If you haven't read any of the books in the "Steel and Fire" series - go read them!
Disclaimer: I don't own these books. Jordan Rivet does and her writing is amazing
Next disclaimer: This is a sickfic. There is no real plot. Not actual purpose. This is the stuff I right. Don't like it, don't read it, don't flame it. Much thanks.
Takes place during "Dance of Steel" (Book #3). Siv is a tall, handsome prince with dark hair and well-cut cheek bones. Dara is his golden-haired body guard, forming dueling partner and forbidden love interest. Siv was a recently crowned king who just lost his throne. He was badly injured during the fight and flight from his mountain kingdom with Dara. They've just arrived at the home of Siv's grandfather, King Atrin. Siv has been reunited with his mother Tirra and younger sister, Selivia. During a tense dinner, he asks his father for troops to retake control of the city, but is rebuffed. Trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, despite a climbing fever from an infected wound, he has excused himself from the dinner table. Dara, seeing his faultering steps, rushes to his side and put his arm over his shoulder.
"I would have made it." Siv grunts at Dara, even as he leans into her. She is very strong, and even though he's several inches taller than her and a good deal heavier, she bears his weight easily. She had also been severely drained in their flight from the kingdom, but her's was a different kind of draining, while physically uninjured, she had stretched her new-found fire powers to their very limit. And she had faced her father.
The man who killed Siv's father.
"You might have made it, or you might have fallen on your face." Even though she is immune to fire, and has a tolerance for heat, Dara can feel the heat from Siv's fever.
"Maybe. Dara, I don't think I'm going to be able to practice with you tomorrow." The days when he and Dara practiced dueling together, the days when he had to be coached to take danger seriously, seemed long ago.
"It's alright Siv, I'll let it go this time." They were almost to Siv's chambers. Dara helped him inside and sat him down his soft feather bed. She helped him change into a soft night shirt, Siv's discomfort from the fever and the pain from his wounds as he dressed, lessened by Dara's closeness, the way her fingers would brush against his flesh. Too feverish, and suddenly feeling a chill in the air, Siv only too readily climbed under the covers.
Dara noticed there was a sleeping potion at the ready for Siv, but it was unnecessary. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was asleep. Dara would have liked to spend another moment with him, but Tirra had rushed into the room. In the mountains, Tirra was a waif, but in her homeland, she was vibrant and she fixed Dara with an intent stare. However, she only held it for a moment, before rushing to to Siv's bedside.
"He's asleep. He needs rest."
"Don't tell me what my son needs," Tirra snapped. She sat on Siv's bedside and brushed her fingers through his thick dark hair. "No wonder he was so out of sorts at dinner. He must have felt terribly. My poor boy." She kissed his forehead and then fixed Dara with a hard stare, as if it was all her fault.
Maybe some of it was. But it was not that simple.
"Good night your highness." Dara curtsied and left the room.