Title: Stolen Moments: a lovestory

Author: ninedaysaqueen

Thanks to: openedlocket, thelasteddis, & stubefied_by_gd

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of The Thief, The Queen of Attolia, The King of Attolia, A Conspiracy of Kings, nor of any characters, locations, and elephants contained within. All rights of the Queen's Thief series belong exclusively to Megan Whalen Turner and her respective publishers.

Spoilers: Book 1 only.

Rating: PG/K+ - For some very (very) minor swearing. Nothing worse than what appears in the books themselves.

Genre: Angst/Romance/Fluff/Pre-series - Yeah, I covered all departments with this one.

Word Count: 3,300

Summary: How exactly did the stoic Minister of War fall for the enigmatic Thief's daughter? This is their story.

Author's Note: I may have taken some small liberties concerning Eddisian culture and the nature of the Thief's title that are not necessarily supported by cannon but are not contradicted by it either. *waves artistic license*

Enjoy!

Part 1: Love

(verse)

She stole from him.

It started when they were young. At the time, he knew of her only as one of his many (many) distant cousins. The court knew of her as the daughter of the Thief – illusively charming, witty, gracious, bratty (the last part was is own observation). The girl, whom everyone assumed, would continue one of Eddis's most ancient and useless traditions. He could speculate she wouldn't have agreed with him on the useless part or really... any of his observations concerning her character and family. Thus, he was surprised when she took an interest in him; surprised when she stole from him.

The first thing she took was a fibula pin. Not his fanciest nor his most expensive, but his sturdiest and most practical. He'd spent hours going through his drawers and searching behind furniture; only to see her walking near the stables one morning with his missing pin securing her cloak to her shoulders. He'd approached her (in righteous indignation) to demand she return the stolen item. She turned into an alley as soon as he had gotten within a half a dozen steps. When he reached the corner, she was gone. She never would tell him how she did that. He found a new pin lying on his desk the next day. Just as sturdy but a degree more fancy. He never wore it.

But he kept it.

She cheated at cards.

Or so he was convinced. Gambling was a meant to be man's game, but he suspected the reason she excelled at it lay somewhere in her feminine charm. She bet erratically. One turn barely maintaining her place in the game and the next sacrificing half her wins for gods knows what reason. She never folded, went all in more often than he thought a sane person should, and seemed to anticipate her opponent's hand by some sort of divine informant.

Winning was suppose to be the result careful observations and calculated moves executed efficiently by a competent player. Achieved in a strategic and scientific manner. This was how he always played, yet she always managed to rob him blind of his pocket money.

She definitely cheated.

She danced circles around him.

Literally. She would appear at his right arm and seizing his wrists, she would bully him out among the festive motions. She was easily half his size, yet he knew it wasn't physical strength that allowed her to drag him across the open court. He could dance; a little. In the manner he'd been taught to flatter visiting debutants and potential brides. She would spin circles around him, laughing manically. Obviously enjoying his irritated glare as he was left without a partner in an open dancing court. She did so more and more often as they got older, eventually coaching him on his steps rather than spinning away to brighter and more talented prospects. The coaching usually brewed into a banter, which would occasionally boil over into an argument.

He eventually began to realize how his preconceived notions about the Thieves were often the cause.

She walked on the roof.

As nonchalant as if it were the hallways to the dinning hall or the stairs to the sleeping rooms. He'd see her sometimes from his window, nimbly striding along the parapet, hopping from one to the other, sometimes adding a little twirl. He'd stride up the stairs to shout at her to come down. She was never there when he reached the top.

If only he could remember to step more quietly.

(refrain)

"You want to know what I think, oh Prince of the Sword?"

He'd ignored her when she sat down and was planning to continue ignoring her. That never did work.

"That I've been cursed by the gods?"

She laughed. "Not quite. I think you really aren't so irritated by me as you pretend to be. Why else would you talk to me so often?"

"I believe it's you who usually does the talking."

Her smile grew. "No, really. What I think is that you're just not being honest with yourself."

He went back to ignoring her, until she poked him. Twice.

"And honesty is something you are so well versed in?" He finally snapped.

"Oh, touché! And here I was going to give this back to you."

He looked up to see her shaking his belt purse at eye level. He snatched it from her grip. She didn't evade and simply laughed when he checked the contents.

(verse)

She loved him.

He never understood it at the time. The teasing, the baiting, the stealing, the sarcastic banters, the special attention. She had known; for quite some time. She was just waiting for him to catch up. Waiting for him to realize...

He loved her too.