A/N: I told you that I'd return to this pairing! I can't stay away from them... Although this is a bit angstier than what I usually write, you all know there's a happy ending.

Set between the prologue of RotG and the first chapter.

Unrequited

"Numair Salmalin, you are a pathetic, disgusting, abhorrent excuse for a human being."

For a few moments he met the dark gaze that seemed to bore into his soul, then his head fell forward to rest in his hands.

"Not that it does me much good to say so," he informed the wood of his vanity table despondently. His fingers dug into his scalp as though somehow they could tear away the repulsive thoughts that had taken root beneath it. Not that the thoughts themselves were repulsive, he amended, tugging at his hair frustratedly, but the fact that he had them—

His hair!

In an instant he had straightened from his dejected slump and was once more intent on the mirror, albeit for different reasons this time. After all the time it taken to get his hair just so, how could he so thoughtlessly destroy his efforts?

Because, he considered as he frantically fought to put his sable locks back in their proper places, no one must realize that anything was wrong. This was a burden that he had to bear on his own, something that he could not—would not—risk being made known to the rest of the world. And if anything pointed to something being amiss with him, it would be his showing up to a ball frazzled—or, if not frazzled, then certainly not as impeccably groomed as usual.

This time he cast a brief spell to keep his hair from being mussed. Certainly it was only his customary horsetail, but for a ball it was far neater and more deliberate, and the ribbon he tied it with more ornate, a deep blue with silver embellishments that matched the rest of his ensemble.

He stood and stepped back to appraise his appearance. He had to say that he struck a dashing figure: blue and silver tunic over cream shirt, black breeches tucked into almost knee-high boots, and a sapphire eardrop all worked together to accentuate his lanky frame and apparent good breeding (which most of the ladies at court seemed convinced of, despite his feeble protests otherwise).

He paused for a moment before leaving his room to consider denying the fact that the real reason he cared so much about his appearance had smoky brown curls, blue-grey eyes and an unusual affinity for animals, but gave it up for a lost cause.

That was the real heart of the matter, he acknowledged as he left his room. He wished that he could return to being oblivious to exactly how beautiful Daine really was, the way that everything about her made him fall in love with her all over again every day. It was so wrong for him to want her that way, him fourteen years her senior and, if that wasn't bad enough, her teacher.

It was unfair to her, he knew. She couldn't have a teacher with these feelings for her, but she didn't deserve to lose her teacher because he was being selfish. So he was stuck pretending that nothing, absolutely nothing at all had changed.

As he entered a hallway with greater traffic, he took a deep breath and put on a more characteristic, confident face for the public.

Some might have called it silly that the King went on as though nothing important had happened on the Winter Solstice and permitted the nobles to continue with their frivolous balls and parties. Numair knew better. If he didn't act as though things were all right, the nobles would panic. Without proper outlet for that panic, the situation could get fairly dire just in the capitol. Not that they shouldn't be aware of the serious circumstances, but they had to be downplayed for the moment. It was winter; any of Tortall's political enemies would be forced to wait until spring to make their move, and for the most part—after the first week or so—the immortals coming through the broken barrier were fairly easily dealt with.

As a result, Numair was stuck going to ball after party after ball: the court's chief means of diversion during the slow winter months. Frankly, he would like a few skirmishes to get his mind off his hopeless situation, maybe vent some of his frustration. Lately he had been throwing himself into research over the barrier, and occasionally that worked, but it still gave him too much time to brood.

Numair made his entrance to the ball, though it was not a grand one. There were various heralds posted at the entrances to the ballroom, but tonight's event was such that no one particularly paid them any mind.

The tall mage scanned the edges of the room, looking for a distraction, any distraction. Something to take his attention off the sickening ache he felt whenever his thoughts went along the same lines they had been that night.

His gaze finally lit on a rather attractive woman flirting playfully with a young man far too young for her. Really, she was closer to Numair's own age, a lady that he had spent an agreeable night or two with before. He rather thought that he should rescue the young lord from what would inevitably be either embarrassment or heartbreak, because he knew for a fact that she only seriously considered the advances of men with some power.

He had pursued her, he recalled, for several weeks two or so years back, and she had made it clear that she would not mind being pursued again. She had been a pleasant diversion in evenings past, evenings that he needed to get his mind away from heavy issues and onto something more merry.

And maybe, just maybe, she would be able to divert his attention for this evening, too.

He smoothly cut into the conversation, smoothly drew the lady's attention, all the while feeling as dimensionless as a paper doll. It took no effort to engage her in small talk, no effort at all to have her practically hanging off him.

He tried desperately to focus on her, and only her. She was so sensually striking that it should have been a problem not to hone in on the swell of her chest, the hint of her hips beneath her court gown, the suggestive, inviting expression that played across her face from time to time. Yes, she was the embodiment of physical attraction. Numair was not immune to her, not at all… His body's want was certainly something to entertain his mind for the moment. He allowed himself to fall back into his old pattern of flirtation and dalliance. Yes, he began to think, this was exactly what he needed.

And then he glanced up from his conversation, and his eyes found her. His magelet.

She was finishing a dance with a young man—a clerk, if he remembered correctly—and was absolutely stunning in a blue-grey that matched the color of her eyes almost perfectly. Not that he could see her eyes from this far away; he just had their color imprinted on his heart.

He had to fight down the anger that welled up in him, to see her dancing like that with another man. The clerk seemed like a decent enough sort, and Daine seemed to be enjoying his advances… But at the same time, he couldn't stand it. She needed someone she could have intelligent conversations with. Someone who took a little bit less delight in touching her at every opportunity. Someone…taller.

But he had no claim on her. None whatsoever. And in all likelihood he never would. So he had to bottle up the rage and the bitterness and despair he felt at seeing someone so inferior in the place he so desperately wanted to be. And when the song ended, and her eyes locked on his, he had to muster up a warm smile.

He turned his attention back to the lady, at the same time aware that Daine was shaking off her escort for the moment and making her way towards him.

He acted pleasant as he took a moment away from his own companion to greet his young (oh, so young) student. They talked for a minute or two, and for that time, Numair managed to completely forget about his internal anguish. For that minute or two, he was at the center of his Daine's attention, and she was smiling up at him so charmingly, and there was nowhere in the world he would rather have been.

But then her greedy, jealous beau came to steal her back to the dance floor, and Numair was once again left alone with the lady he had been attempting to court. Somehow, though, the attraction she had held earlier in the evening had dwindled, and he was left feeling empty.

Unable to take it anymore, Numair abruptly gave a flimsy excuse about studies or an experiment and took his leave of her. He did not look back at her bewildered face, instead making a beeline for the exit. The night was still fairly young, but Numair himself felt horribly, horribly old. Just standing there, pretending to be interested in court floozies while his love danced and flirted with a covetous, simpleton clerk knowing that he could never look at her the way that inane clerk did was unbearable.

He loved a girl that he could never in good conscience touch, or even tell his feelings, and she… she would never look to him as more than a brother or an uncle.

The worst part was that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no matter what, he would stay by her side only to be a part of her life. Even if that meant constantly torturing himself with her proximity. Because he could no more stay away from her than stop loving her.

As he tumbled into his bed, the feeling of emptiness remained.