebbing a bit, the Duke answered, “It is a father's place to decide a match, boy, but I shall answer you regardless. No, she has not been addressed with such matters. If it pleases you, win her affections; woo her, do as you like, but before you leave my household I demand an answer.”
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When I returned to my chambers, Brighid was sitting statuesque with a large volume in her hand. I had little time to indulge thoughts of Miach before she had me by the wrist and was pulling me down beside her. She dropped the book heavily onto the table and set shining eyes on me; an odd expression of halfhearted contempt and sheer excitement warred on her face. Softly, she scolded me for being late to my lesson in etiquette and inquired as to the “reception of our precious guest.”
I sat rigidly, recoiling slightly from the clammy, uncomfortably moist grip. Promptly informing her that the lord seemed unaffected by the mishap, that he seemed quite content to drop the subject, I allowed her to imagine the details. Not wanting to share my odd suspicions with my least favorite tutor, I answered her questions vaguely. The more questions I answered, the lower her brows came, creating a fierce furrow and frowning wrinkles across her forehead. I gave away nothing, eventually her frustration and impatience won out, and I was speedily subjected to hours of lessons. These lessons only worsened my gloomy mood, for they were an omen of my father's arrangements for the time we would be sharing with Lord Ganior.
Every lesson was of the etiquette and mannerisms of a ball.

Chapter II: Gatherings and Partings

I sat on the edge of his bed, straight backed and hands folded lightly in my lap. At first, Reg had eyed me disapprovingly when I had appeared at the threshold of his room, requesting entrance. Only after he had seen the distress in my gaze did he step aside to let me pass. It had been two days since my encounter with Lord Ganior, and I had just discovered the reason for Airmid's absence; she had been recovering in the servants quarters after being found unconscious in the courtyard. I was surprised that she had not been let go, but was glad of it and protested when the solution presented itself. Steady anger flowed from me towards the suspicious Lord Ganior and I avoided him rigorously.
And so I sat quietly, taking comfort in Reg's presence and the fact that I would not be found as long as I stayed put in his room. Silently he went about his business, as if I had never entered into his presence. He seemed to sense my foul mood, for he refrained from scolding me about the inappropriateness of a lady such as myself being alone with a man in his room. I watched him from under my lashes, trying to make sense of his silence. As he disappeared behind his dressing screen I heard him utter a curse beneath his breath. I heard him shuffling unsteadily before he regained his footing; I assumed that he had caught his heel on the corner of the screen. From my vantage point on the bed, I could see the screen wobbling uncertainly. There was the ruffle of fabric rubbing against itself as he changed, and then the bang of wood on stone as the screen fell to the floor. The image left in its wake was that of Reg, wide eyed, half shirtless, with his arms above his head and his tunic about his wrists.
I giggled at the sight of him, but broke into full laughter when I tried to contain my amusement. His embarrassment turned to a smoldering glare and he threw the tunic aside. Quickly, luridly, he crossed the room and rounded the edge of the bed; he stopped in front of me and leaned forward, placing his hands on the bed to either side of me. I was suddenly very aware of his bare skin, his toned arms and stomach, his lean muscles. Taking in a sharp, short breath, I ceased my laughter. Surrounded by him, I kept my gaze glued to his face. His face was close to mine, but his expression was still bemused. Infuriatingly, all he said was, “This is why it is inappropriate for young heiresses to be unaccompanied within the chambers of a man.”
Attempting to steady my ragged breathing I glared back at him. “And you are very normally my escort, so I see no trouble.”
With a sideways glance at me, he stepped away, chest rising and falling heavily. Swiftly, embarrassment returning, he snatched up his new shirt and tugged it roughly over his head.I stared down at my hands, white knuckled and clasped in my lap, and pondered over my strange reaction. Of course this had not been my first encounter with a bare-chested Reg; on sweltering days I had caught glimpses of his training with the castle guards. But being alone with him, no one watching, my reaction to him was so very... different.
“Iris!” Reg bellowed, rapping the side of my head lightly with his knuckle. Apparently, he had been attempting to capture my attention.
I blinked, rubbing my head with a slight pout, looking up at him with large eyes. It had not hurt, but he did not need to know as much. “Yes?”
With a heavy sigh, he sat next to me, ignoring my feign at innocence. “I've only just remembered, but I've news from your father.”

Impressum

Texte: Cover Art Thanks to: emeraldtears
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 26.05.2011

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Widmung:
Guidgen is thought to represent the Welsh god of trickery, and several references are made to Welsh and Celtic mythological figures. Please forgive me if some of my references are incorrect