It is strange and unsettling that he spirits himself past her guards and into her chambers for chats about literature, but there has always been the hint of strange and unsettling beneath Balthier's usual facade. He drinks her wine, discusses books and departs. And so he has done for the past several months now – a book appears on her bedside table one night, he arrives unannounced in the wee hours of the morning to discuss it a few weeks later.
"Fran has neither the patience nor the interest," he always tells her, but she wonders if that is the truth of it. "I just enjoy a good read now and again, Majesty."
She's had The Prince in Silks for a fortnight, and it's been a pleasant distraction after hours of negotiation and endless council meetings. It startles, but does not entirely surprise her when he wakes her with a tap of the worn, old volume to her forehead.
"Go away," she moans, but he's already slipped off his shoes and settled himself in the bed beside her. He never oversteps his bounds more than this. He is actually quite cordial and gentlemanly in these otherwise indiscreet sessions.
"Some heroine, no?"
Ashe sighs, sitting up and propping up her pillows for the both of them. They lean back in tandem, and he's got the book open in the middle atop her blanket. "She lets him get away with far too much. His tongue is too quick."
He laughs at that. "Ah, but the Prince Geraldine is a charming fellow."
He is indeed, Ashe knows. And the good Prince Geraldine is the literary equivalent of Balthier himself, save for the being a royal part. "She can summon espers without a crystal. Such a fanciful thing."
Balthier nudges the book open to a chapter about three quarters in. "Did you like this bit?"
She doesn't even need to see the ink on the page. "You would dare give a Queen pornographic literature. You go too far, Balthier."
He grins. "Pornographic? I didn't find it that obscene. What was so pornographic about it?"
She eyes him carefully. He's on his side of the bed. For now. But she's noticed a trend – the books he's chosen lately have been more romantically themed. Wooing a Queen with erotica – it was certainly something her usual suitors hadn't tried. Of course, Ashe wagered, it all might be an elaborate game. He might just be teasing her to get a reaction.
Ashe takes the book in her hand and skims the page. "Here, this part. Describing a bosom as 'heaving,' really?"
He shrugs. "A mere adjective. A descriptor, nothing more."
"You test my patience having me read your silly books."
"The choice to read them is yours, my lady."
"Is it when you show up, interrupt my sleep and start rambling on about allusion and symbolism and synecdoche and so forth?" Is it a choice when he's so irresistibly charming? Is it a choice when he gets so wrapped up in the story and rambles until he falls asleep beside her in the bed without having even touched her?
He grins wickedly. "Find one more objectionable passage in The Prince in Silks and I will concede that I did knowingly give Her Majesty the Queen pornographic material. But you must prove it obscene."
Simple, she wagers. "Look here. The lovemaking begins on this page." She flips several pages. "It continues. And continues. And yes, Balthier, it continues for another dozen more."
"They love each other. How is that obscene?"
She crinkles her nose. "Perhaps it is more implausible than obscene."
"Implausible that our good Prince Geraldine is so satisfying a lover that the author devotes so many pages to its description?"
"Yes."
"If we were to make love, and this is purely speculative, Majesty, I assure you." Then why are you grinning like a cat about to devour a fish, she wonders. "How many pages would it take?"
"What?"
He snatches the book and flips back, counting out the pages covering the Prince and his green-haired conquest's coupling. "Their first encounter here. Twenty-seven pages."
She feels an itching in her belly. He's sitting so close, closer than necessary. Although, he's already sitting comfortably in her bed – what's another inch closer when he's done this with her willing consent many times now? "This is an absurd conversation."
"How many pages?" Damn him. His persistence is already making her ache for him. She doesn't stop him from running a finger up the length of her arm, tickling her skin. "There's a paragraph." He repeats the gesture. "Another paragraph." She bites her lip hard as he runs two fingers along her collarbone, letting them drift teasingly to the top of her nightdress. "At least two more."
"Balthier, you are out of line."
"You wish for me to stop?"
Of course not, she thinks. He's just been buttering her up for months, letting her attraction to his velvet voice and intellect continue to develop. And with The Prince in Silks, he's primed her perfectly for this night. Prince Geraldine was unrelenting in his courtship of the simple summoner, offering her jewels and prizes. But, Ashe remembers, it was his words, the shrewd mind under all the bravado and showmanship, that really won her over. It has been a game well played indeed.
She shifts in the bed, sitting cross-legged to face him with her gown stretching just over her knees. He mirrors her pose with an expectant smirk and a wink. It was the Prince in the novel who made the first attempt at kissing, so she will not let Balthier assume the mantle of royalty in this instance. He's expecting her lips when she arrives. They're parted and warm, waiting. She supposes Balthier's waited far longer for her than he's been accustomed to in the past with his other paramours. He takes her face in his hands and deepens the kiss, the slightest chuckle in his throat. They break apart when their breaths become labored, and she sighs.
"You are a crafty man." Their lips are still in close proximity, and she finds it difficult to stay away for long.
"Surely that was a page."
"Only if one writes as flowery and overdramatic prose as the author of The Prince in Silks."
He's got his lips parked against hers still, but it takes a lot to cease Balthier's chatter. "I'll not have you insulting one of the greatest love stories of all time."
She fishes the book out from where it's been caught up in the sheets between them and tosses it to the floor. Uncrossing her legs, she scoots until she's firmly planted in his lap. "Then distract me long enough to keep me from disparaging it."
He willingly complies.