Loving the Forbidden Prince

ETAN

Letting go of Ayleth was like tearing out his own rib. And it was worse when Trystan took her from him with a look of sympathy in his eyes.

Etan bristled—which was probably just as well, since many were watching them. For him to look angry and hostile would only work in their favor. But his rage against the injustice of it all, the sheer unfairness that he could not Court her, that he would only endanger both of them by trying, that he had to leave her in the hands of other men… it burned in his skin.

His heart was thumping when he returned to Borsche, who cut him a very disapproving look, but was forced to keep his attention on the cluster of nobles that had gathered to see him juggle.

It was just as well, Etan couldn't concentrate just then. It took every ounce of his energy to keep his eyes off of Ayleth on the dancers on the floor.

For a brief moment he considered leaving. But that would mean trusting the oversight of her to the men, and he couldn't do that, either.

The fires of anger burned higher.

"Good evening, Etan," a soft voice said at his elbow, minutes later, when he was still brooding, eyes fixed on a couple circling the dancefloor that he didn't know. Though the Lord had caught his glare and was beginning to sweat.

When he turned to find Sarya his feelings scattered in five different directions. Nervous, ashamed, angry, and weary.

He didn't have anything left to deal with her tonight. "Good evening, Sarya," he forced himself to bow over her hand before turning back to the dancefloor and folding his arms across his chest.

"You seem displeased. Had I not observed that you have seemed this way all night, I might think it… because of me."

"No, Sarya. I am… frustrated this evening. I have fulfilled my duties for the night. Now I will simply wait for it to end. I fear I will not make good company."

She stood there quietly for a moment, then murmured. "I wished to apologize again for—"

"There is no need, I assure you," he said quietly, but didn't turn to meet her eyes. "It is I who did not manage you well. I am ashamed of myself."

"There is no shame in having feelings for another," she said and from the corner of his eye he saw her chin lift, as if she determined to remember the point herself. "I do wonder… who has caught your eye?"

"They do not reside here," he lied baldly. "I am here, forced by my parents, who hope I will find another to replace the one in my affections. She is not… suitable."

"Oh!" Sarya murmured. "A true romance, then?"

Etan didn't answer.

His feelings for Ayleth went so far beyond romance, the comparison was laughable. Just then he caught sight of her flaming hair circling the floor again. In Trystan's arms again?!

If they were not careful, her father would call for the betrothal.

It seemed they were all taking risks this evening. There was no way he should have asked for her again, and yet, he couldn't regret it.

Gah! This entire situation was impossible! What in the name of the Light was the Creator putting them through? To what purpose? How could he be expected to—

Sarya's voice broke through his thoughts and his anger flared. He didn't have the energy for this tonight! But he forced himself to try and listen.

"—cannot imagine being forced to court others when your heart is already full. It must feel so… empty."

"Life is often empty," he spat without thinking. Her head bobbed back slightly at the tone in his voice and he sighed, running one hand through his hair. "I am sorry, Sarya. Please ignore me. I am in a foul mood this eve."

She ignored his brush off. "It is a great deal of pressure, isn't it? What they expect of us in this short time? All of us must determine our life mates, yet every move and word is watched. We must choose a person to allow into our lives and bodies, yet we are not allowed to even be alone with them. I have always found the marriage market… barbaric."

Etan did look at her then. She met his gaze evenly and he took a deep breath. "As have I," was all he said. But she nodded.

They stood side-by-side watching the dancers for the rest of the song and Etan realized he should count himself lucky to have at least one other Heir with whom he could be honest. He only hoped she would set her sights elsewhere—

"I thought a great deal about our... conversation the other night, Etan. And I wish to put something to you. Something rather delicate."

He forced himself not to sigh, pleading with the Creator that she did not offer herself bodily. He feared he wasn't in the mood to treat her heart with care when his own felt so strangled.

"You are always free to speak, Sarya. But please be patient with me tonight. I am… not at my best."

"That's actually what I wished to speak to you about," she said and put a hand to his arm.

The touch startled him so that he turned to look at her. She gave him a very direct look and he tilted his head, uncertain whether to regard her with concern, or anger.

"Should you find yourself in need of someone to… fill the gap," she said breathlessly. "Someone who can, at least publicly, take the pressure of expectations… I would be that person for you."

Etan blinked, alarm bells ringing in his head. Why would she—

"I would like to… divert attention from myself in that way, as well," she said with a significant look.

A piece of Etan wanted to laugh. First Ayleth and Trystan, now this?

How many of the new relationships in the Court were actually these false fronts?

How many marriages, he wondered.

And why did she offer this already knowing his feelings were given to another? She had not offered herself the night before as someone in love with another. Though, as he thought on it, women did sometimes find strange solutions to their ills… he would have to ask Borsche.

But Sarya was still staring at him, and he had to admire her courage to speak to him so plainly. She still hadn't taken her hand off his arm.

Uncomfortable with the touch, he used the moment as an excuse to take her hand in his. He'd intended to bow and brush a kiss on her knuckles to soothe her concerns. But as he straightened, he was caught in the gaze of bright blue eyes under flaming red hair, peering at him past the large from of another man.

Holding the hand of another while under her gaze burned. Knowing he could do nothing to soothe her—or be soothed in return—burned in his chest.

"Please excuse me, Sarya," he muttered and, in an appalling show of manners he would be forced to apologize for later, left her there, staring wide-eyed, as he stalked from the Great Hall.

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