"No one could say." Fiyero leaned forward, and the cushion fell forward to lean against his back. "Aruc didn't hear either."

His father frowned. "I see."

"Without knowing…"

A nod. "I'm sure you did your best." He sat back, and Fiyero mimicked the position. "What was his response?"

"Inconclusive."

His father nodded. "We'll have to wait and see then."

Fiyero worried his lip. Should he say? "Master Jinul spoke with Three a couple days in a row now." He took a deep breath. Now or never. "And, this might be happenstance, but I think he might have been with Brother Frexspar, too."

"What makes you think so?"

Fiyero rubbed the back of his neck. "Would you think me daft for saying a smell?"

The silence drove him crazy as his father weighed the thought. "Possibly." His father studied him a moment. "A perceptive thing to notice."

Fiyero tucked his head in a nod.

"But he will be on his way soon, and out of our lands."

"Unless he stays." Fiyero held his breath. This would solve two problems for him. "If we invent a reason for him to stay."

His father's gaze sharpened. "Why?"

Fiyero popped forward again, elbows on his knees with the intensity of his thoughts. "If he leaves with his intentions unknown, how can we trust he hasn't planned some disaster for us? He might have installed his daughter in place for some purpose, and she is set to be queen someday. What if he conspires to make that day sooner?"

"So quick to take the throne, son?"

Fiyero eyes widened and he leaned away as if his future had manifested before him, an ugly cobra coiled to strike. "The opposite."

"You fear him?" His father kept a smooth expression, and Fiyero wished he could read his father's mind.

"I don't want to be foolish and regret dismissing the threat later." He'd been a fool enough in his life, particularly with this family. "Nor can we guard against the possibility forever. Isn't it better to find out now?"

His father nodded. "How would you arrange it?"

"Have him stay." And Elphaba. "Convince him to arbitrate a few tribal disputes as a neutral third-party."

His father templed his fingers. "Not a bad excuse." He tilted his head. "How long?"

"How long does it take?"

His father tilted his head as he considered. "A month, perhaps. I doubt he is so quick to leave his daughter, either. An opportunity, but we'd toe a tightrope the width of a thread."

Fiyero had felt as much. "Aruc would be too visible."

"Yes, and you, too, son." How had he known? "Besides, I have another task for you." His father stood, and Fiyero followed in kind.

"If he is to stay, I need this talk of bewitching to stop."

"It's preposterous." Fiyero shook his head. "But what can I do about it? Won't anything I say just be dismissed?"

"Miss Three is the key to the Traditionalists. If she is appeased, they will be. Befriend her. Convince her." He started to argue, but his father threw up a hand. "You'll find a way. We can't have dissention and subterfuge all around us."

He'd rather stroll naked through the Great Desert, but without lessons…oh, why not? At least he already knew her to be treacherous. And it would irritate his wife.

"And Brother Frexspar?"

His father clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Leave it to me. I've already sent you to disarm the Yunamata and Traditionalists both. I should take care of something, don't you think?"

He chuckled, and Fiyero gave a weak smile. He sat beside Three at dinner that night, trying hard to avoid the stares of the Thropp sisters.

"How is your rabbit?"

She fluttered her eyes at him. "Delicious. And yours?"

"The cook's especial delicacy, I believe. We are privileged."

She chanced a finger down his hand and frowned at a red streak along the inside of his wrist. "What happened here, my prince?"

"Merely a scratch. Perhaps assembling the altar."

Her finger continued its examination. "I would be happy to tend it. You are far too handsome to mar with a scar."

"It's a scratch," Elphaba hissed. "Not a knife wound."

Nessa's upper lip curled as if she smelled something disgusting. "Is the dinner table the proper place for this…display?" She turned her back on him with a haughty sneer.

"Oh, you needn't be squeamish," Three cooed. "Leave it to we Arjiki women. We are not afraid to care for our men, but no one expects you to match our strength." She slid his hand under the table and onto her lap. "There, it is out of sight."

Fiyero drew a long breath through his nose. "Thank you, Miss Three, but it really is nothing. Please speak no more of it."

She flashed a sweet smile at him. "As you wish, my prince."

He withdrew his hand under the pretense of cutting his meat. The girls still glared at them, though, all throughout dinner. He kept his comments neutral, and with Aruc's help managed a civil conversation that involved minimal groping of his person.

"I think I shall retire early tonight."

"Oh, what a wise plan," Three cooed. "We all ought to."

Nessa hissed softly enough the others wouldn't here, "And just where is it you plan to spend this early night?"

He matched her tone, "Not with you." She seethed silently, red-faced and glaring. "But someone will be prepared to assist you."

"I wouldn't need someone if you'd sleep where you belonged." Her snarl-twisted expression seemed grotesque on her beautiful features, like a witch's spell that couldn't hide the ugliness within. Maybe he had married the Wicked Witch from the East as the rumors said.

His lips pressed tight together, but Three slid a hand over his wrist. "Are you certain you wouldn't like some help with this? I have just the poultice for it."

He pasted on a smile. "A poultice sounds lovely."

He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and let her lead him out to her room. At the threshold, he held back. She looked over her shoulder at him, "Well, come on."

"I'll wait here." He leaned against the doorjamb, and she lifted an eyebrow. "I'll not besmirch your reputation."

She shook her head. "So old fashioned." So aware of her duplicity.

She hooked a hand on his lapel and tugged him toward her bedchamber. He had to admit, the maneuver was quite attractive, had it not been Three. But he had eyes only for one vixen, forbidden though she might be.

He pulled back. "I must insist." He rolled up his sleeve to show proof of his intentions.

She shook her head at him and ducked inside. While he waited, he busied himself with a fond daydream of Elphaba in Three's place, hauling him after her toward her bed. A tempting thought that stirred real memories of her in his bed and her own. Oz, he missed her. How awful would it be if she actually left?

When Three returned, she interpreted the foolish smile on his face in her favor, and with a coy smile, she sidled much closer than necessary. She twisted off the lid, and a strong scent of rosemary wafted from the pot.

"Yarrow," she explained. "Good for the skin and not too floral a scent for our manly prince."

"You carry poultices for such an eventuality?"

He meant it in jest, but she chose her words carefully. "I am industrious. My father may trade in silks, but I've an interest in herbs, perfumes." She clicked the pot closed. "I don't have to be what my father is."

If only he should be so lucky.

She eyed him as if expecting more, but his patience with her came in limited doses. He retreated with thanks. Still, her words rattled in his mind half the night, chasing him through his dreams. They touched a nerve in him that he had shut off too long.

By dawn he'd banished them again. His life was his life, the good and the bad. No need for all this thinking. Nothing could change it. Too bad he'd wasted his dreams wrestling such an obvious reality.

He clumped off to breakfast, ill-rested and with a sore neck. He plopped grouchily into his seat and sipped at his coffee.

Predictably, Three materialized to torment him with flirtation, and he ought to indulge her. He hoped the lack of caffeine would forgive his laconic responses. She didn't seem to mind, wrapping around his arm and nattering on about his warmth.

"Fiyero, can I speak with you?" He looked up in surprise at Elphaba's voice. "In private."

Hadn't she forbade just that? Oz, what had he done now? He scrubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "I'm not sure I'm ready for another quarrel this early in the morning."

"It's not a quarrel." He lifted an eyebrow. "It's not," she added sharply.

Three tightened her grip on him. "Surely it might wait until after breakfast."

"It's important." He drew a sharp breath at that. Nothing good ever followed those words, not from her. She hid her eyes in his coffee. "It's about that…book you mentioned. I thought we might discuss it again."

His eyes snapped to hers. "The book?"

She couldn't mean it. He nearly leapt from his seat after her, Three's scoffs a dull noise in his ear.

"Of course. Shall we?"

Three frowned. Great, he'd have to undo that later, too, then. She crossed her arms. "Which book? You needn't leave to discuss it."

Elphaba turned on her with a sweet smile. "Oh, but it would be so rude of us to discuss it in front of you." She set a coquettish hand on his arm. "You wouldn't understand any of it."

They continued to bicker until he stepped in with a dismissive tone. "Please excuse us." He collected Elphaba and had her up the stairs before she could catch her breath. "I thought we'd retired this book. Too dangerous."

Her arms banded around her middle. "Well, perhaps I was…hasty."

"Hasty?" He eyed her dangerously. She'd misled his hope before. "As in…?"

"As in we might could consider future…book discussions." She rolled her eyes at herself and their terrible code.

"Is that so?" They reached the library, and he let his hand drift to the small of her back. The room looked different somehow. It had only been a couple days since they'd abandoned their nest here, but it looked cold somehow. Empty. He shut the door, and then turned to her. "How do I know you won't decide they're too dangerous again?"

"You don't." She lifted her eyebrow with a look like a tutor. "Because they are. But you might have been right. Surely we can discuss the book without…reading other manuals."

He drew his hand down her arm with a chuckle. "You were right. This is a terrible code."

"And you were right." She met his eyes directly. "I'm sorry." The honesty overwhelmed her, and she tipped her head down. "I didn't mean for this."

He cupped her cheek before they fell down that well of sadness. He'd just gotten her back. They could be sad later.

"So we'll start lessons again?"

She bit her lip. "Yes, I suppose."

He tucked a loose strand behind her ear as a thought struck him. "You wore your hair down."

She blushed. "I wanted you to forgive me."

"So it was for me." He grinned and shifted closer. All the thoughts that inspired. Some wicked, but mostly he felt glad she cared again. "Consider yourself thoroughly forgiven."

She stepped into his arms, and he wrapped them tight around her. She fit so perfectly. They spent a long moment like that, just absorbing the feel of the other. Warm and solid and here.

"We can be friends, can't we?"

She peeked up him, all big eyes and soft, flowing hair. Hair that had last wrapped around his wrist when he'd woken beside her. "Friends," he agreed, though his kiss lingered too long on her forehead for friends.

She gave him a cautioning grimace.

"What?" He let his lips find her cheek next. "I mayn't kiss a friend on the cheek?"

"Not like that," she sighed.

"Oh?" He let his nose trail over her soft, perfect skin. "Like what? Like this?" He brushed a lingering kiss on her temple.

"Fiyero," she warned. And he leaned back. He'd promised to behave, even if he really didn't want to.

"I missed you," he confessed his excuse. He pulled her into a tight, chaste hug. "Oz, so much."

"It's only been a day."

"And two nights," he whined. She laughed, and her hair tickled over his wrists.

She tucked her nose against his neck. "I missed you, too."

"Please tell me you've reconsidered?" She leaned back and tilted her head with a frown. "Staying," he clarified. Her eyes flicked away.

"I'm surprised we haven't left already." He shifted, and she picked up on it at once. "What have you done?"

He took a step back and confessed his plan. They bickered over how long she should stay, and he changed the conversation lest she try to leave now. Quite the runner, that girl. "I think we'll turn this about today. It's about time for you to have a lesson."

Her eyes narrowed.

He slipped back with a grin. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to brush my hair." He went to the desk and shuffled through the pages there.

Her curiosity overwhelmed her, and she hovered by his elbow to read the tiny numbers. "I've wondered if you were actually writing, or just doodling over here."

He laughed. "You and every tutor I've ever had."

"So you're this kind of student for everyone, huh?"

He nosed her hairline. "Not exactly, but the hardheadedness is right." He collected a blank parchment and pen. His eyes flicked to the settee, which would offer seating, but no flat surface.

He sat and pulled her onto his lap. She pushed off, but he placed the pen in her hand to prove his intentions.

He swirled her hand and pen over the page. "That is the ancient Arjiki spelling for your name."

She tilted her head, her attention caught and focused on the lesson. "You have different spellings?"

"Here is Nessa's." He guided her over the page. "And mine."

She traced over his neatly. "Do all Vinkuns know this?"

He nodded behind her. "All Arjikis do. Is daoine muid a bhfuil aithne acu foghlaim on am ata thart." She looked back at him as if he'd grown wings. "We are a people who know to learn from the past."

"It's beautiful." She leaned back to study his face. "Say something else."

"Ta tu go halainn, mo bhanphrionsa alainn." He wound the words out, his eyes soft on her lips. "Ni ligfidh go deo thu." And he meant it in every language he could speak – his devotion to her. He'd never let her go, no matter how much she ran.

"What did you say?"

He grinned. "I shan't tell you. You'll be cross." She scowled at the secret, and he laughed. "I fear it was too complimentary to you. You seem to like it best when I keep my thoughts of your beauty to myself."

She flushed at that. Her head swiveled back to the page. "How do I write, hello?"

He helped her with a few more common phrases before the awkward pose made her shift. He took advance of her motion to settle her more firmly against him, his chin resting atop her shoulder.

She made a diligent student, precisely the opposite of himself. Every ounce of her concentration rested in copying the ancient language, committing it to memory, massaging the syllables to sound more natural from her inexperienced mouth.

He could help with minimal attention, the rest wandering over the feel of her body against his. He wanted to kiss her. He let his lips trailed through her hair, reveling in the soft strands that were so rarely his to explore.

"Thank you," she said, and he dimly repeated the words for her in Arjiki.

"Go raibh maith."

She attempted to repeat them. "Go bhraith."

He nearly dropped her. A subtle change, but a large one in meaning. Bhraith for feel. The way Sarima used to sigh at him to keep going in a definitely less than platonic sense.

"Se sin maith," he added, just to torture himself with the whirlwind of emotions those words brought.

She copied them with more accuracy now, then put it together. That felt so good. His eyes closed. He heard the phantom words, but couldn't add them: dont stad, sea, ansin, mo gra.

It stirred more than just his heart, parts of him that could make her place on his lap quite awkward. He helped her stand. "I think that's plenty for one day."

She gave him space to shuffle away the pages, and he tried to reign himself in. She'd just come back. Their very first lesson. He had to get control of himself.

He shut the drawer and led them toward the door. She paused at the threshold and caught his hand. With a piercing look full of gratitude, she repeated what she thought meant thanks.

He tipped a small smile, the best he could manage. He'd correct her tomorrow, when it felt less fresh in her memory and he could claim misunderstanding. Right now, he needed some very cold water to chase away the memory of her body against his, her sighing Sarima's words at him.

Guilt flushed through him just as strongly as arousal. She was right to keep them apart. He was selfish, and foolish, and every other -ish he could think of.

Three started toward them, and he ought to invite her to join, despite Elphaba's annoyance, so he could continue the task his father had set him on. But those eyes, Sarima's eyes, judged him, and with a puny excuse, he fled.