AUTHOR'S NOTE: The first in a collection of vignettes featuring my favorite 'underground' pairing. I imagine there will be five, and they will include spoilers. I hope you enjoy it.
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Things would be different, but by how much? Drace pulled the comb through her hair, loosening the knots their lovemaking had tied. The virile young man sleeping in her bed breathed steadily, and she smiled at herself in the twilit mirror. His ambition knew no bounds; he hungered for success, a starving wolf suddenly shown a banquet. His judicial appointment had been only five years ago, but a unique situation with Gramis allowed him to shine, and shine Gabranth did; a fledgling Judge had been forged into a strong and loyal ally to the Emperor.
Drace's free hand fell down over her bare belly, flat and barren. There were things one gave up to be a Judge, privileges both lost and gained. Drace had managed to pacify her aching femininity with Lord Larsa, a stand-in for the child she could never have, and Gabranth, a substitute father in the absence of the Emperor. Together they looked over Larsa, and Drace wistfully indulged in the fantasy of Larsa as her own son. His angelic face and impish smile tugged at her heart strings, engaging an untapped maternal instinct. Her ferocious attacks in battle become an indomitable defense for the young heir.
It was only after their companionship for Larsa's sake that Drace began to consider Gabranth on his own terms. He was proud, arrogant even, but not without cause. Few became Judges, and fewer still Judge Magisters. His sword was legend already, and his unswerving faithfulness was attractive to the Empire, as well as Drace herself.
She stood, putting the comb down on the dresser. The hour was late, the moon low on the horizon, casting grey light into her window. It lit him, painted his body with the softness of shadows and she felt her heart flutter slightly. How strange to find love and companionship in such a war, she thought. How strange to find that what she needed as a Judge—a more pervasive hand that could move mountains for Lord Larsa—became the hands she needed as a woman, strong hands which had taken off her armor, removing her defenses piece by piece, coaxing a bloom from an aged and fruitless tree.
She slid into the bed next to him; the guard would not bother them, although it would be no secret that they had spent the night together. Gabranth stirred, lifting his head and wrapping his arm around her waist. He shifted toward her, pillowing his head on her breast, and she gently stroked his hair, rubbing down his back with her pinned arm. The moment hung in the air, timeless and without end, a principled woman and her lover caught unawares by the magic of the midnight hour.