((Contains material of an adult nature.))

August 8th, 1613

The birthday celebrations for Prince Arthur were to culminate in a grand ball, and from all appearances, King Christian had spared no expense. There was feasting and drinking and all kinds of merriment, and despite being weary to the bone and sore from the tournament, Charles knew he must make an appearance, if only for a little while. As Arthur's Champion and a close friend of the royal family, it was not only his duty to attend, but an honor and a privilege he did not and could not afford to take for granted. And arrive he did, albeit late, clad all in blue velvet that practically matched the blue of his eyes, a frill of white at his neck and sleeves, a gold chain around his neck that held equally blue gems. He made a dashing figure, and though his betrothal was now common knowledge about the court, more than a few female heads turned his way in appreciation.

The great hall of Bannoc Rise rang with music and voices raised in chatter and laughter. Everywhere you looked, there were cups of wine being drunk, words being shared between friends and enemies. The king lounged on his throne, Will beside him, both men absorbed in their own conversation as they watched a fair number of the ladies of the court dancing together. The music was lively, as were the steps, offering the men and women who watched the cheerful performance a fine expression of the laughing stamina of some of their pre-eminent peers. And Alys was among the dancers, her red hair curled and bouncing against her neck as she skipped through the steps with her cousin, the Princess Royal Marianne, clearly a better influence on the young girl than her own mother in such a setting.

Charles made his way through the gathering to first greet the king, as was his duty, before locating his intended. He smiled and nodded graciously to those who greeted him along the way, as he made his way toward the throne where the king was seated beside Will, deep in conversation, or so it seemed. Charles' gaze swept the crowd, spying his fiery redhead among the dancers, relieved to find her there and not dancing with some other man.

Either she had had her ladies wheedle what he would be wearing out of his men, or serendipity had occurred on its own, for his fiery redhead wore blue velvet to match his, trimmed as was her right with royal purple. As the dance spun her about, she caught his eye, her smile brightening with unmistakeable mischief before she was swept back into the midst of the ladies who danced with her. Pleased as she was to see him upright and walking with only a little stiffness, Alys had not forgotten his teasing of her and evidently intended to keep teasing him in return as the evening progressed.

He approved of her dress with an appreciative glance, noting the matching shade of blue velvet and wondering if she'd known he'd be dressing in blue or if it was just another happy coincidence. He answered her smile with one equally bright with mischief of his own, before she disappeared in the swirling crowd of colorful skirts and he continued on toward the throne. He offered the king a respectful bow as he arrived in front of the throne to announce his own arrival. "Your Majesty, my apologies for being late. I was detained." He did not intend to explain why he had been detained unless he was asked, slightly embarrassed at having slept longer than planned.

Whatever Will had been saying before Charles approached the throne was lost in a short bark of laughter from the king, who turned his smile onto his other friend and favorite with no sign of the expression dimming. "Your Grace, finally," he smiled, not even attempting to sit upright on the wide carven throne. It was only Charles, after all. "No lasting injury from this afternoon, I trust?" The king might well have been talking about the joust, but there was no mistaking the choking chuckle that issued from Will's mouth at those words. Lord Marillier knew his sister's weaknesses too well not to have guessed why she wasn't in her rooms when he had called a few hours earlier.

But while Will nearly choked on a chuckle, the duke did not bat a single eyelash, except for a glance to Will that warned he'd deal with him later. "No lasting injury, Sire," Charles assured the king, procuring a glass of wine from a passing servant and taking a deep swallow. "I trust you have suffered no injury, other than to your pride, Your Lordship?" he asked Will with a small smirk.

Clearing his throat as Christian glanced toward him, Will's grin didn't even flicker. He met Charles' warning glance with a nod, leaning his arm on the high back of his uncle's throne with enviable ease. "I believe I will survive the bruise to my ego, Your Grace," he countered the smirk cheerfully. "I did not, after all, faint in front of the entire court."

The king snorted, rolling his eyes at the pair of them. "Between the two of you, I think you may have aged the Lady Alys a good ten years," he informed his friends merrily, his eyes scanning the room, always on the move, enjoying the sight of his court at play.

Charles scowled at Will's remark. "Perhaps next time, I will not go so lightly on Your Lordship," he countered, his pride pricked a little at the reminder of his faint. He was only human, after all, but because he was not of royal blood, he had always felt he had more to prove than the others and had a reputation for recklessness because of it. He drained the reminder of wine in his glass, unable to remain angry at such a celebration, especially at his closest friend who was only one of a few he allowed to tease him in such a way. He turned his glance toward the dancers at the mention of Alys. "She looks as beautiful as I remember her," he remarked, mostly to himself as he looked her way.

King and lord exchanged a smirk of their own as the duke's attention wandered away from them to the laughing whirlpool of shimmering skirts and wide smiles that populated the dancing floor. A week before, they both knew he would have been seeking out someone to play with for a while; now, it was more than a guarantee that only one woman there held his attention, despite the rather obvious vying for his glance that was going on from some of the ladies. "Has it been so long since you saw her?" Will asked rather mischievously, grunting as Christian thumped him in the midriff for the tease.

"You should claim her when the dance ceases," the king recommended. "If only to save yourself the indignity of being slapped yet again when she finds others displaying their attributes for your perusal."

For a moment, Charles appeared lost in thought as he watched the swirling kaleidoscope of colorful dresses, though his eyes were only focused on one. If there were other women vying for his gaze, he didn't notice, eyes only for one now that one had returned home. "Why is it my fault if other women flaunt their wares my way?" he asked, turning back to his lifelong friends. "I have not so much as looked at another woman since she arrived back at court." He smiled as he remembered his first meeting with her upon his arrival at her family's home. "You should have seen the look on her face when she saw it was I who'd come to escort her to Martel."

"I am sorry to hear that," she answered, courtesy radiating from her until the moment she looked up and met his smoldering gaze. The sweet blush he seemed to like so much flared in answer to that look of longing, her own eyes darkening with sultry promise as her own unspoken reply. Yet, somehow, her voice stayed as calm as she could keep it, even as her fingers tightened on his arm. "I should not like to think that you are sacrificing time needed for your rest simply to keep me happy."

"On the contrary, there is much I would sacrifice to keep you happy, but keeping you happy is no sacrifice at all." He was aware of eyes upon them, as if the other courtiers were watching and waiting to see what new drama or entertainment might unfold before them tonight. "I am afraid I will not be able to remain in your company overly long this evening, but I did not want to disappoint you or the king by not coming."

"Again, I am sorry to hear you say as much," Alys assured him, knowing that not only were eyes on them, but that there were curious ears eavesdropping on the newly betrothed couple's conversation. "Are you not yet fully recovered from your exertions on the field?" The look in her eyes warned him not to be a warrior about his answer; she wouldn't be able to leave the feast with him without a decent excuse circulating the various other courtiers around them.

He noticed the look in her eyes but was already two steps ahead of her. It was, however, all about the timing. Leaving too soon or too late would cast suspicions on their motives and despite being betrothed and in the king's favor, he did not want to take any chances, especially where her safety and reputation were concerned. "As your dear brother was so kind to remind me, it has only been a few hours since I blacked out on the field." Twice, not once. "The physics tell me I should rest, but I could not very well not attend when I am the Prince's Champion." He smiled faintly, as if to go along with the ruse. Whether he truly was feeling as poorly as he claimed would remain to be seen.

Despite the heat in her eyes that was entirely for him, Alys played her role almost perfectly, her expression shifting from that teasing smile to a sweet look of concern as she turned to press her other hand against his upper arm. "You should not take such risks with your health, Your Grace," she told him, her tone finding the balance between loving and concerned after a moment of wavering near husky. "Does your groom not know much of nursing the injured" He did not leave you alone, did he?"

"My groom barely knows how to wipe his own nose," Charles replied glumly, commenting on the youth and lack of experience of his groom, though Charles himself was barely twenty-five years old - young by some standards, old by others. He had nothing against his groom - he was a fine lad, if a bit wet behind the ears, but he had to start somewhere. All of this was said mostly for the benefit of those who might be eavesdropping so that it wouldn't look overly suspicious if Alys were to escort her intended back to his apartments.

Her brow rose - the words were a little harsh, even if they were mostly intended for those others around them who didn't seem to be able to mind their own business after all. "Then, Your Grace - with your permission - might I see to your injuries myself?" she asked him, sounding almost shy of the request. Sounding almost shy; there was nothing shy in the flickering glimmer of passion hidden in her eyes for only him to find. With the cover of the curtain at their backs, she let her hand slip from the crook of his elbow and down his back, boldly discreet in the way she tucked that hand into the folds of his canions to fondle his rear end, and all the while with that sweetly innocent expression on her face, warring with the promise in her eyes. "I have some skill with simples and nursing."

His words might be harsh, but they were also mostly truthful. The lad would learn in time, and Charles was rarely very demanding or critical of his servants, so long as they minded their own business and stayed out of his, and he'd make it up to the lad later. Charles arched a brow, keeping his expression as stoic as possible, even as she goosed him, only his eyes betraying his feeling with a flash of amusement. "Are you sure it would not be too much trouble?" he asked, playing along, though he thought most of the court had to know what they were really up to.

"Your Grace, I am to be your wife," Alys reminded him innocently, her hand retreating to curl at his elbow. "There are many who would consider it my duty to know how best to soothe and comfort you when you have need of it. And perhaps I might teach your man a little of what he needs to know, for the care of your lordship." Now that was a challenge in itself, a sinful tease toward suggesting that young Cedric might be involved in what they had planned that, though she would never go through with it, was not entirely certain to be a false trail. And yet to anyone listening, it was a perfectly innocent suggestion.

"You are too kind and good to me, My Lady," Charles replied with a small cordial bow. "Shall I ask for the king's leave to retire for the evening?" he asked, wondering if the king would see right through their ruse. All things considered, Charles thought it wiser to seek the king's permission than to sneak off and risk anyone poking around at their whereabouts for the next few hours.

For just a moment, her innocent facade slipped, and he got a full glimpse of the teasing she was more than happy to keep handing out to him until she ran out of opportunity. "You do not wish to dance with me, Your Grace?" she asked him, half-inviting, half-censuring for his haste. "I had not realized that my uncle had rendered you so very infirm for the evening."

There went that brow again, thinking she had been the one who was being hasty, not himself, but for the sake of those who might be listening he did not remark on it. "I think I might have one dance in me, if we must," he replied, also not wanting to raise any suspicion by looking like he was in too much of a hurry to leave.

"Oh, I believe we must," Alys giggled impishly, raising her eyes toward the musicians. A nod to the master there, and they began to play a stately tune, a dance for couples that was filled with meetings and partings. Touching a kiss to her fingertips and laying them against Charles' lips, his lady batted her lashes sweetly, waiting to be led to the widening space as the music called the court to the dance.

Her lips quirked in a smile that was for his eyes only, touched as it was more with sensuality than with sweetness. "I could never underestimate you, my lord," she murmured back to him, drawing back before their closeness drew comment. "The king is in a fine mood. Perhaps he will not object to my asking if I may accompany you for the soothing of your mind."

"Perhaps, though he will know what we are up to," Charles replied. The king was no fool, after all, but thus far he had seemed agreeable, so long as they were discreet, and it wouldn't be long before the men rode off for battle. Though Charles could not make any promises about the outcome of the battle or his own safety, he had more reason than some to want to return, in the form of his lady love. He almost wished they could be married before he left, but the king had forbade a quick wedding, and Charles did not want to make her a widow a second time should something happen to him. Yet, this was not primarily on his mind at the moment. What was on his mind was getting her alone without too many tongues wagging.

She conceded that with a lopsided quirk of a smile, curling her arms through his one to hug against his side. "True, yet he seems agreeable to us," she nodded obligingly. "I am sure I could persuade him, if he should prove intransigent." And she probably could, at that, if only because in her presence, the king's daughter had begun to show signs of having more than religion in her head. For such good influence, Alys was owed a favor or two. "Though I might, perhaps, have to leave without you."

"Seems," Charles agreed. "Well, we can only but try," he said after a moment, and as if deciding on a course of action at last, steered her toward the throne and the king.

Christian smiled as they approached, rising to his feet to step down from the dais to greet them with familiar fondness, allowing his daughter to slip away from his own side and into the crowd to seek out her own friends. "Your Grace, Lady Alys," he greeted them, glancing between the pair with knowing eyes but a concerned expression upon his face. "You seem a little out of sorts. Is the party not to your liking?"

"Majesty," Charles respectfully greeted the king with a nod of his head. "It's a fine party, Sire, but I fear I am still feeling rather out of sorts from this afternoon's joust. I respectfully request your leave, so that I may rest. I do not want to be out of sorts for the Coimbrans, my liege." He made a valid point. There was no telling when he would be needed on the field of battle and needed to be mentally and physically ready when that time came.

The king nodded, for his eyes had seen not only the eagerness within his friend to be gone but also the stiffness that lingered in the duke's movement. Charles was not the only lord to have taken a few hard hits that day, yet the only one of those who had been damaged more severely to not have respectfully bowed out of the evening's festivities altogether. Merely the fact that Charles had made an appearance was enough to buy him a little grace in such a situation. "Of course, Your Grace," Christian allowed graciously, his gaze flickering to Alys as she met her uncle's eye hopefully.

"I wonder, Your Majesty, if I might be permitted to escort His Grace back to his rooms," she asked hopefully, charming innocence radiating from her as her uncle looked her over, seeing far more than she would have been entirely comfortable to know about. "I should like to share his company a while longer, yet I do not wish to offend."

King Christian studied them both for a moment, guessing accurately enough that their sharing of company was unlikely to involve much rest for a good while yet. But he was in favor of the match, and betrothed, there was little barring death that could keep them apart so long as he held them both in favor. He inclined his head graciously once again, stroking his niece's cheek with a gentle hand. "Try not to break each other."

Charles would have commented that she was more likely to break him than the other way around, but instead he only smiled a little as Christian showed a brief display of affection toward his favorite niece, obviously happy to have her back at court within the family fold. Charles wondered if he was going to be so willing to let her go again, but they had already obtained the king's approval and Lonnare wasn't so very far away as Elan. "I swear to take the utmost care with the lady, Majesty," Charles promised, entirely serious in appearance but for the twinkle in his eyes.

Christian snorted with laughter, rolling his eyes behind the cover of his wine cup. "Go away, Your Grace, before I change my mind," he muttered, just loud enough to bring a laugh from Alys' lips.

As was courteous, she released Charles' arm to curtsey formally to her uncle, ignoring the sardonic look in his eyes, and took her betrothed's arm once again. "I am sure I can convince His Grace to take better care of himself, Your Majesty."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Charles replied, with a small courtly bow. He would have added for flourish if it wasn't for the fact that he was still feeling sore and would be for a few days, but it was a small price to pay for near victory and the king's favor. Now that they had received the king's permission, Charles was in a hurry to leave, but he waited patiently for Alys, a small smirk on his lips. "Perhaps I am in need of a woman's care."

"Any particular woman, Your Grace?" Christian should have known better than to think Alys wouldn't hear that and jump upon the implication that wasn't.

Her hands tightened in the crook of Charles' elbow, a gentle, subtle signal that she was ready to leave when he was, that sweetly innocent expression back on her face as she looked up at him. "Should I, perhaps, invite someone else to nurse you back to health, or will my poor skills do for this one evening?"

"Oh, I think you will do in a pinch," Charles replied, with a teasing smirk down at her, playing along with the king's implication that the woman in question might or might not be Alys. He gave the king a look that told him he was teasing his intended.

The king shook his head and turned away, dismissing them from his mind and presence before they managed to annoy one another any further. He had noticed the tension between the pair, and frankly, he didn't want to have to deal with the offense if it happened to bubble up where they could be seen.

"Oh, Charles," Alys teased fondly, raising her hand to caress his cheek. "What makes you think I'd give you that opportunity?" Her thumb brushed over his lips, tender, intimate, the passionate warmth in her eyes his for the taking if he could get her somewhere private. At this rate, he was going to have to throw her over his shoulder to do that. Drawing his hand to her lips, she placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his knuckles, her eyes on his with loving promise. "Why are we still standing here talking, love?"

His mood softened, warming to her show of affection, unsure how what had started out as teasing had turned into a fit of jealousy, but instead of answering her with words, he decided to answer her with actions. While his threat to spank her in public might be an empty threat, just as hers to undress was, he was not afraid to let people see and know unequivocally how much he loved her and how she belonged to him. Just to prove that point to both her and whoever might be watching, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close, pressing a kiss against her lips that left no doubt as to how much he wanted her.

It may not have been an appropriate show of affection for such a gathering, but in the moment she was pulled close, Alys forgot the eyes that turned to them, the voices that offered comment in levels of amusement and resentment. His kiss was answered with equal longing, equal desire, equal love, unashamed to show her own passion in this glimpse that left none of her more foolish suitors even the briefest hope that she could be won from the Duke of Lonnare. Breathless, she drew back, her fingers curling to his cheeks as she gazed into his eyes, no longer willing, or perhaps even able, to hide the point and purpose of all her teasing. "That wasn't quite what I meant," she whispered through a smile that would always belong to him, "but it'll do for now."

"Are you ready to leave and be the talk of our admirers?" he asked as their lips parted, though he stayed close, his breath warm against her cheek as he whispered back. "Or would you prefer to stay and mingle a little longer?" he asked, as his lips drifted across her cheek to graze her neck, teasingly softly and slowly.

Her breath battled his between them for along moment, the gentle shiver urged on by his teasing caress discernible only to him as the tip of her nose nudged against his own cheek. The brush of his lips against her neck brought her mouth against his ear, offering her ample opportunity to avoid courtly good manners. "If we don't leave now, I will force you to wait until midnight and beyond," she threatened him wickedly, the turn of her body into his allowing a discreet caress of her own that was far from appropriate.

He had to withhold a groan when he felt her touch him in a most inappropriate manner for a public place, catching her hand before she went too far. "I don't think I can wait much longer," he whispered back, pulling her back around to face him. "Won't you stay the night?" he asked, looking as if he would be absolutely heartbroken if she said no, even if it was taking a chance. They had the favor of the king - if everyone didn't know they were sleeping together by now, they would before long.

Caught and drawn back to him, Alys' face reflected the surprise she felt at his question, the faint bemusement that rose upon finding that, for all his confidence, Charles needed the same reassurances she did. That they were not so much different as two sides of the same coin. "I already said I would," she reminded him gently, stroking her fingertip against his chin for a moment before that familiarly dangerous smile touched her lips, her eyes promising some kind of reward in the not too distant future. "Chase me."

That was all the warning he got - her hand snapped up to slap him for the third time since they had renewed their acquaintance, friendship, and further, and this time she was already moving away before he could respond. It was a quicker way to get out from under public scrutiny, but some might say she was getting a little too fond of being able to lay hands on her Charles whenever the occasion called for it.

His face was suddenly flushed with color, but whether it was from the rush of desire at her promise or the unexpected slap that had caused it was hard to say. A collective gasp went up from a group of onlookers who'd been watching, followed by whispers - some blaming him for being too fresh, some blaming her for being a tease. In all honesty, it was a little of both - the indignity of the slap infuriating him, though he knew he was going to have her in the end. He reached out to grab hold of her arm and missed as she slipped too quickly away from him and he growled audibly in annoyance as he hurried after her, planning on doing more than just chasing her, but having her.

She was quicker than he might have expected her to be in that dress, covering ground with a fair amount of speed as she turned corners that drew them away from the stragglers and mingling servants and into the thick quiet of the court halls, aware that the footsteps behind her belonged to a man who might well turn her over his knee for slapping him yet again. As her eyes found his doorway set a little distance from her, she turned to meet his oncoming charge with a wide grin. "Well, Your Grace?"

"You perplex and purposely annoy me!" he growled as he caught up with her, catching her by the arm to tug her toward the door, none too gently. "Must you always play hard to get when everyone at court knows our intentions?" he asked, as he pressed her up against the door, leaning close, blue eyes blazing with mingled fury and passion.

She gasped as he manhandled her, not so much in pain as in surprise, for he didn't hurt her in the motion. Pressed back against the door, she lifted her eyes to his, wide open, yes, but stormy with her passion and a hint of natural fear, the mingling he was coming to recognize as more of an invitation than anything. Alys was not afraid of Charles; she never had been. But he was bigger and stronger than she was, and no matter how confident she was in him, there would always be that hint of fear whenever she pushed him to skirt the very edge of his temper. "Would you rather I submitted like a good little wife?" she countered, her hands flexing in and out of his sleeves as she arched into him, aching to be kissed rather than scolded. "You began the game, Beau. You should not be such a sore loser."

"A bit of teasing," he admitted. "I was not the one who was flirting." But in all truth, he was not angry with her so much as frustrated. Jealous though he might be of other men who looked her way, he was confident that her heart belonged to him and only him. "I would rather take you like I did in the woods," he breathed hotly, words for her ears only. He did not wait to get the door open, but pressed a hungry kiss against hers as he reached around her to fumble with the doorknob.

What remained of his clothing came off piece by piece with her help - canions, hose, boots - discarded to add to the trail of clothing that littered the floor from door to bed. The touch of her lips and hands against his skin inflamed his passion, adding to his apparent arousal. He buried his fingers in hair, relishing her kisses, his pulse pounding in his throat beneath her lips, until he could stand it no more. His hands slid out of her hair to cup her face, kissing her deeply and distractedly before shifting his weight to push her onto her back, covering her with his body as he tore his lips away from hers to explore the petal softness of her skin.

Submission came in many forms, in many ways and means. The woman who fought him on every level where anyone might see them was a complete contrast to the sweet girl he took in his arms in that moment, as hungry for his touch as he was for hers, yet pliable to his will without any hint of argument or protest. The passion was there, growing wilder as he surrounded her with the heat and scent and feel of himself, proven in the rising cadence of her voice under the exploration of his lips over her skin and the frantic grasping caress of her hands over his flesh. She wrestled with him, too impatient to want to wait any longer, delighting in the fact that she was too small to stop him tormenting her if he truly wished to. There was no one she would rather be tortured by, knowing what the inevitable conclusion would be.

And torment her he did - such sweet, exquisite torture for them both - but not so much as he had in the bath. As much as he enjoyed exploring her, playing her, testing her limits, like her, he was far too impatient, too frustrated, too agitated, to make her wait for long. But he didn't want to just take her, put his mark on her, claim for her his own; he wanted her to know, without a doubt, that this was not just about satisfying his lust - he could have had any woman for that. This was about joining together in an almost sacred union, one that would soon be sanctified by the church when man and woman became husband and wife. He knew it was a sin, at least according to the Church, but he couldn't imagine how any truly loving Goddess could possibly condemn them for loving each other the way they did.

They had been teasing one another for hours, it seemed, from the moment she had left him to this exquisite torment of touch and taste that didn't so much sate as twist the need still tighter deep within her. His impatience was rivaled by hers, given evidence by the grip and pull of her hands as she writhed beneath him, pleading, begging her beloved to stop teasing her and get on with it. He knew how to make her feel wanted, loved, but she wanted to be taken. Loving could come later, and would. Sacred or not, condemned or not, she wanted him now and she made no bones about letting him know it.

He was not normally a quiet lover, and tonight was no exception, though he was more subdued than usual, in case anyone might be listening at the door. As daring as they'd been up until now, if they were overheard by the wrong party, it could be disastrous. As he arched his body over hers and claimed her at last, he muffled his own groan with a kiss, his mouth plundering hers as his body did the same, crashing against her with a frenzy of wild passion.

He smothered his heedless lover's cries with those kisses, swallowing the wild vocalization of her pleasure as she welcomed him into her, rising with ease and tender excitement to crash with him past the point of no return.

And unseen by either of them, the boy Cedric - who had been waiting patiently for his master to return so he could assist with the duke's undressing for bed - slipped out of the bedchamber and the room beyond, locking the door behind him and slipping the key beneath the door itself. He was never going to admit to having seen the woman who would be his duchess in all her glory, as long as he lived.

It was hard to say how Charles might have reacted if he'd known his groom had been watching. Would he have been angry, annoyed, or merely amused? With any luck, their secret was safe with Cedric and the duke would never know, as he was far too busy making love to his betrothed to notice. And love her he did, holding nothing back, stoking the fire of their shared passion to its ultimate end, higher and higher until he could hold back no more and he crashed against her, exploding inside her with burning pleasure.

If it were possible to drown in sensation, Alys was close to certain that was what she was doing, overwhelmed by the closeness as she crested that inexorable peak with her beloved Charles. Yet it wasn't the explosion of lust and desire that truly touched her; it was the intimacy in the moments that followed, as her arms curled around him and drew him even closer to her, brushing her lips against his cheek as she breathed him in, murmuring tender affection against his skin. Her palm stroked down over his side, gentle against the bruises that littered his skin. "I'm sorry I flirted," she whispered to him, soft in the stillness that wrapped about them.

The bruises were mostly forgotten in the warmth of her love, nothing that wouldn't heal in a few days with some rest and some time. He held her close in his arms, pulse slowing, breath evening out as the lust subsided, replaced with loving contentment. "Apology accepted," he replied, with a soft brush of lips against her cheek. It never even occurred to him to return that apology for starting it.

She didn't miss his lack of answering apology, but it barely touched her temper. She laughed instead, her face turning toward his to catch his lips with her own in a gentle expression of how deeply she felt for him. Her hand stroked up over his back, curling to his cheek as she plied him with slow, tender kisses. And suddenly, common sense slipped away beneath the blissful lap of heart-wrenching affection that tugged at her, prompting soft words to escape from her lips that were built on the impulse that usually ruled him. "Marry me, Charles," she whispered to him. "I don't want to walk the line or play the game, or risk having our first child deemed illegitimate. I want to be your wife."

He returned her slow, languid kisses, lazily content now that the initial frustration of their passion had passed, at least temporarily. His fingers idly rubbed against her shoulder as he held her close, her touch soothing him, almost lulling him to sleep, until her words shocked him, catching him completely off guard, even if it was something he was already mulling in his own mind. He turned onto his side, propping himself up onto an elbow to regard her. "I intend to marry you, Alys, but the king wants us to wait until after I get back from battle with Coimbra."

"But there is no proof," Alys murmured softly. She had been kept away from the city when the affair had become public, when her governess' beloved husband had been accused and convicted, and sentenced to death, all under the auspices of the good cardinal. "She would never betray us to him, I know it."

"We have to be careful of him." Even more so now that Denhelm had been exiled from Francia, Charles thought. "Has the lady's opinion of me changed?" he asked, changing the subject back to that of her governess. He didn't really want to think too hard on the fate of her husband, the memory of that day burned in his brain. "Does she still think I'm....How did she put it' A reckless youth who will never amount to a thing?"

Alys giggled softly, hugging closer to him in their shared tangle of limbs. "I believe her opinion has changed a little, yes," she assured him. "She doesn't approve of all your womanizing, but she was the one who told me that you might not have forgotten me the way I thought you had. She's been keeping an eye on you for the last five years, you know." She let her head tip back to show him her smile, fond and just a little mischievous. "Well, I did ask her to."

"Had I known I might have behaved better or at least been a little more discreet," he replied with a guilty scowl. Though all that had changed - he had changed - he knew there would be those who doubted him, who still thought him a scoundrel. "Do you think she'll approve of a wedding?" he asked, reaching for her hand and sliding his fingers through hers.

Her eyes fell to watch as his fingers slid between hers, as her thumb stroked over his knuckle fondly. "She's closer to me than my own mother," she said softly, rubbing her cheek over his heart with almost childlike affection as their hands played together. "Whether she approves or not, she wouldn't betray us. She's kept my secrets for years when telling them would have given her more power, more influence." She laughed a little. "She knows me better than Will does."

And Will knew Charles better than anyone, the thought of which caused his thoughts to wander again. "He's missed you these past five years, and here I am taking you away from him again," he said quietly, a hint of worry in his voice. And he'd miss Will, as well, but Arindale wasn't so far that they wouldn't be able to visit court now and then. In fact, if they didn't, the king would most likely demand it.

Alys frowned, rising up onto her elbow to look down at Charles with stern eyes. "You're not taking me anywhere," she told him with a flash of the temper he was slowly growing used to once again. "This is as much my decision as yours. A few days' journey is nothing compared with five years, Charles. Will would never begrudge you happiness, in whatever form it takes. He loves you like a brother."

He cut a glance to her as she looked down at him, seeing the temper in her slowly rising. "As I love him," Charles replied, unashamed to admit it. Will was like the brother Charles had never had, and despite Will's initial shock, Charles knew he was happy for them both. "Then perhaps I will miss him," he admitted grudgingly.

She gazed down at him, her temper softening, soothing away as her frown gentled, the furrow between her brows remaining but this time more in concern than irritation. "Then perhaps," she echoed his grudging beginning with quiet regret, "it is me coming between your friendship. I couldn't forgive myself if I drove a wedge between you, Beau. Never."

His expression softened, nearly mirroring hers, as he reached over to brush a loving caress against her cheek. "You have never come between us. You hold us together." His frown softened into a warm smile. "Do you remember when the three of us were inseparable" We shall just have to invite Will to visit us in Arindale often."

She snorted softly, her cheek leaning into his caress with unconscious longing for his touch. "Did you really think we would be able to keep him away?" she laughed softly, catching his hand in hers to kiss his fingertips tenderly. "But you never gave me an answer. Marry me" Before it is too late?"

"My dearest love," he started, charmed by the way she nuzzled against his hand and kissed his fingers, a hint of mischief in her eyes, though her question was very serious. "I asked you first, didn't I?" he replied, the gleam in his eyes matching hers. "But we shall have to do it soon. The king is growing anxious for war and I do not think he'll wait much longer."

"You asked me to go to Lonnare with you," she pointed out with a warm smile, easing over until she filled his vision, her hair tumbling in loosened curls about both their faces as her body settled over his, warm and loving even as she made her point. "I asked you to marry me. I still think the weight of the argument lies with you." Her lips brushed his in slow benediction, fingers teasing through his hair. "We could do it within two days. Enough time to settle the priest and the others to a time and place and swear them to secrecy."

He smiled against her lips as she kissed him, misunderstanding his meaning, not for the first or probably the last time. He doubted life with Alys would ever be boring, and he hoped she thought the same of him. He pressed a finger to her lips so he could speak. "Have you forgotten my proposal in the garden so soon' You wound me, lady," he teased, laying a hand against his heart as if he was in pain.

"That was politics," she dismissed his proposal with teasing eyes, drawing her lips from his finger to trail soft kisses down to his "wounded" heart. "This is love." Her hand gently peeled his out of her way as she wriggled down over him, her kisses losing their loving sweetness as her eyes met his, challenging in their tenderness as she bit him gently.

Had she not so effectively distracted him, he might have argued the matter, but the words were lost on his lips as she enticed him once again, reigniting the desire that was still smoldering deep inside. He wove his fingers into her hair, grasping it between his fingers, his breath catching in his throat as she reawakened his arousal. "Alys, please..." It seemed it was his turn to beg, nudging her head lower, needing to feel the sweet warmth of her lips where he wanted it most.