On a role with these updates! xD Oh, I'd like to thank my wonderful friend SerendipityAEY for making the beautiful front cover for this story. I did not expect it and to wake up to that this morning was wonderful! Thank you so much, girl. You rock! ;D

Of course, all of you readers rock as well!

Chapter 12. Learning.

Storming from the darkened and charged atmosphere of the hut, Elmont felt a restriction lift off of his chest, allowing him to breathe. In taking chunks of air, as if he had been submerged in water and his head had only just broke the surface, he felt like a lumbering blind man stumbling through the dark as he found refuge beside the shadowy silhouette of a tree.

His hand, as if burnt, swiftly withdrew itself from the tree the moment his palm ran over a thin layer of damp moss. He instead chose to lean his arm against it, the sleeve of his black and burgundy jerkin covering the still heated skin beneath.

He felt as if he were on fire, the skin of his back still burning from where Isabelle's fingers had brushed against him multiple times. It was enough to send shivers down his spine. He shouldn't want such things.

'You would only continue to be dishonest with yourself if you said that you didn't want more.'

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut and further leaning his weight against the sturdy tree until his head brushed the thick, jagged surface, he fought against his own line of thought that was demanding he return to her, take her in his strong arms and continue his previous lines of kisses and never stop.

As soon as the thought crossed his clouded mind he snapped his eyes open, vivid blue replacing the pale storm as he briskly walked towards his own given hut. He couldn't, just couldn't feel this way. She was the Princess of Cloister, for goodness sake, and he was only a mere knight! If her father were to ever discover their relationship before they were ready to inform him he was certain that he'd never even be able to so much as look at her again without some form of punishment.

Yet the very notion of that ever happening was, to him, above all other punishments. Nothing compared to that than being forbidden to even lay his eyes upon his love.

The thought alone felt like it could kill him right then and there. His hand absently went to lay across his chest, over his thumping heart, as if wounded.

'You'd have an excuse to return,' his own voice, darker and disturbingly seductive, whispered to him. 'Your armour is still in there. Just go in. How would the king ever realise when he's not even awake?'

With panicked blue eyes he cast them along his surroudnings. Amongst the group of laughing men who were still huddled around the dancing fire he couldn't see the golden armour of the king glinting in the light at all. For a single moment he thought of listening to the voice and succumbing to his desire to return and greet her glowing presence. However, his rationality came rushing back to him.

"No!" he hissed as he all but ran to his hut, trying his best to maintain a calm composure.

Bursting in and nearly slamming the door, he settled himself down onto the single and narrow wooden bed at the far side of the two room dwelling, ignoring the creaks as he fell onto it, focusing instead on trying to stop the quaking of his clasped hands and steady his uneven breathing.

Sleep – he just needed to sleep on it and then he would be over it.

Laying back and allowing his head to hit the soft pillow beneath, he tried not to compare it to the gentleness of her hands. Taking a deep breath, he slowly closed his eyes, allowing sleep to claim him and his exhaustion.

Yet as he felt himself fall into oblivion the thought of what might have happened haunted him in his subconscious – and he only managed to scratch at the surface of awakening. He was left abandoned to subject of his unbridled passions.

The next day his eyes snapped open, awakening him in a clammy sweat. Rolling over to his right side and gasping from both pain and the clarity of the dream he'd experienced he carefully pushed himself up to a sitting position, running a shaking hand through his sticky hair.

He painfully bit his bottom lip in frustration at the vivid images of the dream flashing through his mind; how he enveloped her slender form in his powerful arms; hungry lips seeking hers and responding to her own mix of dominant and gentle kisses in kind; hands eagerly exploring the contours they'd never dare dreamed of venturing over before.

His scalp tingled from where he could have sworn he felt her fingers dig into and pull on his hair, and he quickly whipped his right arm up behind his head, hand grasping nothing but thin air and his soaked hair. A rush of relief washed over him, and he pondered why, of all times, must his emotions demand for him to act on his passions for her. It was honestly the most indecent time for them to strike.

Despite his fear of the king possibly stopping him from even so much as look at his great love again, he feared something considerably more:

Losing his self-control.

Elmont liked self-control. He liked abiding by the rules – such the opposite of the princess. He liked practicality and preparation.

But all of that seemed to crumble around him every time his thoughts drifted to her. Whenever he thought of her now his stomach would tighten as his thoughts took him to more delicate places of her beauty. He felt like he no longer had control of his limbs, as if he were a puppet on a string and his maker would force him to dance over the obstacles set in his mind and sail straight into her arms.

He'd noticed her own desire when she had treat his wound once again in the previous evening. Her fingers had ghosted so delicately over his skin that he suppressed the shivers threatening to tingle down his spine, instead tightening the planes of his well-toned muscles. Every time her fingers drew over the surface of his back he'd felt a trail of fire being left in her wake, soaking into his skin and blazing in his gullet, gut instinct demanding him to turn around and hold her with the intent of never letting go.

Yet he resisted for both of their sakes, managing to stop himself from kissing her a third and more passionate time. A virtuous man, such as himself, did not just act on some pubescent childish need based entirely on sexual attraction. He'd fought the fog that threatened to cloud his judgement with lust as he turned to face her afterwards. When he saw the same emotion misting over her cerulean eyes – in which he'd almost felt his carefully structured control collapse - he also saw the conflict within; the fear.

He understood that she feared rejection – he would never deny her anything – and whether or not it was truly what she wanted. He did not think that she cared as much as he on her father's opinion. All she knew was that she loved him.

And of course he loved her back. more than anything in the world, despite having initially fought it three years ago when he first found the emotion concerning her deep within himself.

Now he only fought the urge he was constantly experiencing whenever he was near her.

No matter its strength, he was strong. He would hold out.

Deciding that he needed to clear his head, he climbed to his feet and gently pushed the door open, stepping out into the cool breeze. The air fanning across his face seemed to carry all of his unease away with it, comforting him as he cast his gaze around the near silent woodland camp.

Barely anyone he recognised, save very few who lived here, were present, acting upon their daily duties of cooking and settling their children down to eat. His sharp eyes inspected their goods splayed out on the dirt ground before them. Gleaming silver pots and cauldrons stood in the light. Few of the dwellers clothes, whilst thick, looked rather illustrious, some wearing dressing that had golden thread weaving through it. His forehead creased, eyebrows arched low, fairly suspicious of how mere woodland dwellers could acquire such glorious objects and clothing of high class as he tore his gaze from them and searched for something else.

The thought of seeing the king and addressing him on the manner of their stay here swam across his mind, yet was quickly obliterated when his gaze stilled on the hut directly across from his.

The same hut he had been in last night where his relationship with the young woman within had very nearly pushed him to do something he'd never thought he'd do.

Even though he was aware of his armour still standing in there, he didn't want to enter at the fear of nearly acting on his emotions once again. However he found he couldn't control himself as he walked towards the hut. He vividly thought of the puppeteer playing with the strings again as he approached, powerless to stop himself as he came to a halt in front of the door.

He gently rasped his knuckles against the door, calling her name. No reply. Tentatively, he pushed the door open and poked his head through. There, lying on the single bed at the far end of the cabin and fast asleep, was Isabelle.

Smiling to himself and partially relieved he slipped in through the small gap between the door and the wall, quietly making his way to his armour which still stood where it was deposited last night.

With each step he worried that he was making himself more heard over her slow, deeping breathing and that he would rouse her at any given moment. The worry ate away at him, putting him on edge as he carefully leant over and grasped his armour chest piece, lifting it into the crook of his right arm, eyes never leaving her silent form.

Before he even realised it, he was crouching at the edge of her bed, face hovering in front of hers that he could just feel her breath flutter across his cheek. Even in her sleep she looked just as beautiful to him as she always had – and so at peace.

That was something he hadn't seen in a very long time, ever since her mother's passing. Her deeply hidden trauma was always visible to him above others. It was one of the reasons why he elected to take her to the lake every year for the anniversary of the former queen and her daughter's final visit; where he'd make sure that she was the happiest person alive.

Seeing her the way she looked right now, free from all of the stress, catastrophe and heartbreak brought him solace.

Unconsciously, he gingerly reached out and drew his white knuckles down her right cheek. She stirred slightly upon the stroke but did not awaken, and he found himself slightly disappointed that her eyes didn't open, like curtains, to reveal the two dazzling cerulean depths that he always longed to stare in to.

Electing to allow her further rest, he withdrew his hand and leant forwards, closing his eyes and delicately placing a chaste kiss upon her silent and unmoving lips, tenderly raking the fingers of his left hand through her brunette tresses.

Opening his eyes he found that she was still asleep. Smiling to himself at how peaceful she looked, he stood up and silently swept out from the small enclosure, softly closing the door behind him and striding back over to his hut and depositing his black armour inside.

Stepping out again he found more people gradually emerging, the king among them. Without a seconds hesitance he made his way over to Brahmwell.

"Ah, Elmont," he greeted the knight smiling. However Elmont still noted the weariness across his face and in his eyes.

"Your Majesty," he bowed. "I wish to discuss how long our welcome may last here."

"Ah, yes," the king replied, crossing his left arm over his chest and propping the elbow of his left arm atop, knuckles resting beneath his bearded chin. "I have spoken to William already last night. After my daughter dragged you off to treat your wound I had assumed you went to rest not long after."

Elmont swallowed, fear growing in the pit of his stomach. The king couldn't possibly know, could he? His steel eyes were unreadable, and it scared Elmont more than he previously imagined.

"She looked very concerned about you when she went to dispose of the old bandaging she used to cover that wound of yours."

A great gust of relief barrelled into Elmont and he almost sighed in relief, only managing to catch it as he sternly reminded himself of who he was before. Someone who didn't know and who he wasn't quite ready to tell about Isabelle and he yet.

Wishing to steer the conversation elsewhere he quickly complimented Isabelle's healing qualities and enquired about William's final verdict on their stay.

"We are welcome for as long as is necessary."

'Good. Everyone is exhausted. We could all use plenty of more rest before moving on. Or maybe they could even help us. They seem to be warriors.'

He immediately chastised himself for that final thought. He would not involve innocent people who did not associate themselves with the affairs of kingdoms across Albion. They're lives were not expendable like his and they had the right to do as they pleased. This was his and his men's affair.

'But if we could contact our allies…'

"There you are!" A familiar north eastern voice boomed. Elmont spun around on his heel to meet the glowing face of William Strider approaching them. He lunged before the knight, arms spread wide like an eagle's wings, and clapped both of his shoulders enthusiastically.

"William, it's pleasant to see you," Elmont greeted, a thin smile crossing his face. He was sure that the king was smiling behind his shoulder.

"It is a pleasure to see you as well, my friend!"

'Friend?'

An inquisitive expression formed over Elmont's face for a split second.

The burly man missed his questioning stare, still smiling broadly, revealing two rows of faintly yellow and straight teeth through the bushy mess of his dark facial hair.

"You and your people are welcome here for as long as you like, Elmont!"

"Yes, my king has just informed me," the Captain of the king's guardians flexed his fingers unconsciously, feeling slightly awkward at the broad openness and proximity of someone who had suddenly announced that they were friends and who he had fought not even a full day ago.

As if William sensed this, he stepped back, releasing Elmont from his hold, his toothy grin diminishing into a smile the knight could barely see through his thick beard.

"Come with me, my friends. There is something that I would very much like to show you," William announced as he turned around, his back facing Elmont, and began walking away further into the forest and from camp.

Following, and briefly glancing over his right shoulder to see that the king was also tailing him, he called out to the large and retreating figure. "And what exactly is it that you want to show us?"

He was aware the whole time that his right hand had automatically, as a reflex, drifted to his sword hilt that was safely in his dark scabbard and strapped to the left side of his belt.

"Our way of life."

Okay, so Elmont understands his own developing feelings and the magnitude of them as well as Isabelle's, hence the title of this chapter. He also understands, no matter how tempting it is to ask for their assistance, that his and those who survived Cloister's affairs are their own. And in the next update we will learn William and his people's way of life and what our lovely, wonderful Elmont thinks about it! As always, hope you all enjoyed and that I'll see you for the next update! :D