Loving the Forbidden Prince

I NEED YOUR HELP! I love that you love Ayleth & Etan like I do, and I am committing to trying to write daily updates for it in July. However, as the third book I'm writing simultaneously, and a Spirity entrant, this book will be purely measured on its real-money income. It currently has about 25-30 readers paying to unlock chapters. Unless I can get that number above 500 by the end of July, I will be forced to put this book back on hiatus indefinitely.

If you have the choice to use fast-passes, or unlock the chapter, please consider unlocking rather than reading for free. If you don't have a choice, definitely make sure the book is added to your library and keep reading for free (and give your votes!), because those reader stats will encourage WN to show the book to others who may be able to pay.

Our goal is 500 paying readers by July 30th... LET'S DO THIS!

*****

AYLETH

"I'll sneak you back through the corridors," he said when they were far enough from the stable not to be heard. "Keep your hair in your hat, and if anyone asks, I'll tell them you're my stablehand and I've asked for your help."

He grimaced. If it were to happen, whoever he spoke to would believe they were interrupting something sick. But he didn't see any way around it.

"I don't need to go back through the castle," she said, walking quickly beside him. "I'll get back to my room from the outside."

"What?" He stopped walking and faced her.

She grinned. "Come, I'll show you."

She led him through the gardens. They were forced to hide in some bushes for a few minutes until the guards had passed. Etan was utterly unimpressed with the security of her guard that the two of them could get through simply by knowing when to dart across the grass and into the bushes under the walls of the castle.

But he made mental note of where she was leading him, what she whispered about the guards' routine, and where the hidden spaces were that they used… just in case.

When they reached the foot of the great stone wall, she looked up and pointed at the balcony two floors up.

Etan's eyes widened. "I thought you were scared of heights? Let me help you, I can't get you to the balcony proper, but—"

"You're very sweet, Etan, but I don't need help. I've been doing this for years."

He looked at the wall skeptically. "Do you have a rope? I could—"

But she merely snorted and, after a lingering kiss and a sigh, she turned and lifted herself up the trellis of rose vines. She was nimble and strong and took only seconds to reach the balcony height. While he enjoyed the view of her climbing in the leather pants, his heart leaped into his throat when she lifted one leg over the balcony rail and slid herself onto it, which required letting go of the trellis. But soon enough she was safely behind it, and turning to lean back over, her long red hair falling in waves around her smiling face.

He stared up at her, shaking his head. "You're the most beautiful and courageous woman I've ever seen!" he whispered. "Two weeks, Ayleth. No one will be able to make me wait a moment longer."

"Two weeks," she returned and blew him a kiss. Then she disappeared.

Etan turned away and snuck back through the garden, his head spinning with love and fear in equal measure.

Somehow, he found his way back inside the castle and through the halls, his head throbbing with lack of sleep, lust, and… the bemused joy of knowing that he had somehow, impossibly, found the woman of his dreams. And she had found him back.

And in that moment, the looming threat of what would happen when their parents found out, when the Kingdoms learned of their love, when they, inevitably, had to fight to stay together—it all seemed as if together, he and Ayleth could defeat it by sheer will.

He was hers, and she was his.

He wouldn't hear of anything else.

Blood-enemies be damned.

*****

As soon as he stepped into his chambers the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was someone in the room.

He hesitated, but Borsche's words in training echoed in his head. "Allow the enemy to underestimate you. It will make him sloppy. Give no hint when you have sniffed out his plots. Let him hang himself with his own rope."

So, he ran his hand through his hair to cover a quick scan of the sitting room with his eyes and let himself trudge across the space toward the bedchamber. His sword was leaned against the door inside. He'd been stupid to leave it there, he saw now.

As he pushed open the bedroom door, from the corner of his eye he caught a flash of movement in the small gap between the door and the wall—in exactly the spot where he'd left his sword.

Turning smoothly to close the door, as if was simply a tired Lord on his way into the room, instead he dropped to one knee, sliding the knife from his boot and bringing it up from an angle his attacker wouldn't expect.

He froze, the point of the knife just a hair from Borsche's throat and blew out a heaving breath. "Father's Light, Borsche—I could have killed you!"

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