He still felt lightheaded, heady, exhilarated with the triumph that pounded through his veins. He couldn't stop grinning, knowing he looked like an idiot but he didn't care. He'd made the run. And he felt…alive.

"A cup for you, Prince?"

Lucivar turned his head and grinned at her. She ducked her head shyly as he took the glass and sipped at the blood wine. "Thank you," he offered, politely, and she smiled a bit, but didn't leave. He paused and looked at her again. She was pretty, her dark hair lustrous in the firelight. He felt loose, free, alive. Tonight he could do anything.

"Lady," he said, still carefully polite, in case she would leave. Women didn't usually…women never approached him. He had a reputation, and it wasn't the one as a vicious fighter that bothered them. No woman wanted the embarrassment of a half-breed bastard in their bed. "May I ask your name?"

"Gentian," she said in a soft voice, her white teeth flashing in the smallest of brief smiles. She glanced up at him, coy, through her eyelashes. "I know your name, Prince."

Lucivar felt warm. The wine made him bolder. He smiled, just a little. "Would you share a cup with me, Lady Gentian?"

Her answering smile as she lifted her golden eyes to his, for just a moment, before dropping them again, made his knees go weak. "Of course."

He let her lead the way to a quiet corner of the camp. She sat quietly and beckoned him to join her. He settled beside her and found a small, nervous smile, offering the glass. She took a sip, putting her hands over his. The skin tingled and he was suddenly very aware of his body.

Tonight he could do anything.

Gentian tilted her head back and looked at him. Her lips curved in a little smile as she cast her eyes down again. "They tell stories about you, but no one ever mentions how handsome you are."

Lucivar felt his face warm and scrambled clumsily for words. "I'm – uh – thank you." She laughed. He felt a shiver run down his spine.

"I'm glad they didn't. Now I have the chance to see for myself."

He went warm all over. Falonar himself could have arrived then and said anything, and it wouldn't have mattered. All the same, he was glad he didn't. Lady Gentian set her hands on his around the cup again, took a drink, and then leaned toward him, her face tilted up to him. "Lucivar?"

He liked the say she said his name, and leaned toward her a little as well. "…yes?"

She leaned up and kissed him, pulling the cup out of his hands and setting it aside. Her lips were soft and warm, and he liked the way her hands felt on his shoulders. It felt natural to put his hands to her waist and draw her closer, hesitantly, his body warming rapidly.

Somehow his shirt found its way off. Somehow he found her guiding his hand to cup her breast. She shifted to her back, her skirt up around her hips and it was as he wrestled with his pants, breathing hard, that she found the words.

"I'm a virgin."

He was startled into stillness. "What?" Lucivar looked at her again. She was trembling a little, he realized, with fear. He froze.

"I'm…I've never…" She trailed off. He held very still.

"Do you – if you don't want to –" He swallowed hard, nervousness closing like a vice around his throat.

"I – I do want to," she said, and his throat tightened more. He knew how to guide a witch through her Virgin Night safely; knew about gentleness and being calm and not pushing too fast. He knew. But he'd never done it. Never…he swallowed hard.

"Do you want me to…?" She nodded. He took a deep breath and nodded back.

"All right." He steeled himself, went back to her. "Do you…trust me," he said, changing it to a command, hoping his voice was soothing. She nodded and Lucivar kissed her again, holding back his own desire, making it gentle until she pulled him close. He moved the kisses, taking off his pants slowly, always watching her face.

Lucivar watched her face as he entered her, keeping the fire of his own lust behind bars. He watched her face as he moved, slowly, gentle, nervousness a lead pit in his belly that he refused to acknowledge. He watched her face as her expression went from fear to hunger to blissful release, and then he let himself go and slipped back down, pulling out of her.

His first thought a moment later, that he felt guilty for when he was aware of it, was that it hadn't felt as good as he'd expected. But she was opening her eyes. "It – it's done?" She said, and he couldn't tell what was in her voice. Disappointment? His stomach clenched and he nodded.

"Yeah. You're…you're all right?"

She nodded, gave him a shaky smile, and then gasped. "Oh-!"

He nearly panicked, at first, for the blood on her thighs. She had to explain to him three times that it was normal before he would listen, and he still insisted on carrying her back to her bed. He told her to rest as he laid her down and tucked her in, setting her clothes beside her, and stayed until he was sure she slept, feeling oddly protective.

Lucivar was awake late. Though the celebration continued well into the night, he didn't go back.

--

The light of the morning pierced his eyelids like knives. His head hurt. Badly. Lurching, he stood up and found himself damp all over from where he'd fallen asleep in the grass. Grimacing and trying to stretch cramped muscles, Lucivar stood.

Then he remembered the previous night.

Worry surged and he strode quickly in the direction of the center of camp. The warriors were just now stirring, starting to rise, and few of them looked at him. But in the center where a breakfast was being served, he found, as expected, a crowd of Eyrien women. He caught sight of Falonar out of the side of his eye, but that didn't matter. He had eyes only for her.

Gentian looked as lovely in the light of day as she had last night. Her face was small and delicately featured, her golden eyes bright as she laughed at something one of the other women said. His stride hitched and he stopped to look at her before striding forward again. She looked tired. Was that normal?

"Gentian," he called out. "Gentian, it's me-"

She turned. He saw the expression on her face change, going flat at once. Her laughter died. He nearly died as well, and slowed as he approached her, suddenly uncertain. "…Gentian?"

Her lovely lip curled with distaste. Her eyes chilled, hardened. "Don't come near me," she hissed. He froze.

"…what?" Dumbly, confused. What had…what had happened? Had he done something wrong? She'd been fine when he left her.

"I said," she said, more loudly, voice carrying. He could see heads turning, but he couldn't look away from Gentian. "Get away from me. Half-breed."

Lucivar flinched. He felt his heart stop as he took an uncertain step back. But it wasn't enough.

She leaned back, spat full in his face, and turned away.

He could hear them laughing. He could hear Falonar's voice somewhere. It was very distant. He took a step back, then another, then turned and started to walk away. "Gentian," he heard one of them call, "You going to bear a bastard's bastard, now?"

He drew his shoulders up and tried to walk faster. But not fast enough not to hear her reply. "What are you talking about, Falonar?" she said in that voice he'd thought so kind. "I can only bear a man's child."

He swallowed the bitterness. Swallowed the rage. Tried to ignore the laughter. It didn't work.

--

Halevar came and found him later in a thicket of destroyed saplings, stripped of branches, leaves, and bark. Lucivar himself sat on a stump in the middle of them, his Eyrien stick across his knees, staring straight ahead, his eyes cold as ice.

"Boyo?"

"I'm not going back," Lucivar said, coldly. The older warrior's voice wasn't gentle, but neither was it harsh.

"You have to."

He looked up, and there was something quiet and so, so, deadly in his young eyes. "It's the only place I belong?" His voice was bitter. Far too bitter. And Halevar couldn't find anything to say.