The State dinner and ball was a dull, uneventful affair. Besides Aletté being the most beautiful woman there, (and consequently making a large number of new female enemies) besides Jack managing to stay sober despite the open bar, besides Will having to very literally fend off serving amorous maids left, right, and centre, besides said things, Aletté had been right- the whole event was all-in-all a royal bore.

The next morning the court rose late after dawn, a side-effect of their late-up previous night. King Rico made his way to Aletté's chambers, and there they sat, hammering out all the most minuscule, tedious details that the Turner-Malycho wedding would contain. Will was not a part of this process- as far as Rico was concerned, this was his dear Aletté's wedding, and thus all decisions (or most, anyway) were hers to make.

Aletté felt herself begin to droop around midday, when the heat of the noon sun baked the tiny little village on the Spanish coast. She longed to kick off the shackles that was her tight-fitting bodice (though women in Spain were taken to refusing corsets) and plunge her sweaty self into the cool South Atlantic in only a shift.

Rico noticed his protégé's weariness, and smiled to himself. He was not quite as daft as the court thought, that Rico.

"My dear child," Rico said kindly. "You look as if you're about to faint. Perhaps you are coming down with something?"

Aletté nodded uncomfortable. "I feel a little dizzy." She said. And not lying, either.

"Must be the excitement of planning the festivities." He commented. "Very well, we'll resume tomorrow. Be sure to catch your rest, dear Aletté. Remember, the wedding is only three weeks hence."

Aletté nodded and strode gracefully from the room, breaking into a run as she reached the hallway. She felt almost smothered; smothered by the dress, smothered by the plans, by the heat, the court, the gossip and festivities.

But she was a lucky girl, that Aletté. It just so happened that the one thing which always let her breathe came running right into her. She fell backwards and skidded across the floor. Scooping her hair out of her face, she raised her eyes to the man she had just run in to.

"Will!"

He smiled. "Aletté." Will jumped to his feet, grabbing her by the arm and leading her off into a smaller passageway discretely. "Stay quiet for a moment, would you, sweetheart?"

Aletté felt her insides flutter as he called her that. "Okay." She waited. A few moments later, a gaggle of moony-eyed courtiers came busting through the hall they had just vacated. As they passed, Aletté noticed Will relax a little. "What was that all about?"

"These courtiers!" Will muttered. "I swear, Aletté, their the living dead!" She laughed. "Really! They just seem so-"

"It's because you're a foreigner and an adventurer." Aletté explained. "And you're handsome. It drives the Spanish girls nuts. Besides that, they know you're taken. Like the forbidden fruit."

He kissed her lightly. "We have to get out of here."

"And we will..." She paused. "This wedding, Will, Rico has so many plans, it's almost crippling. I don't know how I'll cope..."

"You'll survive." Their lips met again. "You're a fighter."

She let her eyes linger on his for a long moment. Finally, a smile crept across her face. "You want to go swimming?"

"What- now?"

"Sure." Her eyes danced mischievously. "There's a beach not too far."

Will stared at her. "I don't have any clothes for swimming!"

"You can wear breeches." She dismissed.

"And you?"

"I can swim in my shift."

He laughed. "Would that the entirely proper- a courtier of Spain allowing some common foreigner seeing her in her underclothes?" He gasped falsely. "Why, I might end up seeing your ankles!"

Aletté laughed. "Come on." She grabbed him by the arm, and they headed out of the stifling stone building, slipping past the guards with an expert knowledge characteristic of their past adventures together. The streets of Sierrbo were empty and deserted, most of the townsfolk opting to siesta rather than brave the heat of the day. The pair reached a rocky little bay with something barely fitting the definition of beach, being that it was both severely lacking in both sunshine and sand.

But these this aside, it was private.

Aletté slipped out of her dress, leaving it in a crumpled, untidy heap on the ground. She took a few cool, cleansing breaths, now free in only her shift, before turning to face Will. Her jaw dropped.

Apart from removing his shoes and belt, he was also now free of his waistcoat and blouse. She had to muster all her strength just to pry her hungry eyes away from his chest. Will was wrestling with much the same problem, gaze fixed on her slim body, more revealed through the shift.

The nature of such a garment is not really revealing in truth, but the hips of a shift as opposed to the hips of a full-skirted gown of panniers are much more form-fitting.

And so they swam, Will and Aletté, Aletté and Will, lovers of each other, of life, living the sweet water steps that lovers were made to dance.