((Contains adult situations.))

August 8th, 1613

The official celebrations for Prince Arthur's birthday were a sight to be enjoyed by more than simply the royal court. For the duration of only the joust to be held in the young prince's honor, selected individuals from the city itself had been invited into the confines of the palace of Bannoc Rise, to bear witness to the sport of the nobles for the child's amusement. Thus, such an occasion warranted the show of the court in all its finery - the lords tilting in their heavy armor, showing their best skills; the lords and ladies merely watching displayed in the richest of their clothing. By strange contrast, the royal family were dressed almost simply, but for the expense of the cloth in which they were draped, displayed themselves in a canopied box set high to overlook the lists with the best view in the house.

It was anyone's guess as to whether the joust or the inhabitants of the royal box received more interest from the commons who strained to see everything before them in wonder and love of their king. Twenty lords had been named as chosen to tilt against one another, set into teams of ten, sharing the spoils of each victory and defeat - one led by the king, gleaming in his dazzling armor, the other by the Prince's Champion, the Duke of Lonnare. By mid-afternoon, many lances had been broken, several lords unseated, and though the sun was growing warm, no one wished to miss a moment of the continuing tournament. There was a fierceness about certain of the lords who tilted today, a fierceness shared by the king himself, and though as yet the commons did not know the reason, the court most certainly did.

Many eyes flickered to the Lady Alys where she sat beside the queen and her mother, her chin held high, forcing herself to display the light bruise that marred her cheek from the morning's unpleasantness for all those curious eyes. Yet passions ran high within the royal box, despite the queen's constant coolness - each time the king tilted, each time Duke Edward, Duke Charles, or Lord William tilted, the tension grew within the ladies of the royal blood, eager to see victory, concerned by defeat.

Charles was clad in his finest armor - not the kind of armor that one wore to battle, but the kind reserved only for tilting. It was heavy, cumbersome, and hot, but necessary if one wanted to survive, as jousting was not a sport to be taken lightly, and serious injuries were not unheard of. Challengers had even been known to be killed on occasion, but thus far, though several had been unseated and many lances had been broken, none had been too seriously injured. The crowd seemed to hold its breath each time the horses charged and lances were leveled, each having their own favorites, and before long the lists had narrowed until only three champions remained. Having defeated Duke Edward, the king awaited his final remaining opponent, which would be decided by a contest between Duke Charles and Lord William. A cheer went up from the crowd as the two men found their places at opposite ends of the field. Both men were worthy opponents, and nearly equal in skill.

Though not usually a strong jouster, the treatment of his sister barely hours before - as well as the fact of the count's expulsion, which had removed any chance of personal retribution - had given Will a stamina that was virtually unheard of during the day's tilting. Still, he was growing close to exhausted, the sweat soaking the padding beneath his own heavy armor, and the lance in his grip felt cumbersome with its weight. His anger was almost spent, too, subsiding to make him aware of the aches that wracked his body. He was going to be an awkward companion at the ball that night, he was sure, but of all his opponents on the field today, he was rather glad that it would be Charles who beat him. Lowering his visor, he took a firmer grip on his lance, watching for the sign of the herald that all was ready for the pass.

Charles, too, was growing weary. It had been a long, tiring day that had started out early. He'd barely slept the night before, and the anger he'd felt at Denhelm's attack on Alys had long since burned away. He had only one real opponent left, and that opponent was William, as no one beat the king, even if they were more than able to do so. Charles would make a good show of it for the crowd, but in the end, everyone knew the victor had already been determined.

Still, Charles was glad it was William who'd be his final opponent, and though he was the favorite to win given his reputation, he, too, was starting to tire, as the day's punishment on his body started to take its toll. He had not yet been unseated, but he had taken some hard hits to his shield and one wild lance hit to a shoulder. Still, Charles wished it was Denhelm he was fighting and not Will, though the rage he had tasted that morning had caused him to fight harder and fiercer than ever before, nearly unbeatable in combat, with only two more opponents left before he could rest.

Charles nodded respectfully to acknowledge his opponent, which just happened to be his closest friend, and lowered his visor as he quietly whispered a quick prayer to the Goddess to keep his friend safe. A crimson scarf knotted about his shield arm openly displayed the favor bestowed upon him by his lady love and intended, Lady Alys. Charles lowered his lance, his face hidden behind the visor but for eye slits, the tournament starting to take its toll.

As the herald swept his flag downward, hurrying from the lists as fast as his feet could take him at the rumble of heavy hooves against the sanded grass, Alys sat forward in her seat, her eyes torn between the progress of her brother and the charge of the man she loved. She knew, as did any who were aware of the men's talents, that Will was riding into defeat; she was just hoping that the defeat would not cause too much damage. Will's charge was straight, his horse following the line of the lists with perfect care, yet the lance was not steady, a testament to the weariness of the arm that supported it. Indeed, it missed altogether, merely sliding against Charles' armored shoulder to do no damage at all.

Charles knew, as did everyone else, that he was the stronger opponent, at least at this particular event, and though he knew he was going to be the likely victor, he did not want to unseat his dearest friend in the first pass. Recognizing Will's exhaustion in the way he held his lance, Charles decided to go easy on him, at least for the first pass. He aimed a glancing blow off Will's shield with his lance that was unlikely to do much damage or knock him from his horse, though considering his level of exhaustion, it might cause him to momentarily lose his balance.

A gasp went up from the crowd as the duke's lance made contact, not breaking but scoring a hit against the shield that was there merely for a target. Lord William grunted with the impact, feeling the jolt jarring up his arm and into a shoulder that already ached with the exertions of the day, swaying so much in his saddle that he only just made it to the end of the list to hand his lance down to his page in time to right himself with a wheeze of breath. Turning his horse, he lifted his visor to be sure Charles had reached his own resting place, offering a grateful nod to his friend for preserving his honor with that kind blow. Rolling his shoulder to settle the ache, he set his visor down once again and took hold of his lance, waiting once more for the sweep of the flag to charge to his inevitable defeat.

Charles mirrored Will's actions, swapping his first lance for a second, and turning back around to wait for the flag that would set them off at a charge once again. He knew Will was weakening, and he knew one well-aimed lance might unhorse him, but it would have to be carefully aimed to do the least damage. Still, if Charles was going to give Christian good sport and give the crowd a good finish, he was going to need all the strength he had left. He offered another nod to Will at the opposing end of the field, as if to wordlessly tell him to prepare himself for defeat, as he leveled his lance and waited for the flag to fall.

The flag was swept down, the herald fled the field, and the king's great destrier took the first long strides, bearing his royal rider headlong down the lists with lance lowered, aimed with the strength of a man not exhausted by sporting for the perfect target - just to the right of the central panel of the Duke of Lonnare's shield. Christian even held his lance braced against his own ribs; a risky position, for if the lance slipped, the king's arm would break with the lack of movement allowed to his wrist. But he trusted Charles to do his duty. Prince's Champion for the prince's birthday or not, no man was ever permitted to unseat the King of Francia.

Though few knew the truth of it, unless they were experienced in the sport, it almost took more skill to purposely throw a match than to win. Either outcome took great skill and control and the ability to know just where to aim the lance in order to either win the match or purposely lose. Charles had consistently defeated opponent after opponent, but as it happened, this was one opponent he couldn't afford to beat. The destrier thundered down the field, and Charles carefully aimed his lance for the last time striking a glancing blow against the king's shield, the lance tip sliding harmlessly against the metal.

The king's lance, on the other hand, hit Charles' shield hard, and even though he knew the hit was coming, it knocked him off balance and clear off the back of his horse, dropping him hard with a loud rattle of armor onto the dusty field where he remained motionless, while his horse thundered on.

A loud cheer went up from the commons as the king claimed both the tilt and tournament, tossing his lance aside before wheeling his horse, his gaze turning first to his fallen opponent before all others. As before, pages and physics hurried to catch the duke's horse and check upon the man himself, as his sweetheart lurched to her feet, clinging to the rail of the box in which she had been seated, her face pale with concern.

It was hard to tell what was going on down there, with the pages and physics huddled around, trying to get Charles out of his helmet at least and make sure he was not seriously hurt. It seemed to be taking far longer than it should for him to get up, though his injuries did not seem serious. The fall from the horse had not only knocked the wind out of him, but had rendered him temporarily unconscious.

The longer the wait, the deeper the silence that fell upon even the commons. Alys strained to be able to see Charles, hidden as he was amid the men who served the field, only vaguely aware of her brother standing at her back, one hand about her arm to prevent her from rushing down to the lists in fear. The king himself, alarmed by the lack of motion, swung down from his horse, moving in a clatter of armor to push into the crowd of men and boys hovering over the duke. "Does he live?" he demanded, his voice carrying over the court and commons who waited with bated breath, the question drawing a frightened gasp from his niece as she shuddered with the horrifying thought that the answer might be no. "Well, man, answer me! Does he live?"

"Goddess," came the reply that was too quiet for any to hear but those closest, the circle of men around the fallen duke. "You needn't shout. I'm alive," Charles replied, his voice shaky and weak, barely audible. He felt as if he'd just been trampled on by a herd of wild horses, but he was definitely alive. "Barely," he corrected himself, as he was helped to his feet, offering a weak smile to the king, despite his injuries, which were mostly minor.

The sigh of relief that went up was like a gust of wind, even uttered by the young princes, who were still young enough to see everything that happened as entertainment over life or death. Christian's laugh was deeply colored with relief beneath the sudden roar that rose from the commons as the duke came to his feet, as Will found himself bearing his younger sister back to her chair before she fell down before the whole court. "Oh, thank the Goddess," Alys whispered, her heart aching at the thought that she might have lost him before ever resolving the argument that had almost come between them that morning.

There was no blood to indicate he was seriously injured, though he was bruised, battered, and sore, as were the others who'd been defeated that day, and he could hold his head high knowing he had done as well as he possibly could, defeating every challenger who'd opposed him save one. He bit back a groan as he was pulled to his feet, flashing a smile at his king even so. "Sire," he started, "I am sorry I was defeated, but I am glad it was to you." He would have bowed, if he had not been supported on both sides by a pair of pages, leaning heavily on their shoulders so that his legs did not go out from under him.

Christian chuckled, pulling off one of his gauntlets to grip his friend's shoulder with warm relief. "Get you out of that armor and into a bath before your joints seize up, Your Grace," he told him through his grin. "Your lady will have my hide if you find you must take to your bed through lack of care." The lady in question was recovering from her shock, holding her brother's youngest son on her lap to hide the shaking in her hands as she watched the armored men with worried eyes. Alys had not seen Charles need to be held up so before, fear for the damage done to him in the joust high in her heart.

"Perhaps it is into her care I should be conferred," he replied with a smile, knowing he might be pushing his luck, but they were betrothed now and promised to be married. He glanced toward the box that held the royals and waved a hand to indicate that he was well, seeing both Will and Alys there, along with the princes. "I hope I have not disappointed the prince on his birthday," he remarked, looking back at Christian as he finally shook off the pages and stood on unsteady legs.

"Don't say that too loudly, or I might just do it," the king threatened, aware that there was some tension between the duke and his lady after the morning's altercation and equally aware that Alys might well slap Charles yet again for frightening her by losing consciousness. He glanced up at the box, where his sons were watching with interest, Arthur's face flushed with excitement and pride. "I believe you have done my son proud, Your Grace. No one could have made him a finer Champion for his birthing day." He inclined his head to Charles, stepping back to speak loudly enough for the words to carry. "Now ....let us retire and prepare for the evening's festival. This hot sun is rusting my armor!" Laughter rippled through the courtiers and commons at their king's good humor, money exchanging hands for the bets that had been laid in equal good humor during the jousting. "And you, Your Grace," Christian added in a lower tone before he turned to leave, "get yourself seen to. You look terrible."

Though his face was clearly pale and strained, Charles smiled proudly at the compliment from the king, waving up at the boy whom he had been chosen to champion. "It was an honor, Majesty," Charles replied sincerely. It had been a long and arduous day, but he could not have been more happy with the outcome. He was proud of his performance today and only hoped he would do his king just as proud when he was tested on the field of battle, which seemed would come sooner rather than later, if the Coimbrans did not back down. Charles waited by the king's side until he was finished addressing the crowd, but as he moved to follow, he found the ground suddenly rushing up to meet him, and then everything went black.

It was neither shame nor shyness that had turned her gaze so hurriedly away from the ripple of water that covered him, more the understanding of herself; that if she looked, she would wish to touch, and touching could have only one conclusion, an act she was uncertain he truly had the strength for in his battered body. Yet his kiss fired something in her that refused to be ignored, refusing to settle on simply a single loving brush of lip to lip as she, too, leaned in. Her fingers curled to his neck, the tips slipping into the wayward curls that were just one of his crowning glories as her lips parted, deepening his offered kiss without a care for the trail of her long braid into his bath, nor the soaking of her sleeves as she slid as close as the tub would allow. "I was so afraid for you when you did not stand," she whispered, a new confession to color the longing in her touch. "I am glad you are well."

Charles smiled into her kiss as she leaned closer, damp fingers cupping her cheek, her kiss and her touch far more soothing to him than the bath, deeply touched that she had been worried for him. "I've been worse," he admitted, remembering other tournaments where he'd not fared so well, though he had mastered his skills over the last five years while she'd been away. "I trust Will is well," he said uncertainly, more question than statement, as his fingers slid over the long braid of hair that had dipped into his bathwater. "You should be careful or you'll get wet," he warned, as his lips brushed her cheek. He'd ask her to join him, but she was already taking a chance just being there.

The lap of water as he shifted about was a gentle counter-point to the crackle of the fire in the hearth as their own, uniquely intimate stillness descended over them, her eyes falling closed once again to enjoy his closeness as his lips brushed her cheek. She could smell him, the scent that was only her Charles, close enough to taste as she breathed him in, heedless of the water that threatened to soak her badly as her own lips turned to brush against the arch of his cheekbone. "My brother is a little stiff, but more than well," she promised him, almost surprised to find her palm smoothing over the damp curve of his shoulder. As he warned her to be careful, her lips split open into a wide smile, her voice low and words uncensored as she murmured a truth into his ear that only he was ever going to hear from her lips. "I'm already wet, Beau."

He felt relieved by her assurance that her brother was indeed well, and relaxed further, ignoring all the warnings that were going off in his head. Though only Will knew, he had already had her twice. Would it really matter if he had her again, now that they were promised" And yet, as tempting as it was, he was not sure they should take such a bold, presumptuous risk right here under the king's nose. "He's not the only one," Charles murmured, turning his head to meet her lips, admitting without so many words, his own desire.

Even with the same warnings, the same concerns, making themselves known in her mind, Alys could not deny that here was a privacy they had earned the right to share. With the court preparing for the ball that would commence in just a few hours, there were less eyes and ears snooping and prying, and even if there were, they were pre-contracted to marry. There was no harm in it, so long as they were discreet.

Feeling the warm water soaking to her elbow as he kissed her, Alys reluctantly drew her hands back from Charles, loosening her laces just enough to slide her arms from her under-dress, letting the sleeves hang down at her sides, her arms and shoulders bare enough to embolden her. Gentle fingers smoothed back over his skin, careful of the bruises that covered him as desire flared within their kisses, openly shown in the possessive grasp of her arms about him. "I should hurt you for scaring me," she breathed to him between breathless kisses, refusing to allow him to think she wasn't as angry with him for getting himself knocked out as she had been worried.

"I am already hurt enough," he breathed back between kisses, sliding a hand across her bare shoulder to slip her braid over her back. "Is there nothing else you can think of to repay me for your fright?" he asked, eyes admiring the loveliness of her, while his fingers delighted in the soft warmth of her skin. Though it was the king's castle, this suite of rooms belonged to him, and as such, it was unlikely they were to be disturbed, at least for a little while yet. "Do you think I am well enough for the ball?" he asked, as his lips wandered away from her lips and toward her neck and shoulders to sample the soft curve of flesh.

"You should ....should show your face," she whispered in answer, her breath increasingly short as his lips traveled over her skin, feeling the dress fall to bunch at her hips, leaving only the laced stiffness of her corset protecting what little modesty she had where her dearest heart was concerned. Unafraid of wetting her arms now, she let her hands roam, smoothing over his back beneath the water as her breath heated the curve of his ear. "Perhaps I should inform the king that I intend to nurse you."

"Do you possess the proper skills for such a task?" he teased back, letting his fingers wander over her shoulder, his lips following as his hand smoothed down against the middle of her back. He knew they should show their faces at the ball, but he did not really want to stay long, not when he could share her company in the privacy of his rooms. "Christian will want to leave for Trannoc soon," he said, as if to remind her that their time together here was growing short, as the prince's birthday celebration wound to a close.

"Surely every good wife has the skill to nurse her husband back to health," Alys murmured in reply, her lips curved in a smile as she answered the kisses he trailed over her skin with kisses of her own that found the beating pulse in his throat, remembering a bite she had given him there that had swept all thought of chivalric behavior from his mind. "I should take this opportunity to learn, should I not?" At the warning that war was certain to come very soon, she stilled, drawing back to look into his eyes, her palm curled with tender possession at his neck. "I know," she assured him of her understanding, despite her dislike of the need for such a dangerous pastime in the men of her family. "The sooner you go, the sooner you win. The sooner we can be married."

He smiled reassuringly back at her as she looked into his eyes. No one, it seemed, had ever worried over him as much as she did, and though he was touched to know how much she cared, he did not wish to worry her. He knew it was not just his safety she worried for, however, but that of her brother and uncle, as well. "We will defeat the Coimbrans, and they will think twice before threatening Francia or the Church again," he continued, confident that the Goddess would see to their safety and ensure their victory. "I will be fine, and when I return, we will be married, just as the king said. Our wedding will be the happiest event in all of Francia," he declared as he brushed his fingers against her cheek in a loving caress. There was no reason not to believe his claim - it was a rare event when royals married for love and cause for celebration.

To say he was experienced was an understatement, but all the other women who had shared his bed, who may have experienced this particular form of lovemaking, were forgotten in an instant. Alys was the one who was reaping the rewards of that experience as he teased and taunted her with mouth and lips and tongue, his hands on her hips to hold her steadily in place. Experienced or not, this was not something he often enjoyed, used to taking what he wanted, what was freely given, rather than giving such exquisite pleasure in return.

In those moments, she might as well have been a virgin once again, as embarrassed by the intimacy of his questing mouth as she was delighted by it, shocked out of the sensual confidence she had shown only moments before into shuddering, trembling astonishment as her body reacted to his attention with an enthusiasm she was wholly unaccustomed to. It seemed to take barely any time at all before she felt that something inside her coil tight and shatter, and her hand flew to cover her own mouth, to smother her cry of blissful pleasure even as she relied on her shockingly bold lover to keep her from falling on buckling knees.

He expertly played her body, as if he was a master musician and she the instrument of his choice. He followed her cues to tell him what she liked, the trembling of her body, the catch of her breath, savoring the sweetness of her that could only be his Alys, smiling as he felt her tense and tremble against him, a muffled cry at her lips, and knew he had succeeded in giving her something no man had ever given her before, and it was only the beginning. He drew slowly away, leaving warm loving kisses in his wake, but though she was satiated, at least for the moment, he was not.

Trembling with the rippling aftermath of that something she had been told by supposedly mature women was an unclean act, Alys couldn't keep to her feet much longer after Charles leant back, lowering on shaking legs until she sat in his lap within the warm embrace of his bath water, her eyes wide with breathless amazement. Her arms found their way about his neck as she stared at him, momentarily speechless as she tried to gather her wits once again. "That-that is supposed to be ....don't people say that is a sin?" she gasped finally, as her thoughts found some kind of coherency in the ebbing heat of release.

His own desire was more than obvious as she found her way onto his lap and he winced momentarily from the various aches that wracked his body, not the least of which was the one she had caused by just being there. "Does it feel like a sin?" he asked, smoothing his hands against her hips as she settled herself in the bath, already knowing the answer to his question. "Do you really think the Goddess would send us to Hell for loving each other?" he asked, obviously not in agreement with the Cardinal's stern and strict teachings. "Do you think men who have never known love should really decide what is sinful and what is not for the rest of us?"

She leaned into him, too buoyed up by their intimacy to notice his blasphemy as her forehead rested against his, her lips curving into a smile as she huffed a quiet laugh, her own hands smoothing over his shoulders, her fingers finding their way up into his hair once again. "I don't know what to think," she admitted, still just a little breathless as her lips teased his with a kiss that never quite made contact. "If that is a sin, then I would gladly sing the Devil's song to feel it again." Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat to her as she surged forward in a sweeping lap of the water that enveloped them, pressing close as her mouth began its own exploration of his skin, wanting to give him the same pleasure he had given her. Though in their present situation, that might also include attempting to drown herself.

"Sin or not, I would taste you on my lips again and again. I love you, Alys. There is no sin in loving you. You are so sweet, so lovely, so good. You are an angel, and I am the devil who has corrupted you." He smiled when he said it, as blasphemous as it might be. Why, the king himself - as married as he was - had several lovers. There was only one man they needed to be careful of and that was the Cardinal. He might have said more, but she had rendered him speechless as she tugged his head back and pressed her mouth against his throat, and he groaned in reply, his body reacting to her kisses with inflamed heat.

Though she felt the thrill of having him so compliant under her rough treatment, her hand soon left his hair as her mouth traveled over his skin, lips and teeth and tongue skimming, biting, kissing a heated trail into the hollow of his throat, over the tenderness of his bruised shoulder, down to the soft prickle of hair that covered his chest. And her hands roamed further, slipping beneath the water to press between them, to stroke and caress, teasing him, taunting him with his own pleasure as much as he had done with hers. "I am no angel," she breathed against his flesh, daring him to argue with her once again as she loved him as best she could.

"I don't want an angel..." he breathed, his voice ragged with desire, hands reaching to touch her as she touched him, wondering at the beauty that was his lady love. "I only want you," he told her, surrendering himself to her at least, as she had given herself to him. He leaned back against the bath as he felt her fingers against him, teasing him and taunting him with expertise equal to his, until he could barely stand it any longer. "Goddess, Alys....Please..." he pleaded, feeling himself teetering on the edge, so close to sinful bliss.

Clearly her late husband had taught her a few tricks most courtly ladies weren't supposed to know, if she could bring Charles Beauforte to the brink begging for the release she held just out of reach. And despite her claim of not being such an angel, she did not keep him in torment for long, her hands moving just so to give her beloved Charles the pleasure he needed in that moment, letting herself nip at the pulse that beat in his throat as she breathed him in once again.

Very few women had ever been bold enough to do what she was doing, most of them lacking the knowledge and skill - or perhaps the patience - even to try. It had always been up to him to lead the way, and he was only too happy to do it, but to know this one amazing woman was happily willing to return the pleasure that he had given her made him love her even more. "Alys..." he whispered, her name a loving entreaty against his lips as he sighed deeply and let himself go, shuddering with pleasure as she gave him the sweet release that he so longed for.

"And you risk everything to have me for a husband," he countered, the irony in the situation not escaping him. He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, knowing their time alone together was running short, at least, until later. "As I love you." He made no mention of his grandmother, as he never did, knowing that she barely tolerated him for the king's sake and because it kept her own place safe at court to do so, but he owed her nothing. Everything he had accomplished and achieved, he had done on his own, even if he didn't realize it.

"I don't risk anything to have you," she countered, shaking her head. "Because everything I have is already yours." She smiled fondly, looping her arms about him to hug close in the gentle lap of the bathwater. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered to him. "I don't want to go."

"I don't want you to go either, but it's only for a little while," he assured her, looking forward to holding her in his embrace until dawn. "We'll be married soon enough, and then we'll always be together." He pressed a kiss against her forehead as she leaned into him, his arms going around her to hold her close, hoping all the fear and anger of the day's events had dissipated in these few quiet, peaceful moments.

She closed her eyes, breathing him in once again, letting go finally of the fright and anger and upset that had colored the day - not simply the altercation with Denhelm that morning, but the tension of watching the joust itself. Here and now, it was possible to forget the court and the careful lines drawn that they had to keep inside, entirely because he held her wrapped so entirely in his embrace. "I do love you, Beau," Alys whispered, wondering if she would ever be able to say those words enough. "More than my own life, I love you."

He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her, though a kiss would have been more effective. "Hush, love. Your life is so much more important, so much more valuable than my own. I did not lie when I said I would die a thousand deaths to keep you safe. All I want is to spend the rest of my life with you and to love you all the days of my life."

She bit the end of his finger gently, a reminder that even when she was soft, there was a fire in her that could be dangerous to court. "That is an argument waiting to happen," she warned him with a wry smile, reluctantly sitting back from him. Her hand rose to find her braid, squeezing the excess water from it as she studied his face. "All you need do is survive the battles coming. The rest of your wish is already granted, my darling, you know that. And I will not let you fail your duchy. Just come back to me, and the rest of our lives is assured."

"I will think of you every day that I am away and return as soon as I am able," he promised, though he was not quite ready to leave just yet. "Will you dance with me tonight' I will tell the king that I am tired and ask him for his leave. I do not think he will deny me, and then we will be together." He smiled at the thought of that, though he could not hide the weariness beneath the smile. He'd had very little chance to rest, except for this short time with her.

"I should think they would consider it very strange indeed if I did not partner you," she chuckled softly, teasing her fingertips against his temple. "I should go. You need the next hours to rest before the feast." And because she wasn't entirely well-behaved, even when she was supposed to be making an effort to be so, she leaned forward to touch her lips to his ear once again. "You will need your strength for afterward." Her kiss touched his cheek fondly as she drew back, her hands reaching to brace herself against the edges of the bath to stand, water trickling over her pale skin in long rivulets.

He followed her with his eyes as she stood, daring to reach out and run his fingers along her dripping wet body starting at her hip, down her thigh, to the back of a knee. Though he was tempted to touch her elsewhere and repeat the exploration that had left her weak in the knees, he knew that she'd be missed before long, and he didn't want to risk her being found here. Instead, he pulled her close, and like her, unable to quite resist the temptation, laid a few small kisses against her stomach, lips trailing dangerously downward but never quite reaching their destination before pulling away and smiling mischievously up at her. "Ah, but wrestling with you is pure pleasure."

She gasped as he tugged her toward him, her hands finding their place in his hair once again as his lips teased against her stomach and lower, biting her lip hard against a moan that would almost certainly have kept her here far longer than she should stay. She glared down at his mischievous smile, passionate eyes narrowed warningly. "You are walking a dangerous line, Your Grace."

"Is it so horrible that I would rather you leave wanting more than completely satisfied?" he asked, showing a hint of the cad she was slowly but surely taming. But then, she didn't want to tame him completely, did she" Not to the point of boredom, certainly. He showed no signs of being ready to leave the tub and was enjoying the view far too much to offer to help.

"You want to leave me trembling and unsatisfied?" Alys demanded, unable to keep the laugh from her voice or the smile from her face at this more playful side of the man she'd loved all her life. She remembered the more innocent side of his mischief from their childhood, but this ....this was somehow a lot more fun. Her finger and thumb tweaked his nose as she bent down to kiss him, and far from running away from such a dangerous tease, she answered it with a gentle sweep of her toes beneath the water. "Be careful what you wish for, dearest," she murmured impishly, straightening to climb out of the bath.

He hadn't expected her to repay his teasing with some of her own, obviously startled, eyes widening in surprise at the contact her toes made with a particular part of his body even as his lips met hers, and he knew he'd met his match. Of course, he'd known that for a long time, and though he'd tried to put her out of his head for the last five years, he'd obviously failed. Five years apart had made her a woman and what a woman she had become. She was his perfect match in every way. When he finally broke from the kiss, he was understandably breathless and feeling as unsatisfied as she was. "That was not fair," he complained, though he really had no room to complain, since he'd started it.

Alys paused momentarily in the act of lacing her corset once again, lifting her eyes to his with sweetly wicked amusement. "Oh, but darling, is it so horrible that I would rather leave you wanting more than completely satisfied?" she countered, throwing his own words back in his face with smug satisfaction in her own mischief. Bending, she swept her petticoat back about her hips, uncaring that the thin linen stuck itself to her damp skin as she moved. "You will just have to live with it, Charles, until later."

"And so will you," he countered, all the amusement going out of him, frustrated now that he had to suffer the same punishment as she did and a little annoyed that she had even dared repay his mischief in such a way. "You will pay for it later, My Lady," he warned, blue eyes flashing. "I promise you that."

She laughed, absolutely delighted that she'd turned the tables on her far more experienced lover and genuinely looking forward to seeing how he was going to cope with his dissatisfaction at the feast, however long he chose to remain in public. "I look forward to you trying, my lord," she teased him, meeting the flash in his eyes with that same infuriatingly smug smile, sliding her body back into her under-dress. "My problem, after all, doesn't make itself known to prying eyes." She winked playfully, laying her hand against the bolt of the door. "Do get some rest, love."

"Oh, I will do more than try, My Lady, of that you can be assured." He appeared to be sulking, though he had just been satisfied by her just a short time ago. "I shall make certain to wear a long doublet so as to hide myself from prying eyes," he countered, though he was half tempted to wear hose just to vex her, not to mention the other women in attendance who were bound to notice. "Says the spider to the fly," he muttered under his breath as she made ready to leave, making no move to leave the tub until she was out of sight, though never out of mind.

Alys' laughter followed her from the room, her voice calling back to him softly enough to remain within his chambers. "I love you, Beau." A moment later, the sound of the outer door opening made itself known, and his groom came uncertainly back to his side, shy of making any mention of what might possibly have happened to send the Lady Alys away with such a big smile on her face. As to whether that smile would survive whatever the duke had planned for the evening ahead, however ....that remained to be seen.