Update A/N: I didn't rewrite anything, I just corrected some errors, including the color of Numair's eyes. Thanks for all the reviews!

A/N: This is a sequel to 'Stumbling Steps', taking place about half a day after the end of the first one-shot. I was experimenting with a few things, and was taking a break from 'Lingering Ghosts', so it might not be as good as the first, or have the same tone. If that's true, I'm sorry, and I'll try to make up for it in 'Ghosts' and in my next one-shot. Thanks for all your support.

Disclaimer: I don't own Daine or Numair, Tamora Pierce does; I did borrow them for a while, so any out-of-character behavior or tone is my fault. Don't sue, okay?

Threshold
Himura Seraphina

She stirred quietly, waking, out of long habit, both quickly and without any quick movements. She too often shared a bed with numerous furred companions, and sharp movements would dislodge or injure them; many years of traveling and, more recently, war, had taught her to wake quickly out of necessity, without the luxury of clinging to sleep.

She was warm—far more so than usual, even in the summer. Along her entire length was a warm form which didn't seem like that of one of her animal friends; not only was it too large, but there was no fur against her skin, and the scent was wrong. No animal had that warm, spicy scent.

Spice.

Daine's eyes flew open to find a broad expanse of swarthy skin stretched over lean muscle and bone. She was draped across it, her head resting comfortably in a hollow, and her hand over a rhythmic pulse. Her legs were tangled with another's, and a long, powerful arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, a warm hand resting on her hip.

Numair.

Memories rose of the night before. Discussing his newest project from the king; teasing him about his single-minded focus when it came to seeking knowledge; finding herself, quite happily, in his embrace, until he'd drawn back.

Arguing, nudging, and prying until he'd admitted why he always drew back before they became too lost in passion; feeling, knowing that talking about their fears was the only way to get anywhere in their relationship, and that this was only the first on a list of worries they shared—and yet did not discuss; hearing him confess that particular fear.

'I don't—I don't want you to regret anything, sweet…if it falls to pieces…if losing you in the first place didn't kill me, then knowing that you would want to wish away being my lover would.'

Finally—finally—fulfilling the promise held in so many embraces, so many of the looks between them over the last months; finally seeing in his eyes as that last thread of control frayed, then snapped.

'No regrets, magelet.'

She turned her head slightly, pressing closer to his chest, and closed her eyes. The air she breathed in was filled with his scent, one that was only his—one she recognized no matter what shape she wore, no matter what state she was in.

Cloth sliding away, baring flesh to the cool night air, candlelight flickering over both of their skins—one pale, the other dusky; a heartbeat's hesitation, a faint tremble as they went beyond what she knew; sweet kisses paired with murmured words and reassurances in a voice harsh with passion.

Mild aches became known, not true pain but an echo of it—a reminder, if she needed one.

Gentle hands, brief, delicate brushes of fingertips along skin; hesitating, returning, lingering whenever she quivered, learning every inch of her flesh; shuddering as she reached for something unknown at his encouragement; 'Trust me, magelet—just let go'; climbing, flying as she obeyed.

She shifted her legs slightly, moving closer, so close that there was no room between them for even air to pass, ignoring the twinge she felt; another reminder.

Dark eyes, shinning with desire and love, lust and affection; 'Daine, are you sure—', a fierce kiss, silencing the unfinished question; warmth, weight pressing he down into the pillows; a pain—mild, then sharper—and pressure; 'I'm sorry, sweet,'.

She laid her head over his heart, its beat strong and steady, a primal reassurance.

Climbing once more, dark eyes holding hers captive, urging her on without words; hands, no longer quite so gentle, but eagerly sought; skin, slick with sweat, over muscles quivering under her hands; his husky whispers, fading into breathless gasps as he drove her higher, beyond reason, until only the velvet eternity of his eyes was remained; 'I love you'.

"I love you."

He drifted into wakefulness, reluctant to emerge from the restful, uninterrupted sleep that had become a luxury rather than a right. Many times over the last year and a half he had been summoned early in the morning—or even in the middle of the night—usually leading to a packed saddlebag and a journey at the king's request. To be able to take the time to stir slowly was a privilege.

A warm weight presses against his side and draped over his chest, with silken threads brushing his arm and shoulder, causing a light frown of confusion. His fingers brushed satiny skin where they curved over supple flesh, and a warm, faintly musky scent drifted lightly in his nose.

Daine.

He froze, turning his head a fraction so he could see where she lay. Her head cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, her chestnut curls spreading out behind her in all directions, engulfing the arm that was wrapped gently around her waist, her own small hand curled directly over his heart, as if claiming it.

It was already hers.

The night returned to him in a brief flood even as he felt her even breath against his throat. The pleasure of having her close, relaxed and teasing within the security of the Palace; desire, ever-present, rising swiftly when he pulled her into his embrace; reaching the end of his control and, of-so-reluctantly, drawing back.

Being brought to a halt by her determined questions, trapped between his worries and insecurities and her impassioned demands, until he'd been forced to air his thoughts to her; having her disperse them with logic and honesty.

No one's ever loved me the way you have—you see me, all of me, know all my faults and still love me not despite of them but because of them…you saw enough in me, respected me enough, to give me learning, and books…you've given me nothing but respect…

His fears, at least those particular ones, being washed away, along with his remaining control, in the flood of her words and the emotion behind them.

'I could never regret anything about what's between us, Numair…there is no one, not in all the realms who I would rather have as a lover…as my only lover.'

His fingers tightened on her hip as he turned his face slightly, brushing his lips against one of the tangled curls that fell across his shoulder, savoring the scent and silky texture of the strands. Her hair embodied all that she was to him; stubborn, soft, vibrant, eye-catching, and irresistible.

A soft sigh in the air as fingers brushed along newly-exposed flesh, their size and swarthy complexion in stark contrast to milky skin; delicate hands with light calluses—small yet so strong—fumbling against his skin as they drew away cloth, driving him to madness even as his voice encouraged them; murmurs, quiet whispers in a voice that became husky, and then breathless.

He felt her shift slightly, turning her face into his chest, her warm breath causing goose bumps to rise on his arms.

Muscles tightening, straining, as he grasped at fraying control, nearly broken by her moans; 'Numair…?'; guiding, driving her with hands and lips, touch and voice; needing to please her first, last, always; her whimpered scream raking claws of passion through him, drawing him tighter as she reached greater heights.

He heard her breathing change, knowing she was awake, aware—remembering.

Grey-blue eyes blurred with passion, holding desire and confusion, love and surprise as she flew once more; nails digging into his shoulders, an absent sting, as he finally, finally, made her his; 'Don't—stop—don't you—dare—stop.'

He eased her closer as their legs tangled further, wanting her as close as possible without sharing the same skin; savoring the feel of skin-on-skin.

Breathless sobs echoing in his ears, heard over the pounding of his blood; her pale, slender form arching under his touch, her gaze never leaving him; release clawing at him, stripping away any remnants of restraint, leaving only her—her scent, her touch, and the fathomless blue of her eyes as he fell into their depths accompanied only by her impassioned cries.

Her head moved over his heart, the sight causing a nearly painful lurch within him, and he spoke the only words he could grasp in that moment.

"I love you."

At his words—low and soft enough that she briefly thought that they were merely an echo of her whirling memories—Daine lifted her head from his chest just enough to met his gaze. Deep brown eyes met blue-grey, lingering for a long moment as the watched each other, searching.

Daine saw concern in his face as he watched her and, along with a deep tenderness in his eyes, she saw a glimmer of the same heat that had burned in him the night before. Nowhere was there unhappiness, or the dissatisfaction she had feared seeing there.

'No regrets, magelet.'

Numair saw a light blush in her cheeks, but in typical Daine fashion met his stare stubbornly, refusing to look away in embarrassment despite the faintest flicker of her eyes. There was no regret, only steadiness and strength, and the blush fueled not only by embarrassment but memories and lingering passion. He found none of the recriminations or disappointment he had half-expected.

'No regrets, Numair.'

"Are you alright, magelet?"

Her blush deepened slightly even as the hint of a grin touched her lips. "Do you doubt it?"

He chuckled, but his eyes remained solemn as he stroked a finger down her cheek. "I thought you might be sore—I hurt you."

…a pain—mild, then sharper—and pressure…

'I'm sorry, sweet.'

"Odd's bob's, Numair, I'm perfectly fine; it's no different than learning to ride a pony—I'm only a bit sore from muscles I've never used before."

He laughed outright at Daine relating the loss of her virginity to learning to ride. "A pony?" he asked, wickedly.

She scowled at him, turning a bright pink, when his teasing pointed out the implications of her remark—she didn't spend so much time around soldiers and Riders without hearing a lot of bawdy jokes. He chuckled at her expression until she knocked him breathless, saying, still blushing furiously, "Well, in terms of stamina…"

"Daine!" he managed, shock and laughter warring within him.

"You asked for it."

Laughter won. When he regained control of himself, Daine was once more curled up on his chest, a smug grin on her face as she looked up at him. "I've created a monster."

"Don't take all the credit—I managed well enough without your terrible influence."

He glowered at her teasingly, stroking her hair with one hand. "Enough, magelet—tell me truthfully, are you sore?"

She shrugged; pink staining her cheeks lightly once more as she glanced away. Lovemaking might not make her uncomfortable enough to hide her eyes, but weakness did. "A bit, I suppose, but I'm fine." She glanced back at him, shyly. "It was worth it."

'…there is no one, not in all the realms, who I would rather have as a lover…'

'Daine, are you sure—'

'Don't—stop—don't you—dare—stop.'

He smiled gently, stroking a thumb along her bottom lip. "Really?"

"Stop fishing, Numair," was the tart response. "Besides, I'm not the only one who's sore." At his blank look, she pointed to his shoulder. Along the back of his upper arm and shoulder, red crescents scored his flesh, perfectly matching Daine's nails. Only when he noticed them did he feel a slight stinging, and the echo of it in the other arm.

…nails digging into his shoulders, an absent sting…

He smiled at her. "It was worth it," he returned. At her scowl, he waited.

Patience was not Daine's strength, and only a moment later she demanded, "Well? Was it?"

"Absolutely, sweet."

…he finally, finally, made her his…

They lay quiet for several minutes, Numair's hand once returning to her hair, and Daine curling her hand against his collarbone as they savored the moment and each other's presence.

"Daine…" came a soft voice after a time.

"No doubts, Numair," she whispered, half firm, half pleading.

'Be sure.'

'No regrets, Numair.'

"Never," was the fierce reply. "That's not it."

"Then what?"

"I love you."

'No regrets…'

'I love you.'

She sat up, ignoring the faint twinges in the muscles that had been under discussion earlier. She had a brief impression of his confused, concerned face before she leaned down, kissing him, putting all the love she felt into the embrace.

He returned it, sweetly at first, their lips clinging lightly, parting, and brushing together again. Soon the kiss deepened, lingering, taking as well as giving, claiming as much as sharing.

"Daine?" he finally managed when they were once again tangled together, arms entwined and hearts racing.

"I'm not going anywhere, Numair," she told him, fierce and determined rather than gentle and reassuring. "I don't care about anything else—not what other people think, or about how different we are, or how old you are and how young I am. I don't care about anything, except that I love you and that I want to be with you; today, tomorrow, forever. I'm not leaving, and I won't give up on us; Goddess strike me if I lie."

'…there's no one…who I would rather have…my only lover…'

'No regrets, Numair.'

His mouth claimed hers once more, so intently that it stole her breath in an instant. She stared dazedly at his face, fierce with passion and certainty.

"You're mine, Daine," he said, his tone soft in comparison with his intense face, but laced with steel. "You're everything, and I won't let you go, not now—not for anything."

'Be sure.'

'No regrets, magelet.'

…only her—her scent, her touch, and the fathomless blue of her eyes…

"I wouldn't go in any case."

They stared at each other, breathing rapidly more from emotion than lust, eyes not just searching the other's gaze but burning into it, almost in a form of branding. Slowly, hesitatingly, the tension eased, expressions softening, even though their declarations lingered in the air and their thoughts. Numair raised a hand, cupping Daine's cheek in his palm.

"Forever, Daine," he murmured.

She gripped his fingers in her own. "Whatever happens," she agreed.

'No regrets…'

There were no priests, no licenses, none of the trappings that that anyone else would see necessary mark permanence or commitment, but both lovers understood that not words, but vows, had been spoken. Marriage was an inescapable union, bound by chains of law and propriety: true commitment was not made with pen and ink, but in conscious choice of heart and soul. Beyond the bedroom door lay the world, all of its follies and troubles, criticisms and trials, but here they answered only to their own hearts—beyond fear, beyond censure, certain of their feelings and how they chose to express them for the rest of their lives; whatever happened, forever.

'No regrets.'