AYLETH

The heat in her stomach drove her forward, always forward. After a horrifying conversation with her father in which he explained… men… she’d been left flustered and excited and alight.

What had her mother done to her? It was as if the ember Etan had lit in her stomach the night before had become a bonfire. She didn’t just want to see him, she needed him—needed to be close to him. Needed to touch him and be touched. It curled up her insides and made her want to snap at her Ladies in Waiting when they commented on her distractedness.

Then Trayn had commented about the Lords’ training for the tournament that afternoon. “They’re all down in the training circle trying to beat each other silly.”

“We’ll go watch,” Ayleth said without thought.

All five of them turned, mouths open. It was Dayce who laughed first. “Someone’s ready to see their Lion Lord,” she said slyly. “Did you ever figure out who he was, Majesty?”

“No, I found a spot to myself in the maze and enjoyed the quiet for a while, then…” then she’d been attacked. Attacked by the man Dayce was currently considering for husband. Ayleth sighed. “I got… stuck in the maze and by the time I made it out everyone had come back here. I’m sure I’ll find him today.”

“Oooo, a mystery! Let us help! Let us all go to the training grounds and ask the men. They’ll know who wore the lion mask last night. We will find him for you!”

Ayleth shrugged, lying utterly, “I don’t really care so much about him, but it would be fun to watch the training. There are so many Lords here. It will be good to meet more of them.”

“You didn’t seem to feel that way last night,” Cordyla commented. “I watched you brush off every one of them until the Lion Lord offered his hand.”

“Well, he did form a rather nice bow,” Ayleth said in a suggestive tone she was certain had never poured from her throat before.

What was wrong with her?

Her ladies were all blinking at her. She shook her head and dropped her face into her hands. “I apologize. I didn’t sleep well last night, and it has left me thoughtless today.”

“Didn’t sleep well, or didn’t sleep at all?” Cordyla said, waggling her eyebrows. The other ladies giggled.

Ayleth turned on her, fists on her hips. “I didn’t sleep, if you must know, Cordyla, because it struck me last night that the decisions I make over the next few weeks will impact every single citizen of this Kingdom. So, forgive me if I don’t play lovesick today. I carry the weight of the crown—gladly—but it doesn’t leave a lot of room for games.”

Cordyla blushed and the others looked away. They all knew Ayleth’s strength, but she was rarely angry—and almost never at them.

“Forgive me, Highness,” Cordyla murmured.

“Oh, Cord, don’t go all formal on me, please. Just… just stop taunting me.”

Her friend nodded, and everyone relaxed. They’d gotten ready then and headed out towards the training circle without further discussion. Ayleth was glad. She hadn’t wanted to change the plan. And then they got there and before she’d even entered the Arena, she could see him.

Etan was in the center, sparring with Borsche.

And he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

He wore fighting leathers, a thick belt that covered his lower abdomen, but his chest, back, and arms were completely bare, his tanned skin shining with sweat, his hair loose and falling over his forehead.

He shifted in the fight until he had his back to them, and Ayleth’s mouth went dry.

The rest of the world faded as she walked slowly into the arena, unable to hear the whispers of her ladies, or the greetings of the Lords when they saw them approaching.

She could see every twitch and ripple from his broad shoulders, down his back, to his waist. The way his biceps curled and flexed with every movement—even the iron veins and tendons on his forearms as he thrust and parried with Borsche.

The older man seemed oddly awkward as they circled each other as if in a dance. Yet sometimes, he darted in, whip-quick. While Etan was all power and grace, his entire body focused on his goal.

He hadn’t seen her, she knew. Hadn’t yet noticed the pull between them. But she… Her entire being was alight for him. Her breath quickened, her vision tunneled.

Nothing mattered but to be close to him, to trace the lines and shadows of his beautiful body, to feel his warmth and strength under her hands, and over her.

Ayleth gasped as Etan must have become aware of her, because his head started to turn—just as Borsche cracked him with the training sword and Etan very obviously fought a cry against the pain.

Something within her spiraled into a tight curl and she had to grip her skirts to stop herself reaching for him.

As she and the ladies reached the side of the training circle and the other men gathered around them—and Etan and Borsche stood talking. Still shirtless. Still sweating.

Someone greeted her and Ayleth tried to return the hello, but her voice didn’t work. She swallowed twice and had to tear her eyes away from Etan’s back before she could answer.

Even as she tried to focus, tried to be polite to the Lords that were now gathering around her and her ladies, her eyes kept coming back to Etan, who remained with his back to her. Borsche caught her eye once, but looked away quickly without his expression changing. Ayleth wanted to stamp her foot.

She needed to see him! To talk to him!

She needed to follow those beautiful lines in his back with a finger and see him tremble under her touch.

Ayleth swallowed. She could feel her cheeks heating.