Conviction

by Peppermint Stick

Medieval Trory. Tristan had Rory's family killed, but she escaped. Years later she's brought to the castle, but until he figures out who she is, who's to say a king can't fall for a fiery peasant who hates him for reasons he can't figure out?

12. Chapter 12

Tristan woke slowly, the sunlight slanting through the open curtains over his window falling on his face and heating the skin. He sighed quietly and then froze, surprised by a warm weight curled against his side. He was aware of a lean arm laid over his chest, could feel the small fingers resting on his collarbone. There was a warm torso and stomach pressed against his side and a leg thrown across his pelvis, the soft inside of a woman's thigh pressed against his left hip, the expanse of her upper leg laying across his lower abdomen, and the inside of her knee pressed against his other hipbone.

His arm was wrapped around her, holding her small frame close. Long hair brushed against his arm. He could feel her breathing.

Tristan shifted without opening his eyes, wondering briefly why someone was next to him in his bed. She shifted next to him and her hair stirred against his arm, releasing the scent of wildflowers and the night before came back to him in a shuddering blaze.

He could still picture Leigh in his arms, one hand over his heart, telling him that she wasn't going to leave him....refusing to walk away even when she knew where the night would lead; he could still see her face, open and innocent, but void of uncertainty. He could still hear her voice, quiet and conceding as she whispered to him that she was there, there for him. He saw her face behind his eyelids, set and warm and smiling in a way he'd never hoped to see her look at him, as she kissed him and opened herself up to him, assuring him that he wouldn't damage her. That she wasn't fragile. That she trusted him.

He remembered the first touch of her skin, of her stomach and her back and her chest as he pulled off her slip and she arched off the bed, lifting herself to help him get it off. He felt her hands running up his sides, pulling him closer against her as his lips ran down her neck, biting her gently as she gasped beneath him. He could still feel her bare skin, pressed between his body and the sheets of his bed as it heated in response to his touch. He'd slid his hand down between them, intending to heat her skin faster, when she'd grabbed his wrist. He still felt her hand on it, her fingers pressed hard around the joint as she guided his hand back up her body, away from her hip.

He still felt her hands, the fingers that were capable of wielding a sword and bringing a grown man to his death in moments, sliding hesitantly down his chest, making his muscles jump and his own skin catch fire. Still felt them pulling at the string of his pants until it was just his flaming skin against hers and nothing separated them.

He still saw her eyes, open and clear and shining, her mouth slightly open but grinning at the same time. Somehow, through the darkness of the night as he'd strained to see her body, her face had remained so blindingly bright in that moment that it almost hurt his eyes. It had been her expression, wiped clean of all uncertainty or fear or mask, that had gotten him. That had made him shake.

He could still hear her gasp into his mouth, her lips pressed hard against his and her hands clenching painfully in his hair as he'd entered her. He could still feel her body tensed around him, frozen in place as she adjusted to him. He could still taste the single salty tear she couldn't hold back, her eyes closed tight against the pain as he laid still within her. He'd kissed the tear away from her cheek, trailing his lips down her face to her neck, kissing her slowly and warmly, speaking softly against her skin. He'd said things he couldn't recall as his mouth had found its way back up her face, covering her cheeks and forehead and eyelids with affectionate, reassuring kisses before it found hers again. It took her a moment to respond, her breath still controlled through the pain, and he would have pulled away from her, as painful as it would have been, to stop her hurting. He almost did, but as she felt him begin to slide out of her she'd snapped her arms around his neck, opening her eyes to lock her shimmering azure eyes with his, whispering to him to stay.

He could still feel her body under his, a blend of hard muscles and soft curves. He could still feel her lips against his neck and his shoulders and his face; could still feel her hot breath against his ear as she'd whimpered softly, small sounds of pleasure escaping her mouth as she clutched him tighter to her. He still felt the thrumming ache as her blunt nails scraped down his back, her fingers pulling at his skin as she rode out her pain. She'd responded to him reflexively and he could still hear her crying his name quietly, her head falling back as she arched into him, could still feel her lips fused to his as he thrust gently into her, pressing her lightly until she learned how to move with him.

He still felt her all around him. Could still smell her skin and her hair. He still saw her eyes: wide and blue and full like no one else's in the world. He still felt her hands in his hair, forcing him to look at her. To make him see her. No one had ever done that before. He didn't know if it was just because most women were self conscious, or if it was because he was the king, so they didn't want to force him to do anything he didn't want, but no woman had ever made him look into her eyes before, had ever captivated him.

Leigh did.

Tristan finally opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling above his bed. And here she was, the next morning, curled against him. He blinked slowly up at the stone above him, his brain had been racing forward but now it was still, unmoving and unthinking. She was in his bed. Asleep in his bed. He'd taken her in his bed. No woman had ever touched his bed. His escapades had been spread all throughout the castle, many in his study, many even in his rooms....the lounge, mainly, but also his sitting room and the study, two of the rooms that branched off from his lounge...but never, in all his life, had a woman laid in his bed.

It was something his father had told him when he'd first started the transition from childhood to manhood, right before he'd died: Your bed is for you wife only. No matter who you touch, no matter what you do, you are never, never to bring another woman to you bed, whether before you marry, during the union, or if your queen precedes you in death. You shall never bring another woman to your bed. That part of you belongs to your queen and your queen only. No exceptions. And he never had. After his father died and he'd moved into the king's suite, he'd sent his parent's bed with his mother and commissioned a new bedframe and mattress. No one but he and his wife were ever to grace the bed.

He stared up remotely, trying to feel something....some guilt about it. About letting down his father. About going back on one thing he'd promised him. But he found none. No part of him felt the slightest twinge of guilt at bringing Leigh to his bed. There was nothing in him of regret for pushing her down to the mattress as she twisted the sheets in her pale fingers and arched into him, her gasps still ringing in his ears.

He stared at the ceiling, unsure of exactly what he should think. He felt her sigh next to him, nuzzling her face against his chest in sleep. He looked down at her and his chest warmed. She was laying on her side, the right side of her body pressed against he mattress from her hip to her shoulder. His arm was wrapped under her and around, holding her close. He could feel her spine under his palm. His arm had fallen asleep sometime during the night and he knew that once he regained feeling it would be hell, but he had the distinct thought that it was worth it. Leigh's hair was tangled in loping waves down her back and across the pillow, stiff from dried sweat at her forehead and where it touched her neck. Her skin was pale and warm, smooth where it touched his. Her head was on the pillow next to his, her eyes closed and her face relaxed and open in sleep. She exhaled slowly, her breath stirring a lock of hair that had fallen over her face. He reached across both their bodies and tucked it gently behind her ear, thinking he'd never seen anything so humbling in all his life.

Leigh stirred at his touch, a quiet sound escaping her lips as she shifted, tightening her grip on him. Tristan watched, unable to suppress a small smile as her eyelids fluttered, trying to wake up. He turned over and leaned down to her, pressing his lips gently over her left eye, and then the right, before taking her half-asleep lips in his, kissing her slowly as she awoke. After only a moment he felt her respond as she came up through layers of sleep, a quiet whisper of contentment rising from the back of her throat as she slid her hand up from his chest to tangle in his hair. Leigh sighed against his lips, pressing her warm, solid body against his. The leg that had been over his pelvis wound around his hips, pulling his body against hers. Tristan smiled against her lips, his free hand coming up to tangle in her already messy hair, tilting her head up towards his. He broke away slowly, pulling his head back from her to watch her eyes open slowly, still drowsy with sleep. She smiled up at him slowly, tracing a hand down his chest.

"Good morning." his voice cracked.

Leigh flexed her foot at his back, sliding her fingers through his hair, "Good morning."

He rested his forehead against hers and felt her grin. He pulled her close, running his thumb down her jawline, "How did you sleep?"

She looked up at him through the happy haze of early morning confusion and sighed, rubbing her forehead against his, "Very well, thank you. And you?"

Tristan laughed lightly, brushing her hair back from her face, "Wonderfully." Leigh smiled contentedly and closed her eyes. Tristan pulled his forehead back from hers and laid it on her shoulder, breathing in her skin. He felt her sigh again, slipping her arms around his neck and relaxing her body down into the sheets, pulling him close. He allowed her to, shocked at the warmth that it kindled deep within his chest. He'd never done this. It was almost funny that, despite all the risqué interludes he'd had, he had never just laid in bed with someone. Never let anyone hold him close or just pressed a girl against the mattress, content to hold her as sunlight fell into the room, warming them.

"How do you feel?" he asked without moving his head up from her shoulder.

"Hmm?"

Tristan picked his head up, pushing himself up on his elbows to look down at her, "Did I hurt you?"

She opened her mouth, the haze of sleep having fled already. She didn't respond at first, just looked up at him. "Not really." she said finally. Tristan fixed her with a look that clearly said he didn't believe her and she sighed, tilting her head, "Tristan." she slipped her arms tighter around him, holding him close, "You couldn't have helped it." He cursed quietly, dropping his head to her bare shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss over the warm curve. She turned her face towards him and after a moment he raised his eyes to meet hers. Her voice was quiet but reassuring and achingly honest, "It wasn't a bad hurt, Tristan. It's a good hurt."

His eyebrow arched, his expression still warm, "A good hurt?"

She smiled gently, nodding, "Yes, a good hurt. Every girl has to go through it, and I'd rather you than–" she gasped, breaking off as the door was slammed open.

"Tristaaaaaan!" someone called happily as the door swung open.

He shot off of her with blinding speed, faster than she'd ever seen anyone move, and in a moment he was sitting up glaring at the open door, the covers falling to the bottom of his stomach. He was positioned slightly in front of her, blocking her from being exposed to whoever was at the door. She pulled the sheet to her chest and sat up slower, shifting so that she was slightly behind him but could see the door, half of her chest pressed against his back.

Paris, who had choked on Tristan's name upon catching sight of them, gaped at them her jaw sweeping the floor in disbelief. Finn, standing next to her, stared at them with unveiled delight.

The four sat in stunned silence for a moment, no one speaking. After a stretch Tristan snapped, "Did you need something?"

Paris sputtered, "We were just–we wanted–" she shook her head, still shocked, "We wondered–we wondered why you were still in bed. We came to make sure you were okay. We didn't know..." she trailed off, glancing uncertainly at Rory.

Tristan stared at them as if they'd lost their minds, "I'm fine."

Finn's smirk widened, his eyes on Rory, "Well we do see that, mate. More than fine, I'd say."

"Finn." Tristan's voice was a warning growl.

"We're going." Paris grabbed Finn's arm, "We're going." she pulled him, trying to back away, but he didn't budge, just stared at the couple in joyful amusement. "Finn!" she snapped. He broke into a grin, allowing her to pull him back though the door. Paris slammed it shut behind them and Rory heard the door into the hallway shut heavily as the left Tristan's suite.

They sat in silence for a stretch, Rory's nose and mouth pressed into the back of Tristan's warm shoulder blade as they stared at the close door. She swallowed quietly, suddenly aware of the chilled breeze blowing through the open window. And of her state of undress, her crest uncovered. In the daylight. Rory closed her eyes, dropping the sheet from herself and slipping her arms around Tristan's bare torso from behind. She pressed her chest against his back, silently praying that he wouldn't look too closely at her. That he wouldn't touch her hip. Her heart beat erratically, slamming into her ribcage like it was trying to jump out. If Tristan turned around. If he stood and looked at her....there was no way to hide it.

He'd reached for her hip last night and she'd moved his hand away, guided it to other places of her body to stop him from feeling her crest. It had been dark last night, impossible for him to see it unless he was an inch away. And she'd been sure to sleep on her right side so that it was pressed against the bed and he wouldn't accidentally brush his hand against it. She didn't think he'd seen it, if he was aware of it he'd didn't let on. But now...now, sitting in the open air, she was paralyzed. She couldn't exactly lunge for her clothes without alerting him to a problem or exposing the burn.

Tristan turned his face towards hers and she looked up at him. The way he looked at her made her think back to two days before, when she'd gone into his study upon returning from dropping off the new guard, after they'd almost....done what they did last night. He'd stopped them from going too far that time. It was when Paris and Louise had interrupted them, they'd been sitting in the window seat, looking at each other, and she'd told him that she didn't care that everyone said she was sleeping with him. It didn't bother her. And he'd stared at her just like he was now...like he wanted to confess something, to open himself up to her, but he couldn't anymore, because they'd been interrupted, and the moment had passed. That was how he gazed at her now, only this time the look was deeper, the loss infinitely more devastating.

There was something in his face that made Rory relax....that calmed her nerves. She rested her chin on his shoulder and leaned in slowly, pressing her lips to his reassuringly. She felt him respond gratefully and a shiver raced up her spine. There was just something about kissing him.....

Tristan pulled back after only a moment, looking at her. "I guess we should get up." his voice was gravelly.

Rory tilted her head, nodding thoughtfully before glancing around the room, "Where is my slip?"

Tristan looked around for only a moment before nodding to the left side of the bed, where he'd tossed it after pulling it off of her, "There." he said quietly, jumping off the bed. Rory had a moment to be stunned at the lithe movement. She hadn't ever thought of him as stealthy, but he landed with barely a sound. She took the sheet and pulled it back up to cover her chest, surprised by the cold air as Tristan's warm skin left hers. He slid on the light cotton pants he'd been wearing last night and grabbed her slip, holding it out to her.

She smiled thankfully and slid it from his grasp. Rory grinned up at him, holding up one finger and spinning it in a circle. Tristan looked at her for a moment, his face scrunched in confusion. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head lightly and twisting it in a circle again. Tristan's face cleared of confusion and he balked, his jaw dropping in playful unfairness, "What?! Are you kidding?"

She laughed, shaking her head, "Do it."

"But–"

"Tristan!" she couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice.

He grumbled something under his breath but turned his back to her, crossing his arms over his chest. Her smile faded as she cautiously dropped the sheet, sliding from the bed to drop her feet to the cold stone floor. She looked at the lines and planes of his muscled back and strong shoulders as she slipped the garment over her head. There were long, dull red lines across his back that hadn't been there last night. She could only imagine they were from her nails.

Rory dropped the skirt of her slip as it fell around her, letting it brush the tops of her knees. She pressed her hand over her right hip for a moment before dropping her hand. She was about to tell him to turn around but changed her mind and instead stepped quietly towards him. Her feet made no sound against the stone floor and she raised her hands, about to cover his eyes from behind, when his hands shout out and he grabbed her wrists. She felt herself gasp, her heart jumping painfully in her chest from the shock as Tristan twisted and in a moment he was behind her, her wrists gripped in his hands and the entire backside of her body pressed against his front from her shoulders down to her knees. His arms were crossed over her chest, her arms pinned under his as he held her in place. Rory exhaled shakily, trying to fight the heat that rose in the pit of her stomach at having him pressed so tightly against her. But the sudden movement brought on something she hadn't noticed before, a dull throbbing at her center, a soreness she didn't imagine would go away for a few days.

She felt him laugh huskily into her ear as he pressed his hips into hers, "Is there a problem, Mary?"

Rory bit her lip, blinking rapidly. She wanted to say something back to him. Something intelligent, but all that came to mind was, "You haven't called me Mary in months."

His breath expelled in a chuckle and he released her, keeping hold of one of her hands to turn her around until she faced him, "I guess I came up with more amusing ways to annoy you."

Her eyebrow arched challengingly, "If by amusing you mean spending three months ignoring me and treating me like a common–"

He raised a finger to her lips, gently silencing her, "That was only because it was unwise for me to be around you."

She looked up at him imploringly, her eyebrows drawn together, "Why?"

He sighed, looking down at their joined hands, "Do you remember the night before you left? When we were out in the practice arena?"

Rory tilted her head, looking up at him. She assumed that night would be burned into her mind for eternity, "Mmm I remember that I was talking to Callum, Nick, and Dorian. Then you and Logan showed up. Everyone else left…." She trailed off, shaking her head lightly, "Hmm no, and everything after that seems to be a blank." Tristan arched an eyebrow at her, unconvinced. She grinned, "Something about a tree, I believe."

His lip quirked and he shot her a look, "You said something that night. Something that I'd never thought of before but I've realized is true."

She leaned back, looking up at him, "I said a lot of very intelligent things that night. Which one are you referring to?"

Tristan didn't answer at first, just looked down at her. Her attempt at humor had no affect on him. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, "You said that I wasn't used to it, to having to wait for something that I wanted."

She nodded, "Yes, I remember."

He exhaled quietly, breaking his gaze from hers, "I'd never thought of it before, but it's true. I've never had to wait for someone I wanted. But the thing is, Leigh, I wouldn't have waited for anyone else." She looked up at him, her forehead scrunched in confusion. He still refused to meet her gaze, "I've never waited for anything…of course, no one before you had ever told me no…" he trailed off, biting the insides of his cheeks, "But my point is, I wouldn't have waited for anyone else, because all I've ever wanted from anyone else was their body. I don't just want your body. I never have. If that was all I wanted…." He shook his head, almost speaking to himself, "I can't even imagine just wanting that from you."

She looked at him, moving her head so that she he was forced to see her, "And?"

Tristan's eyes narrowed and he turned his head slightly, looking sideways at her, "Do you really not see why that's bad?"

Rory shrugged gently, dropping his hands, "No."

His face screwed up in thought, as if trying to think of what he could possibly say. He exhaled heavily, as if tired but angry, "Honestly? You don't see why that could pose a possibly insurmountable problem?"

She opened her mouth a moment before she spoke, looking up at him through a confusion she tried to hold even though they both knew the truth was dawning on her. "No." she whispered finally, wishing that he couldn't read her lies.

She stared up at him in silence and he look back, astounded, his speechlessness written on his face. It was a moment before he shook his head, looking at her as if she were stupid for the first time. His lips hardened into a severe line and he swore, twisting away from her, "Don't be naive, Leigh. It isn't becoming."

She bit her lip, looking down at the ground in silence. "Tristan." She sighed his name, crossing her arms over her chest, "It's not…" she trailed off, flexing her fingers, "You say you want more than just my body….and I don't know, maybe you do and maybe you don't, I don't have the energy to figure out right now. But if it really causes you so much…" she broke off, searching painfully for a word, "misery. If it brings you such grief and is so problematic, then don't do it."

She bit her lip uncertainly, staring down at the ground waiting for him to respond. He didn't. After a stretch she slowly looked up to see that he was staring at her with an expression akin to what she thought someone would look like after being kicked in the stomach. And he was looking at her as if she'd been the one to do it. She breathed shakily, swallowing hard.

"….what?" he said finally, still gazing at her as if he'd never seen her.

Rory blinked rapidly, clenching her back teeth together, "I just…if you do actually want more of me, it's yours. You can have it. You can have whatever of me you want." She shook her head, pressing her lips together, "But if it really brings you that much pain, if it really causes so many problems, then don't do it." Her voice was quiet as she finished, unable to look at him. Again she fell silent, waiting for him to say something. And again he said nothing. This time it took her longer to look up at him, but when she did she saw that he was staring at her with something else in his face, something broken. There was an impossible mixture of emotions swimming behind his blazing sapphire eyes: there was a warmth almost like she'd never seen, but also a pain like she'd never witnessed. He looked at her as if rather than offering herself to him, she'd pulled herself away. He was looking at her like she was taking everything away from him he'd ever had, as if he were watching his home burn to the ground or his best friend die. He was looking at her as if he were broken. But it was only in his eyes, in his face. His body was stiff and guarded, his expression, except for his eyes, stone. His eyes broke her heart.

Tristan swallowed hard, his breath escaping in a labored pant, "Leigh don't…" he trailed off, shaking his head, "Don't."

She looked up at him, "Don't what?"

He shook his head, "Don't tell me not to want more of you. Don't tell me to just want your body. Don't give me that option because I'll hate myself even more, and eventually I'll start to hate you." She stared up at him, having no idea what to think of that or how to respond. All she heard was a rushing in her ears. Hate her? He would hate her? It was like no matter what she did, she couldn't win with him. Tristan sighed gravely and she felt the heavy weight of his hands on her shoulders, pulling her towards him. He touched his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, "I'm sorry, Leigh. I'm sorry." She heard the frustration in his voice, the self-loathing in his tone.

Rory reached a hand up to touch his face, holding his cheek in her palm, "Tristan." She whispered. He opened his eyes slowly to look at her, his expression unreadable. She opened her mouth for a moment before speaking, "What is this about?" he looked at her without responding, obviously not sure what she was asking. She pulled her face back from his, keeping her hand on his cheek, "Why are you being like this?"

He broke his gaze from hers, his eyes trailing over her body as his hands slowly slid from her shoulders to press their way down her body, running over every curve with unhurried attention. When his hands came to her hips he gripped them lightly, pulling her lower body against his. His eyes swept up to hers, blinking slowly, "Like what?" his voice was heavy and muted; she was acutely reminded of the way he'd spoken to her last night, whispering softly into her ear, his lips brushing tenderly along her skin as he gripped her left hip gently, guiding her hips with his as he thrust into her again and again.

She had to hold her breath against the memory so she didn't shake against him. She thought of his chest and arms, warm skin over hard muscle; she could still feel them flexing under her fingers from when she'd gripped his arms last night, gasping through a confounding mix of searing pain and building pleasure.

She exhaled quietly, her eyelids fluttering as she forced her mind clear, "Contrite."

His eyes widened fractionally, stunned, "What?"

Rory shook her head, "I've never seen you like this before. You're being so apologetic…so repentant." Again she shook her head, pressing her lips together as she looked down, "What do you mean by it? If it's just that this can cause complications then I can't imagine why you would just now be bringing it up."

Tristan's head pulled back lightly and he fixed her with another one of those looks, like he was wary of her asking questions she already knew the answer to. "Leigh." He spoke quietly, "This has been complicated from the beginning and it's only gotten more precarious since the night I kissed you in. After this…." He trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, "there's no telling."

Rory looked down, her face burning, to trail her fingers lightly down his arm, "What are you saying?" she whispered.

He shook his head, tilting her chin up, "I know that last night you said that you understood what all this would mean…what it would entail for you. But I'm not sure that you really do."

"And what is that? I can't imagine it will change all that much. Everyone thought I was in your bed every night anyway."

Tristan grinned widely and the tension between them burst. He looked down at her, his expression brightening, "Every night, they say?" his eyebrow arched thoughtfully as he pulled her closer, "I certainly wouldn't complain."

Rory rolled her eyes, careful not to clue him in on how much she too would like it, "You're infuriating. Has anyone ever told you that?"

He smirked down at her, "Me? How so?"

"Because." She snapped, "You go on about how bad this is and you're so grim and then out of nowhere you start laughing."

He clicked his tongue at her, "No bad, precisely, Mary. Risky, is more the word that comes to mind."

She rolled her eyes, "I am not going to argue terminology with you." She expected a smart response but got none. Instead Tristan looked down at her, his head tilted, his eyes tight in concentration. She looked up at him, "What?"

He spoke slowly, "Have I ever told you how unbelievably well spoken you are for your upbringing?"

"Oh." She blushed, mentally cursing herself, "No, you haven't. But others have."

He nodded thoughtfully, glancing out the window, "We really should go out there." He looked towards the door hesitantly.

Rory bit her lip, tilting her head, "Yeah, I was actually going to ask you to lace this up for me."

He looked down at her, "Hmm?"

She twisted so that he could see her back, the unlaced corset. "This, I can't get it on my own."

"Oh, of course." He slipped his hands around her hips, twisting her slowly so that her back was completely to him. He brushed all of her hair over her left shoulder, leaving her neck and upper back exposed, as well as all of her right shoulder under the thin strap of her slip. His hands slid slowly up her back until they came to the top of the leather strap crossed over her back. He dipped his head and she gasped in pleasant surprise to feel his mouth on her exposed neck, leaving full, lingering kisses over the sensitive skin as his hands worked their way down her back, pulling at the leather string and pulling it tight over her back.

By the time he got to the end and had tied the string off, his teeth were scraping softly down her shoulder and she was shaking lightly, her breath picking up. He could feel her hips unconsciously pressing backwards into his. Tristan grinned against her skin, slipping his hands from the small of her back to glide over her hips, sliding down over her flowing skirt to brush against the inside of her thigh. She gasped quietly, laying a hand on his wrist as his other arm came to wrap around her waist and hold her back against him. He didn't move, waiting to see what she meant by the hand on his wrist. But after a moment of motionlessness she did nothing, just opened her mouth uncertainly. Tristan grinned lightly and laid a kiss on her neck, not moving his hand any further up, though he knew she wanted him to.

"Tristan." She breathed quietly, half pleading and half scolding.

"Yes?" he grinned, nipping at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She shifted her hips, squirming against his hand though it held her torturously in place. "Oh no, Mary." There was laughter in his voice. Bastard. "Be good."

"Tristan." She wanted to sound angry but couldn't get passed the clouds in her mind that he was blowing around. It came out as a whimper. She felt him shiver against her back.

"We really should go out there." He muttered into her ear, kissing his way slowly down her neck.

"Mmm." She breathed, sliding her hand down until her palm covered the back of his hand. She laced her fingers with his and twisted her face around to see him. He looked down at her intently, his face clear of amusement. Her body ached in more than one way. She flexed her fingers around his hand, leaning up to press her lips fully against his as she guided his hand higher up her thigh, "They can wait."

She felt him grin against her lips as he pulled up her skirt.

Rory sat next to Logan later that day, looking at the line of swords before them. When the men returned from the border their first phase of training would be complete and in reward each would receive a new sword, stronger and sturdier than most of the ones they'd arrived with. The castle's sword smith had brought examples of his work for them to look at. She moved slowly down the line, tracing her fingers lightly over the hilts. All of the swords would be of the same design and she and Logan were to decide what that would be. Logan leaned over her, reaching for one of the longer models. She watched as he pulled it back and studied the weight and balance of it, running his index finger down one of the flat sides. She leaned back, crossing her legs in front of her. They were sitting on a large ornamental rug in the main training room, the one they'd brought Madeline into.

She bit her lip, folding her arms over her chest, "Logan?"

"Hmm?" he didn't look at her, his gaze trained on the sword in his hands.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, dearest Leigh." He looked up at her, grinning lightly.

She sighed, pressing her palms together. Logan hadn't said anything to her about Tristan yet today. Usually she would have thanked her lucky stars and moved on, but today, of all days, she wanted to speak of him. Of course that was probably why Logan didn't mention him. She would never have believed that Paris and Finn didn't tell the others what they'd seen, but Logan, despite his tendency to pick at her, would never have brought up something that he truly thought would make her uncomfortable, "When we were on the way to Stars Hollow a few days ago, you told me that I should be careful about my friends because of Tristan." He nodded, acknowledging that he remembered and inviting her to continue. She spoke slowly, "You said that Tristan was jealous and I should be careful because of you and Nick and Callum and Dorian, but you said specifically that I should worry about Marty. Why?"

Logan sighed heavily, rolling his neck in a circle as if he'd expected this question eventually, but hadn't been looking forward to it. His expression was unreadable. "Leigh." He started quietly, drumming his fingers. He was silent for a long time, thinking, "I know you've never seen Tristan fight, but he's amazing. I mean really, some people are born with a natural talent for battle and he's one of them. If he weren't king, I have no doubt that he would be in the guard, actually." He stopped thoughtfully. "Because of that there's a type of respect for the men in the guard. Tristan is a natural born warrior and just because he doesn't act on it, doesn't mean that he isn't one. I'm the same way. So are the others in the guard, including Nick, Callum, and Dorian. We're fighters, warriors. And because of that, Tristan sees us as equals. Losing you to one of us would be a blow, obviously. But it wouldn't….it wouldn't be as if he lost you to someone below him." He stopped again, as if thinking of how to word the next part. Rory didn't need him to though, she could see where it was going. "Martin is not the same case. And it isn't just because he works in the kitchen. That isn't it at all. Jackson, the husband of our head cook, he can fight. No one thinks any less of him for his chosen profession…." He trailed off, as if realizing that what he'd said wasn't precisely true. After a moment he spoke again, "Well, not quite, but we all know what he's capable of. Martin, on the other hand, can't fight at all. He's a good man. He's smart and he's capable. But he isn't…" Logan shrugged, "He isn't a fighter, Leigh. He isn't as much of a protector. I think to Tristan, losing you to Martin would be a blow he couldn't take.

"To lose you to one of us, it would be like losing you to an equal. But to Martin?" he shrugged, "that's losing you to the defenseless cook."

Rory shook her head, her eyes narrowed, "Logan that's terrible."

"Maybe." He nodded thoughtfully, "Maybe it is. But that doesn't make it less true. It isn't that Tristan doesn't like him and it isn't that he thinks he's really below him as a person. It's just…losing you to another soldier is nothing the same as losing you to a cook."

"Logan." She said quietly, dropping her gaze from his, "It isn't like that with Marty. Not at all."

He laughed lightly and Rory looked up to see that he was shaking his head minutely, amused, "Yes, I know that. We all know that. Except for Tristan."

She swallowed, looking down, "Logan I would never…" she trailed off, biting her bottom lip, "I wouldn't leave him." She whispered finally, closing her eyes, "Never for anyone." Rory opened her eyes to see that the carpet below her was blurred, not from tears, but from the rushing in her head.

"What?" Logan's voice was quiet.

She looked up to meet his gaze, "This morning, he told me that he wanted more than just my body and if it weren't for that then he wouldn't have waited so long, and he wouldn't have waited for anyone else." She inhaled shakily. Logan's mouth opened slightly, as if unsure whether or not he wanted to hear this. Rory reached forward reflexively, grabbing his arm, "Logan please, there isn't anyone else I can talk to about this." He opened his mouth helplessly, as if he wanted to tell her that he would have been more than willing to listen but for some reason couldn't. She wondered if confiding in him about Tristan could put him in danger. He looked at her for another moment, his face torn, before closing his mouth and nodding thickly, swallowing hard. She bit the insides of her cheeks, watching him, "He said that, but he also said that it was dangerous, that he wanted it, but it wasn't safe. And I just wonder…I just have to know if he meant it. Or if he was just talking."

Logan looked at her in silence for a moment before he licked his lips, closing his eyes tiredly, "Leigh." He muttered, looking as if he were about to betray some secret and it wracked him from the inside, "Did you wake up in Tristan's bed this morning?"

"Yes." She said quietly, uncertainly.

He nodded, opening his eyes, "You slept there last night?" she nodded slowly. He fixed her with a serious look, his eyes intensely hazel, "And Tristan took you in his bed? Is that right? You slept with him, gave yourself to him, in his room and in his bed?"

She opened her mouth, looking down. Rory exhaled in a huff, uncertain of how that mattered. "Yes." She answered finally, not looking at him.

She heard him sigh as if his whole body were sagging. His fingers crooked under her chin, lifting her gaze up to his, "Leigh. Dear, sweet, innocent Leigh, do you honestly think that the king just takes women into his own bedchamber?" Her eyes snapped to his. She opened her mouth as if she would speak, but no sound emerged. Logan smiled sadly, "I almost didn't believe Paris and Finn when they told me. Tristan has never brought a woman to his bed. Not even Kira." He shot her a look and she wondered how much Tristan had told him about their conversation on the laundry maid. "His father taught him that your bed was only for your wife. Ever. As far as I know, no matter what Tristan has done or who he has touched, no one has ever entered his bed. Not even the room."

Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head lightly, "No. No, that can't be true."

He shrugged as if it didn't matter, "It is, Leigh. I don't know what to tell you. If you're asking me if he meant what he said to you, that you're so much more than just a body, I can't help but tell you that it was true. We all knew you were different, Leigh, we all knew he cared for you, but I don't think that any of us realized just how different you were."

She blinked slowly, unable to take it all in, "But even if that is true, he said it was bad. That it was precarious and would cause insurmountable problems. He said it was dangerous."

Logan laughed humorlessly, "Oh course it's dangerous, Leigh. He's the king, and he's never even brought a woman to his actual bed, let alone really cared for one. Now, for the first time, he cares for a woman. And it's true, Leigh, that he does care for you deeply. Now he finally has someone that he wants to be with…." He trailed off, shaking his head sadly, "And you're common."

Rory jerked away as if he'd burned her, looking up at him with something between shock and anger and hurt, "Logan!"

He reached out for her hand, "Leigh, please, just listen. It isn't meant in any way, only that he's the king and he must marry another royal or a noble." He sighed, "Don't you know that if the situation were different every one of us would jump at the fact that he's finally found someone? Don't you know that we wish things were different? Why do you think Paris distrusts you so much? It isn't because she's jealous and it isn't because she feels you're beneath her. It's because she sees the way Tristan looks at you and it makes her hurt. Because we all know it can't be."

"It ca-" she broke off, looking down, "So what, I'm common and because of that all he can want is my body?"

Logan sighed, bringing her hand to his forehead apologetically, "Yes, Leigh. Yes. And he knows it."

She swallowed painfully, "This morning when he told me that he wanted more than just my body, he said that he couldn't imagine only wanting that, and I told him…" she trailed off, her voice breaking, "I told him that if it caused him so much pain then he shouldn't do it. That he could have any part of me he wanted." She watched Logan through dead eyes, "He told me not to do that. Not to give him that option. He said that if he only wanted my body then he would hate himself more, and he would start to hate me." She finished in a whisper.

Logan's voice was gravelly, "He was telling the truth then too." he closed his eyes as if he were tired or in pain, "Yes, he knows. He knows that really that's all he can want. All he can ever actually have. That's why he said it." He sighed, opening his eyes to look at her, "Imagine, Leigh, going all his life, never loving anyone, never really wanting anyone. His family and friends have been badgering him for years to get married. I swear I thought he'd decided that he was just going to marry the next good match that came along because he was tired of looking and looking and never finding anyone." He exhaled in a curse, shaking his head, "And then you come storming into the castle and he can't see anything else. Imagine after all these years he's finally found someone to want. And he can't have you."

"Because I'm common?" she whispered.

He nodded sadly, "Because you're common."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking away, "Lord, Logan, you make it sound like he loves me."

He shrugged, shaking his head, "No, no I won't say that. I don't know that he loves you. I don't think he does. Not yet anyway." She glanced up without speaking and after a stretch of silence he spoke again, "Not yet, but I imagine he could. And that, Leigh, is something none of us ever thought possible."

She looked at him, shaking her head lightly, "No. No Logan, don't."

His forehead scrunched, "Don't what?"

Rory swallowed hard, almost feeling like she wanted to cry, but her eyes stayed dry as she whispered, "He can't love me. That's not possible."

"Leigh-"

She shook her head, cutting him off, "No." she spoke sharply. She'd forgotten, like she always did, who Tristan was. What he'd done. How could she…how could she possibly be doing what she was doing? Love? Tristan, he may be different now from ten years before, but he was still the same person. After everything that had happened, after what he'd done, how could she even begin to think she cared for him? It was the same dilemma she faced on a daily basis now. Caring about him, and she did; wanting him when she knew she shouldn't. When she knew that the last rational thing would be to attach herself to him, to like him, to sleep with him. She'd meant what she'd said the night before. She wanted to be there for him. She was there for him.

She didn't understand why when she was with him, everything that had happened in the past seemed to slip her mind. She could never see anything but him, couldn't think back to before she'd met him. The hate that had festered for years was gone the moment he entered her vision. But once she was away from his touch and his laugh and his kisses and had to really think about it, she realized how idiotic she was being…but still she didn't hate him, only herself for how inexcusably foolish she was turning out to be. And everyone had always said that she was the prudent one.

She was shocked when Logan finally spoke, "What do you mean, no?"

Rory looked up at him, blinking slowly, "Tristan can't love me, Logan, ever. Trust me on that." If he knew the truth, she added silently. If he knew who she was. She still couldn't believe her luck in his failure to notice her crest both last night and this morning…of course, this morning her dress hadn't exactly come completely off…

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

She raised one shoulder in a delicate shrug, "He could never love me. It isn't possible so just…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Even if I weren't common."

"Leigh, I don't think...." he broke off slowly, his face drawn in uncertainty. "I don't think you understand."

Rory opened her mouth to respond but didn't get the chance when the door was swung open. She whipped around to stare wide eyed at the entry way. Stephanie and Colin stood in the empty doorframe, looking at the two of them uncertainly. Rory inhaled sharply, jerking her hand away from Logan as she realized how they must look. The two in the door didn't seem to be suspicious, however, they just looked at Rory and Logan inquisitively. Rory coughed into her hand lightly, turning away from them.

"Did uh…" Stephanie tilted her head, "did we interrupt something?"

Rory shook her head, twisting gracefully to her feet, "No. We were just talking about…" she trailed off, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation, "fairy tales."

Logan's eyes snapped to her, shooting fire, "Leigh."

She ignored him, smiling dazzlingly at the two friends that had entered, "I'm terribly sorry, but I do have to go." She sauntered past them easily, brushing a hand companionably over Stephanie's shoulder as she did.

The girl twisted, calling as if she'd just remembered something, "Oh, Leigh…"

Rory stopped, closing her eyes as a string of exceedingly unladylike curses wound it's way through her mind. She turned around slowly, trying to make her smile appear real, "Hmm?"

Stephanie looked at her, her mouth open slightly as if she would speak, but no sound escaped. She just looked at Rory as if she'd never seen anything like her, torn between affection and disbelief. After a moment Colin nudged her lightly. She jumped, shaking her head as if coming out of a daze. She let out a small derisive laugh that seemed to be aimed at herself. Her lip quirked, smiling gently up at Rory, "Nevermind."

Rory watched her uncertainly for a moment before turning her gaze to Colin, who shrugged one shoulder unhelpfully. She looked back to Stephanie, who still watched her in silent awe, "Okay." She said lightly, turning back to the door, "I'll see you all later, then." She left the room in a heavy silence, the others not speaking until she left. She wondered at Stephanie's astonishment but knew, really, that it was because of Tristan. Because she'd woken up in his bed and they all knew it. A bed no one woman had ever been in before. Because Tristan cared about her and he'd never cared about anyone else before.

Rory was looking at the floor, her forehead scrunched in concentration as she walked quickly through the surprisingly empty corridors. Her trek of reflection was interrupted when she heard someone call her name. She looked up to see Max striding excitedly towards her, his face bright. She smiled weakly, "Hello, Max."

He came to her, gripping her upper arms happily and spinning her in a circle, "Leigh. Leigh, Leigh, Leigh!"

She looked at him wide eyed, though amused, "Max."

"You are brilliant. Amazing. Sent from heaven, I'm convinced."

"Oh?" she asked, surprised.

He grinned hugely, releasing her arms and grabbing her shoulders warmly, "I don't know what you did. I can't begin to imagine what happened, but somehow, somehow you did it."

She looked up at him, tilting her head, "I did what?"

"Tristan. He's-he's…." Max shook his head, unable to form a description.

Rory shook her head, smiling lightly as she looked up at him, "Yes?"

"He's over the moon, Leigh. Ecstatic. Like I've never seen him." He laughed joyfully, gripping her shoulders, "Usually, the morning after the anniversary of his father's death he's…" he trailed off, shaking his head, "He's unreachable, having drunk himself into a stupor still. He's too grief stricken and angry to speak to, it all turns to yelling and cursing and fighting." He paused, grinning hugely, "But today, today I saw him walking down the corridor and I'll be honest, I almost ducked into the next hall. Not that I didn't have confidence in you, of course," he added thoughtfully, "but then, then he looked up and he saw me and do you want to know what he did?"

She grinned despite herself, catching his excitement, "What?"

Max spoke quietly, in amazement, "He looked up at me. And he smiled and he put a hand on my shoulder and he said, 'Max, isn't it a beautiful morning?' And then he laughed, and he walked away." He shook his head, still staring at her as if he'd never seen her before.

Rory laughed lightly, crossing her arms over her chest, "Did he?"

"Yes." He shook his head, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face, "I don't know what you did, Leigh, I don't know but thank you." He squeezed her shoulders lightly, "You're more than we ever could have hoped for." And with that he released her and bid her adieu, continuing down the hall.

She stood for a moment in shock, exhaling in surprise. She shook her head lightly, touching a hand to her forehead. She didn't know how she'd survive this.

Rory woke early the next morning, curled deep within the blankets of her bed. She yawned widely, stretching like a cat in the sun. She burrowed deeper into the mattress, whining against the pain that throbbed in her lower body. She'd felt the pain when Tristan had turned her around the morning before, pinning her arms to her chest after she'd tried to sneak up on him. And she'd felt it again later that morning when he'd pushed up her skirt, hitching up one of her legs and wrapping it around his waist as he pressed her back against the edge of the bed, swallowing her gasps and whimpers and quiet laughs with deep kisses. It hadn't hurt at much the second time.

But now she felt it, after laying still all night, moving again made the hard ache beat again. She bit her lip, burying her face in the pillow. She'd seen Tristan again yesterday when they'd all eaten dinner in one of the informal dining halls. It had been a meal of yelling and laughing and she'd spend the night sitting between Logan and Stephanie. Tristan hadn't sat next to her but throughout the night his gaze hadn't spent more than several moments away from her at a time. He'd glanced at her constantly while he laughed with the others.

After they'd all eaten Finn and Colin had come up with the brilliant idea to build a bonfire….or, well, to have the servants kindle one. They'd gone out into the back lawn in the dark night in a loud line once it was lit, carrying bottles of alcohol and walking behind servants who carted blankets to wrap themselves in and apples to roast over the fire. Rory had been in the back, walking next to Madeline when Tristan came up from behind her and grabbed her playfully, twisting her around and, without warning, catching her lips in a warm kiss. She gasped in pleasant surprise and heard Madeline laugh before continuing on to catch up with the others.

Tristan backed her up into the castle wall, pressing her gently into the cold stone. She laughed lightly into his mouth, slipping her hands under his shirt to slide her fingertips down the warm skin of his abdomen. He'd shivered against her touch, pressing his hips into hers. After a short round of dizzying kisses he'd pulled back, smiling warmly at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he took her hand in his, pulling her along with him to the large fire and sitting on one of the blankets, pulling her to lean against his chest.

They'd all stayed out until late into the night and after half of them had fallen asleep, Rory herself nodding off several times curled against Tristan's chest with his warm arms wrapped securely around her, they'd gone back up to the castle. Rory had walked slowly, her feet dragging in half-wakefulness. Halfway to the castle Tristan had swept her into his arms and picked her up as easily as if she were a child. She'd rested her head on his shoulder and hadn't even realized they'd reached her room until the cool sheets brushed against her skin. He'd laid her down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, thinking she was asleep. But when he'd stood up, his hands sliding from her, she'd gripped his wrists tiredly, bringing him back to her. He'd sat next to her and leaned over her, sweeping her hair back from her face as she looked up at him through a veil of exhaustion. She'd pushed herself up on her elbows and smiled up at him, asking him if he'd like to stay. He'd laughed affectionately and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips, telling her that she was delirious with tiredness and if she still wanted it in the morning when she was alert and thinking clearly to let him know and he'd be more than happy to oblige her.

He'd then kissed her lips gently again, pulled the covers higher up on her body, and brushed a hand affectionately down the side of her face before leaving the room.

Where she laid now, glancing over at the morning sun streaming in through the window. She only had another moment to stare at the window, though, because she was pulled out of her reverie when Anna made her presence known. She stood from a rocking chair in the corner, telling Rory to get out of bed and get dressed.

She squinted up at the older woman, annoyed, before pulling the covers over her head and turning over. Anna sighed and Rory heard something of her rolling her eyes before the covers were pulled entirely from her body. Rory hissed at Anna and curled into a ball, warming herself against the cold fall air. Anna muttered something about useless young girls before throwing something small and warm and alive on top of her. Rory jumped in surprise but then grinned as she realized it was her dog. She wrapped her arms around the puppy, curling up with him held tight against her chest. He whined excitedly, trying to burrow into her at the same time that he was trying to lick her face, unable to decide which he wanted to do more.

Anna snapped something else at her about getting up before she went into Rory's closet to pull something for her to wear that day.

Once she was out of the room Rory relaxed, thinking back to the day before when she'd come back to her room in the late morning after waking up in Tristan's. She'd opened and closed the door quietly, unsure of whether Anna would still be inside or if she would have left already. She hadn't. As soon as Rory had opened the door Anna had stood from her seat, glaring at the girl as if she could catch fire with a look. Rory hadn't taken a step into the room before Anna had started in on her, her voice rising with her anger. Rory took the tongue lashing, biting her lip as she stared at the old woman from guiltily hooded eyes. She knew, really, that Anna would have worried. She hadn't even thought of her keeper. Anna was still going strong in her rant when she stopped cold, her eyes widening ever so slightly as she stared at the girl in front of her. She'd said her name quietly, shocked but resigned, and somehow she'd known. She'd stopped her lecture and her anger and annoyance had drained in a flash. She'd walked to Rory and held her arms out, pulling the younger girl to her chest in a warm, comforting hug. "It's done." She'd whispered into Rory's ear, holding the girl tight. And she'd known. She hadn't said anything else, and Rory hadn't said a word all morning, but somehow, without passing a word between them, Rory knew that Anna knew, and Anna understood that she was torn and didn't need judgment. Anna had silently handed her the tea with a sad smile and Rory had taken it and drank without a word.

She looked now to the closet door, thinking kindly on Anna. The woman might have been harsh and impossible, but she really did care for Rory, shockingly. And she really was the only woman Rory had now. Rory remembered back when Anna had first forced her into drinking the pregnancy-preventing tea and she'd thought that the maid did it only for Tristan, to protect him. That it had nothing to do with helping her. But now she realized that she really had been wrong. It hadn't been completely for her, but partly, it had.

The older woman emerged after several minutes of banging around in the closet, a light yellow dress draped over her arm, "Leigh get up."

She sighed, loudly, uncurling just slow enough to make Anna roll her eyes, "I am, I am." She looked up at the older woman, "What's the hurry?" She sat up, stretching her arms over her head and popping her back.

Anna hung the dress up on Rory's changing screen, smoothing out the wrinkles, "The Queen Mother likes to dine early."

Rory whipped around to face Anna and lost her balance, crying out as she ungracefully toppled over the edge of the bed and landed unceremoniously on the cold stone floor. Anna turned towards her, her face screwed up as she regarded the girl on the floor.

"Is there a problem?"

"Uhm…" Rory trailed off, pushing herself painfully into a sitting position, "The Queen Mother?"

Anna nodded turning back towards the dress, "Yes, you'll be dining with her this morning."

Rory scrunched her nose, staring up at Anna, "Again? Why?"

She shrugged, "She requested you sit with her this morning." Rory didn't say anything, just looked at her. Anna sighed after a moment, fixing the younger girl with a look, "Be serious, Leigh. She knows what's happened between you and Tristan."

Rory opened her mouth, but had nothing to say, and so she closed it, leaning back against the bed and pulling her knees to her chest, "Damn…"

The corner of Anna's lip quirked and she motioned to Rory, "Put on your dress so I can do your hair."

Rory walked resignedly down the hall, trailing her fingers over the chilled stone as she made her way slowly towards one of the side dining halls that the Queen Mother used. She inhaled deeply, biting her lip as she looked down at the stones beneath her feet. They were cold. The castle was contracting a chill as the weather had turned suddenly colder within the past few weeks. In fact, the dress she was now wearing was long sleeved, one of the first times she'd worn one this season. The castle was kept warm by fires that constantly burned in the large hearths spread in almost all of the rooms.

Rory closed her eyes, stopping at the end of the hall. She looked out to the corridor beyond, which led to the grand staircase and then downstairs to the foyer where she would veer off towards the dining hall. She pressed her lips together, wondering what the Queen Mother would want to talk about. Tristan, obviously, but what would they possibly talk about? She couldn't imagine what she could say to please both Tristan and his mother.

She was halfway to the dining hall when she was interrupted by a voice from behind, "Leigh!" Rory twisted around to see Tristan jogging towards her.

She smiled up at him, "Hi."

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her lightly, "Morning."

"Good morning."

He glanced over her shoulder, looking in the direction she was walking towards, "Look, Leigh, Max told me that my mother wanted you to have breakfast with her."

She nodded, leaning back on her heels, "Mhmm?"

"Yes. And I wanted to tell you that you don't have to do it." She looked up at him, not bothering to hide her confusion. He sighed, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, "You don't have to do what she asks you to."

Rory smiled up at him lightly but shrugged, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I don't mind."

Tristan grinned crookedly, shaking his head, "Leigh, Leigh, Leigh, you don't have to be nice all the time, you know?"

She laughed, "Yes, I do know. But if she really wants me to…" she trailed off, again, shrugging.

He looked down at her in silence, trailing a thumb lightly over her lower lip, "Leigh, do you want to?" he stepped forward slowly, backing her into the wall.

Rory bit her lip, feeling the cold of the stone walls through her dress. "I want…" she trailed off, pressing her lips together. She couldn't bring herself to say it; not that it mattered anyway. He would've known she was lying.

"You want…" he repeated, coaxing her on.

"To be nice."

He groaned, hitting his forehead against her shoulder, muttering under his breath, "Leigh, Leigh, Leigh…"

She looked at him for a moment before grinning, "I'm alert and thinking clearly."

Tristan smirked, picking his head up and pinning her body against the wall, "Are you?" he twisted a lock of her hair through his fingers.

She nodded, tracing her hands lightly down his chest. "Mhmm. And I do seem to recall that last night a promise was made…"

He laughed, leaning down to lay a kiss on the side of her neck, "Was it?"

"Yes."

He smiled, brushing hair out of her face, "And what is your verdict?"

"Well." Rory trailed her fingers lightly down his arms, "I'm still very much interested in what I proposed last night." She laced her fingers through his, leaning up to kiss him slowly. She felt him respond, pushing his lower body against hers as he deepened the kiss, raising her hands to press the backs against the stone wall on either side of her, pinning her in place. Rory laughed after a moment, breaking away, "But…"

Tristan gave her a disappointed look, pushing his lower body harder against hers, "But what?" he kissed a trail down her neck.

She grinned, pushing her hips against his to get him off of her. She took a step down the hall, keeping her fingers laced in his, "But, first I have to have breakfast with your mother."

"What?" he looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, "Leigh, dear, sweet, wonderful Leigh," he took her face between his hands and pressed his forehead against hers, "There are much more important things to do right now than have breakfast with my mother."

She laughed, breaking her forehead from his, "Tristan!"

He looked at her, exasperated, "There are!"

"Aww." She was still laughing, leaning up to kiss him playfully as she pulled him along with her, "But right now we have to do this."

He shot her a look, "We?"

She grinned, falling into step next to him and pulling one of his arms around her waist, "We. Unless of course you don't want to take care of more important things afterwards…"

Tristan's eyes widened, looking down at her as they continued down the hall, "You are so ruthless. Have you always been this way and I'm just now noticing?" she grinned widely, shrugging one shoulders dismissively. Tristan clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly as he tightened his grip on her, "Mmm yes, well I like it."

She laughed, allowing him to lead her to the dining room.

Once they were right outside of it, however, she stopped. Tristan paused as well, his brow creased as he looked down at her, "What?"

Rory rested her hand on his arm, looking up at him, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

His eyebrow arched, "What?"

She nodded towards the doorway before them, "Go in there. You don't have to come if you don't want to. I know you and your mother…" she trailed off, shrugging one shoulder.

Tristan tilted his head, grinning crookedly, "Leigh. Do you want to go in there with my mother by yourself?"

She opened her mouth but said nothing, blinking slowly. His grin widened. "Uhm…" she said quietly, drumming her fingers on his arms. There was no use answering; they both knew what she'd say.

Tristan smiled lightly, pressing his lips to her forehead, "You don't need to worry about me and my mother."

She looked up at him through wide eyes, unconvinced.

He shook his head, "Leigh, I came this morning to tell you that you didn't have to go, but if you decided to anyway then I was going to come with you. There's no reason for you to have to humor my mother."

Rory bit her lip, her brows knitting together, "What is it you think will happen?"

"I don't know, really. She's manipulative and conniving and selfish. I couldn't tell you what goes through her mind except that it won't be fun for you."

She looked up at him for a moment before grinning, her jaw dropping, "Are you protecting me?"

Tristan opened his mouth, surprised, as if he hadn't thought of it that way. He narrowed his eyes, tapping his fingers on her back thoughtfully, "Protecting?"

She nodded, grinning up at him accusingly, "You are."

"Eh." he muttered, twisting her around and putting his hand in the small of her back, "You. Inside."

She laughed allowing him to push her in, "You can deny it all you want Tristan, but it's tru-ue." She sang quietly as they entered the room.

"Silence, wench." He muttered, playfully smacking her thigh.

Rory laughed out loud, slapping his hand away. She walked towards the table with Tristan's hand still on her lower back. The Queen Mother sat at the table and Rory, who'd expected the woman to be glaring at her, was surprised to see that her gaze was trained on her son's hand on Rory. They came to the smaller, informal table and Tristan pulled a chair out for her. She smiled and thanked him as she slid into it. He stepped around his mother, laying an expected kiss on her cheek. It was stiff and proper; empty. He sat across from Rory, allowing his mother to stay at the head of the table.

The Queen Mother motioned for food to be brought out and servants jumped to obey. She turned towards them, her mouth forced into a smile, "Tristan. I wasn't aware you would be joining us this morning."

He grinned at her maddeningly, his expression as forged as hers, "I was just curious as to what you had to talk to Leigh about that was so important it warranted a breakfast invite." He grinned crookedly, "I wasn't aware the two of you spoke."

His mother's face became a mask as she twisted her head around to look at the girl in question. Rory bit her lip, looking back at her steadily. "Only occasionally, dear." She said evenly, speaking to Tristan though her gaze didn't leave Rory.

Tristan nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair as a plate was placed before him, "Oh well, go on with whatever you had planned, just pretend I'm not here."

The Queen Mother's eyebrow arched but she said nothing as she looked steadily at her son, "I must admit, Tristan, that I am surprised you came."

"Are you?"

She nodded, "You've never felt the need to dine with me before, and even last time I had tea with Leigh, you weren't there and then last time I tried to have breakfast with her you called the entire thing off…" she trailed off, shrugging.

His eyebrow arched challengingly, "I was in Rivenlear the first time, mother. I wasn't aware you were attacking her." His mother shot Rory a look that made her shiver. Tristan glanced between them before chuckling humorlessly, "No, mother, she didn't tell me what you said, but I can imagine. It isn't that hard with you."

She looked back to her son, sighing, "Tristan, dear, what is it you think I'll do to her?"

He shook his head lightly, "You're incorrigible, mother. I wouldn't leave you alone with a mountain lion for fear of the animal's safety."

"Oh well that's nice." She snapped, taking a drink of her wine. "This is actually a conversation that I've been meaning to have with you son." She motioned towards Rory, "Though not with her in the room."

Tristan stilled, staring at his mother without a sound. She'd surprised him, though in the years he'd been king he'd had to learn to mask it.

Rory looked between them, pressing her hands together in her lap in the tense silence. She hadn't spoken since they'd entered the room. Watching Tristan and his mother argue was like watching a storm coming. Before rain and lightning and thunder there was only the steady accumulation of clouds, a pickup in the wind. With them it was the same. They slowly built up and up, and she was sure once they were alone the clouds would break.

"I don't have the urge to discuss anything with you, actually." Tristan said calmly, watching her evenly.

His mother opened her mouth to give what was sure to be a cutting reply, but she didn't get the chance because Stephanie stormed in through the open doorway. All three of them snapped around to face her striding confidently in and dragging a miserable looking Logan behind her.

"This began as a private breakfast." Tristan's mother muttered, looking up at her niece and nephew with a decidedly sour look.

Stephanie ignored it, "Auntie Catherine!" she called, beaming.

She elbowed Logan in the ribs and he grunted, "Morning."

The blonde girl rolled her eyes, pulling out the seat next to Rory, "Auntie Catherine I was so upset when I realized that we're leaving in three days and I haven't gotten much of a chance to spend time with you." The Queen Mother looked at her, unconvinced, though she said nothing. Logan collapsed into the chair next to Tristan. His cousin shot him a questioning look and he shrugged, motioning towards Stephanie. The girl went on, "And when I heard that you were meeting with Leigh and Tristan I just had to come. She's wonderful, isn't she?" the girl was still smiling widely.

The Queen Mother's eyebrow arched as she glanced over at the girl in question, her quiet voice hard enough to cut glass, "Positively fantastic."

Rory laughed, following Tristan as he pulled her down the hall, "Where are we going?"

He shot her a conspiratorial look, grinning, "Patience, woman, patience."

"Tristaaaaaan." She groaned, "I hate surprises."

He just laughed, "You won't hate this one." She glared, grumbling under her breath while still laughing. He pulled her through the bottom floor of the castle, through the military wing, and outside, the sun hitting her exposed arms at the same time as the chilled wind. It immediately made goose bumps rise over her skin. She felt Tristan laugh against her side.

She elbowed him in the ribs, "Shut up." He just laughed harder, but slipped his arm around her, pulling her against his side, chafing his hand over her exposed skin. She wanted to push him away because he was being obnoxious, but she really was cold.

"It's not much farther." He assured her.

She looked around as he led her in the direction of the outside practice arenas. He brought her around to the very back of the castle and to a door she'd never noticed before. Rory looked at the sturdy wooden door set into the solid stone wall. She pictured in her mind what was on the other side. A weapons room. But there was no door in it. She looked up at Tristan, "What is this?"

He shot her a crooked grin but said nothing, pulling a string from around his neck with a sturdy-looking key strung onto it. He easily unlocked the door and pushed it open, leading her inside. The first thing that hit her was the dull heat, welcome after walking through the chilled air. The second was the tang of metal sifting through the air. It was a good sized room and she looked around, shocked to see that it was a small smithery. She looked up at Tristan, surprised, "How…". She trailed off. She'd known that the castle had its own sword smith but she'd never imagined that there was a smithery tucked into the back. She took in the furnace and anvils scattered throughout the room, barrels of metallic chunks and tools for beating out the blades. On one side of the room there was a shelf full of precious stones to be laid into the hilt of the royals' and nobles' swords.

Tristan pulled her into the room and closed the door behind her to keep out the cold. Sunlight filtered into the room from gaps near the ceiling, set along the outside wall. She presumed they were for letting smoke filter out and prevent it from getting too hot while the sword smith was melting metal for the swords. Several finished swords lined the walls and she looked at them longingly, biting her bottom lip without realizing it.

He watched her take it in, grinning at her lightly. Finally Rory turned to look at him, shaking her head lightly, "I didn't even know this was here."

Tristan laughed, nodding, "Most people don't."

She took a step away from him, towards the wall with finished swords, "Why?"

He looked at her contentedly, his arms crossed over his chest, "We have so many weapons that need to be made…" he shrugged, "It's easier than commissioning them from an independent weapon smith."

She exhaled in a disbelieving laugh, stepping over to the swords lining the wall. She was almost to them when one caught her eye, lying across a shelf below the line of swords on the wall. She looked down to it, her eyes widening. It rested atop a thick burgundy wrapping cloth but at the moment it was unwrapped. She stared down at it, her jaw dropping slightly. It was smaller than most swords, made for a small fighter, swifter than strong. Its blade gleamed in the autumn light slanting into the room, blindingly bright and smooth. Her gaze travelled up to the hilt and she blinked slowly. The metal was two sections twisted around each other in a swirling handle and the entire hilt was set with dark sapphires and clear amethysts at intervals along it. She ran her fingers along the hilt slowly, watching the way the sunlight played off of it.

She felt Tristan right behind her, his chest nearly touching her back. "What do you think?" he asked quietly.

Rory exhaled quietly, shaking her head minutely, "I've never seen anything like it." She whispered honestly.

"Its yours." His voice was soft.

Rory froze. She stared at the sword before her, uncomprehending. She glanced up at him, "What?"

He smiled gently; before she would have thought he was pleased with himself, but now she realized that wasn't it. He was happy, because he was doing something for her. Just because he wanted to do things for her. "It's yours. I had it commissioned for you a few days before you left to take the men to the border." She stared down at the sword, not knowing what to say. She was touched, of course, and really, overjoyed, but he would never have known that by her reaction. She stared at the sword in shocked silence, taking it in. Tristan, seemingly thrown off by her lack of reaction spoke again, "I mean, you have a sword, I realize…and it's a good one….but this one is better." He said simply.

"Tristan." she said quietly, twisting around to face him. From his voice she'd expected him to look uncertain, but he didn't; he just looked down at her calmly. She put a hand over her heart, tilting her head, "I don't know what to say."

He smiled warmly at her, amused, "Just tell me you won't use it to impale me."

She laughed lightly, "Only if you promise to behave yourself."

His eyebrows arched challengingly, showing that he didn't buy her demand, "Do you want me to behave myself?"

Rory pursed her lips, shooting him a look, "Yes."

He narrowed his eyes at her, tilting his head thoughtfully, "How about….we make a deal?"

She grinned, crossing her arms over her chest, "What kind of deal?"

He smirked, reaching around her, his fingers brushing her side. When his hand came back he was holding her sword by the base of the hilt. He held it towards her. She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes in confusion, but she took it slowly, slipping her fingers around the hilt higher up. It was as light as it had looked. He pulled his hand back and leaned past her again, pulling one of the swords from the wall. "You beat me, and I'll be the most respectable gentleman. A saint." He grinned devilishly, tracing his fingers lightly along the scar on her lower collarbone, making her shiver. Or maybe that was just from the bedroom drop in his voice, "But if I beat you…" he trailed off, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip, "you have to do whatever I want." Rory inhaled sharply, her skin already heating up. She could feel his body heat through both of their clothes. She could smell his skin. His fingertips tracing along her collarbone made her knees shake. He still looked down at her, reveling in the effect he was having on her. His voice was quiet when he spoke next, like skin over bed sheets or the wind in your hair, "Deal?" he whispered into her ear, scraping his teeth over the shell.

Rory exhaled shakily, pushing him away from her roughly. He looked down at her, surprised but pleased, his eyes snapping with some pent up arousal. She grinned up at him wantonly, shifting her weight to get a more solid stance, "Deal."

He smirked at her languidly, his perfect lips curving. There was a spark in his eyes, the same one she'd seen the night he pushed her against the tree in the practice arena. He loved to play. He loved a challenge.

Tristan stepped slowly to the right and Rory did the same, circling each other slowly. He held the sword deceptively loose in his right hand, watching her with bedroom eyes. He moved gracefully, the same way he had when he'd jumped off the bed without a sound, he stalked her like a cat. She watched, taking account of all his movements, waiting for him to strike. She saw his attack before it came but was caught off guard by his speed. She blocked him as he lunged at her, skipping away and out of his reach. He grinned and she saw him crack his jaw, circling her again.

Rory bit her lip, watching him cautiously as they circled each other, confined to a smaller space than she was used to. The room was big enough to walk around in, but because of all the metal working tools spread throughout the room they were confined to a space neither of them were used to fighting in. She moved slowly, tilting her head. Tristan watched her, his lip quirking thoughtlessly and without warning she skipped forward and swiped at him. She'd thought there'd been no warning, but her sword found nothing but empty space. He was gone and she twisted with her momentum, turning to face him again, his eyes shining.

She could already feel the sparks jumping between them and knew that this wouldn't take long. She had no idea who would win, but neither would have the self control to wait it out. This wasn't a contest of who was better with a sword. It was a battle of who would hold out the longest.

And Tristan was already giving her that look.

They circled each other still. Tristan watched her through clouded eyes, faking left, and Rory raised her arm lightly, shifting her stance to accommodate for it. He moved forward so quickly she barely saw him move, but she raised her sword in reaction and skidded to the right, out of his way as their blades met in a metallic explosion. She gasped from the impact, jarred, but didn't fall as she circled her sword around to get it off of his and slid backwards, out of his reach. He was watching her, smirking, and she took his moment to recover as her cue to jump for him and she thrust her sword forward, catching him off guard with the rapid movement. He barely had time to raise his sword to knock hers off the course it was taking for his shoulder. The familiar sound of swords grinding and sliding against each other made her grin reflexively as her blade skated over his and slipped off. They were closer now than they had been. She could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing almost labored. It wasn't from their fighting.

He stepped lithely and she moved to mirror it, staying a breath away from him. She could feel his need almost like a breeze across her skin, could taste their sweat in the air. She could see that she was winning.

Rory, sensing the reaction she was bringing up in Tristan, looked up at him from hooded eyes, and after a moment of locking gazes with him from below her thick sheet of loose, loping curls, she grinned, her eyes smoldering and her lips curving in a most shameless and suggestive way. She looked at him, breathing hard, and bit her lip slowly. And something in him snapped. He moved forward, didn't lunge, didn't jump, didn't try to catch her off guard, but he moved forward like a storm or an avalanche or a wave, raising his sword. Rory stepped back, raising her own to ward off his rapid, teeth chattering blows as he backed her further and further into the room, his eyes nearly glowing in the dim light. She gasped, moving quickly backwards, raising her sword over and over until, without warning, her back hit the stone wall and Tristan grabbed the wrist of her sword arm forcefully and pinned it against the wall, his body crashing into her without missing a beat. His lips were rough and fast and demanding against hers.

She heard something solid strike the ground that could have only been his sword. A second later his hand was on her face, holding her in place as his lips assaulted hers roughly and thoroughly. Rory gasped into his mouth, arching into him. She could feels his fingers tangle in her hair but his palm still stayed on her cheek as he tilted her head up, fusing his lips for hers more fully if it were possible. The hand that was pinning her arm to the wall broke from her wrist to covers her fingers and pull the hilt of her sword from them, dropping that to the floor also.

Her hands automatically went to his body, one sliding into his hair and the other reaching to clutch his shirt over his chest, holding him close. She could feel him pressed hard against her hip and she whimpered, shocked by how quickly he raised the heat in her own abdomen. Usually at that he would have grinned against her lips, but this time he didn't. Rather than amuse him it seemed to fuel him and the pressure of his lips against hers increased, his teeth scraping her and his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She felt her own fingers tighten on him as he pushed one of his kneed between hers, pushing her legs apart so that both of her thighs straddled one of his. She mewed quietly again, the hard muscle of his leg pushed against her center.

Rory hands moved without thinking and before she knew what was happening she'd pulled his shirt over his head. Somehow her skirt had been pulled halfway up and she was starting to untie his pants when he grabbed her wrists swiftly, breaking from the bruising kiss to speak hoarsely into her ear, "Turn around."

Her immediate reaction was to do anything he told her to, knowing in the end it would work to send her into oblivion, but the abruptness of his command surprised her. She couldn't imagine why he wanted her to do it. She looked up at him through the haze that muddled her brain, confused, "What?"

"Turn around."

"Why?"

"Because I said so." His voice was gravelly and harsh; not unkind, but nearly to the breaking point with restraint.

She knew, her body was screaming at her, to just do what he said. But some obstinate, sadistic part of her refused to. "No."

He growled under his breath, slamming her hands roughly above her head, pinning her completely to the wall so that she couldn't move, "Yes. I won."

"No you didn't." she protested, but it turned into an uncontrolled gasp as he pushed his thigh harder against her center, making her shake.

"Who got whose sword away, Mary?" he said into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. She didn't answer, having nothing to say to that. She couldn't think with him pressed this close anyway. He chuckled into her ear, "Exactly." And again before she could react he'd twisted her around, and once again pinned her hands above her head, only this time her palms were pressed against the stone and his chest was pushing against her back, his hips pressed firmly against hers from behind.

He slid his hands from the backs of hers, running them down her arms before sliding them languidly over her chest and down her sides until he came to her hips where he slid them around and came up her back, pulling the lace from the corset at her back. His fingers moved deftly, loosening the string in record time and within moments he'd pushed the dress down to puddle at her feet and she was left in nothing but a thin slip.

Tristan pushed his hips harder against hers, his lips trailing down her neck as his hands slid around her body to run slowly up the inside of her thighs, to brush across her center and continue up to her stomach. She inhaled shakily, pushing her hips back into his. She breathed his name, gasping has his touch ran over sensitive parts of her body. She felt his body shake with a laugh, but his hands were trembling from something else as he slid them up and then down her skin until he came to the skirt of her slip, which he bunched in his hands and pulled up until he had the whole garment over her head and he tossed it to the floor.

Rory felt herself shiver, exposed to the cold breeze filtering in through the gaps in the far wall, but it was only the briefest of moment because Tristan was there again, covering her body with his own. His warm chest pressed against her bare back helped to chase away the chill. The material of his pants was rough against her backside and thighs, but she barely noticed that as his fingers trailed over her now bare skin, running up her sides and across her chest and down her stomach...trailing down the junction of her torso and her leg, his breath hot as he whispered into her ear in a language she'd never heard before but didn't need translated to understand the meaning behind his words. His hand moved over the outside of her thigh, pressing hard against the skin before it slipped around to the inside of her knee and slowly moved up.

It was a moment before she realized he was again speaking in English again.

"….Mary."

"Mmm." She mumbled, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against his shoulder.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." He whispered against her skin, his voice still breaking with restraint. But there was something else to it, an aching honesty that was almost swallowed by the frustration of not yet being joined to her, "Please, please if at any point you want me to stop, tell me."

Rory opened her eyes slowly, twisting her face to look at him, "Tristan." She said quietly, sliding her hands down to cover his where they rested on her body, "I won't want you to stop." She breathed against his lips, shaking her head minutely, "Don't ever stop." She whispered.

She saw him swallow hard, something spark to life in his eyes, and a moment later his mouth was back on hers, fierce and demanding, and his hands continued their trek across her body.

Rory laid next to Tristan some time later, curled against his side. His fingers were tracing lazy patterns into her back through his shirt that was wrapped around her. She laid on her right side, of course, to hide her crest, but the shirt of his she wore fell down to mid-thigh, covering it if she stood. She slid her left leg over to twine with his legs, the rough material of his pants scratching against her bare skin. He'd put them back on a few minutes before pulling her to the floor to lay with him, her head on his chest.

Rory closed her eyes, listening contentedly as he brushed his lips across her hair, once again muttering in that language she didn't know. She hadn't really thought of it before, but she supposed the king would he taught languages.

She realized lazily that Tristan was now clean shaven, the skin of his face moving differently against her than it had the first night she'd been in his bed…had it really only been two nights ago? Had it just been the previous morning that he'd taken her again against the side of the bed, pushing her back into it, his hands hard on her body and his breath hot in her ear as he pushed her skirt up and thrust into her, making her head fall back and her back arch up.

She closed her eyes, burrowing her face into his chest and he stopped whispering against her, slipping his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up, touching his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. This time he didn't ask if he'd hurt her. She didn't think it was that he didn't care, not at all. She knew it was that he wasn't sure of the answer, and he wouldn't have been able to handle it if he had.

They broke away after a moment, eyes still closed. "What language is that?" she asked quietly, "There's something familiar about it."

Tristan didn't answer at first and she opened her eyes to see that he was watching her, his expression unreadable, "It's Gildrenian." He answered after a moment, running his fingers lightly down the side of her face. She nodded, realizing that it was familiar from hearing Finn's accent. She'd never met another from Gildren.

Rory took a moment to marvel at him, at how different he was than most people thought…than she'd thought even a few months before. She had a moment to marvel at how gentle he was now compared to how rough he'd been before, at how many layers there really were to his soul.

She looked up to the ceiling, watching as the afternoon light slanted into the room, dust shimmering in it. It was a moment before either of them spoke. "Do you ever do anything?" she asked suddenly but quietly, conversationally.

Tristan nearly laughed, "What?"

She shrugged, "You're always walking around, popping up in the most random places, hiding from Paris in your study, turning down marriage proposals...do you really ever do anything, or do you just run around the castle all day?"

At that he did laugh, squeezing her against his side affectionately, "No Mary, I do absolutely nothing. Being king is boring, actually, very uneventful."

She turned, laying her palm flat across his chest to push herself up, looking down at him suspiciously, "You're mocking me."

He grinned up at her angelically, "You were mocking me."

She gasped in playful indignation, "It was an honest question!"

Tristan laughed, "You want to know what I do? Really?" he grabbed her upper arms and in one swift motion she was under him, her back against the ground, and he was above her, one hand on the ground to hold his weight and the other running up her thigh, sliding her leg to wrap around his waist. She laughed, but it was cut off as his lips touched her neck, silencing everything, "This." He muttered against her skin, running his hand slowly along the line of her leg, "This I could do all day." She closed her eyes, leaning her head back as she hummed quietly, running her hands over the bare expanse of his shoulders. He pulled back after only a moment, looking down at her scrutinizingly, "Honestly, though, you want to know what I do all day?"

She looked up at him, nodding slowly, "Yes."

He rolled off of her, laying on the ground beside her. She turned to her side and pushed herself up on her elbow, leaning her head on the heel of her hand to watch his profile, "I go into the city. I see the people. I read requests and complaints from citizens. I meet with Max and Logan's father and my other advisors. I work with heads of other kingdoms to avoid war and keep peace….really it's a lot of talking and writing and listening, not so much action and fighting." He turned his head to grin at her, "Unless I decide to do it, of course."

She smiled back gently, tracing her fingers along his naked chest, "I didn't realize…" she trailed off, looking down.

He grinned, watching her, "What? That I actually do anything useful?"

Her gaze snapped back up to his, "What? No!" he just kept grinning and she bit her lip, glancing down, "Well….not in such harsh words." Tristan laughed out loud, pulling her against him, and she was relieved that he obviously wasn't offended. "You never say anything about it. You never complain."

He looked down at her, surprised, "Leigh, I wouldn't want to weigh you down with it. I mean, if there were anything interesting I'm sure I'd tell you, but all this boring paper signing and saying the same thing over and over?" he shook his head, "We aren't around each other that often, and when we are I wouldn't want to spoil it with my complaints."

She looked up at him scrutinizingly, trying to figure him out, "Well who do you complain to?"

He blinked slowly, "What?"

"Do you complain to Logan? Max? Paris?"

He shook his head, "No, why would I burden them with it?"

Her eyes widened and she pushed herself up on his chest again, "Tristan, you don't complain to anyone? Ever?"

He laughed lightly at her, "Why are you so interested in this?"

"Because if you don't complain about things…." She trailed off, uncertain of what would happen, just knowing it wasn't good. "Here." She sat up, pulling him up with her, "Try it. Complain about something."

He laughed, sitting across from her, "What?"

"Do it. Just tell me something about being king that you hate. Something you think about that you wish you didn't have to do."

He shook his head, "No matter how much I complain about something it isn't going to change."

"No." she smiled at him, "But you'll feel better."

He sighed sufferingly, leaning back, "Alright, if it will make you happy…" he trailed off, thinking, "I hate going to banquets."

She nodded, "Okay. Why?"

He shrugged, "Because it's all people telling me what they think I want to hear and trying anything they can to get in my good graces. I have to be nice to people I don't like." He shot her a look and she grinned.

"Go on. Tell me something else."

He shook his head, amused, "Uhm…I hate…" he faded off, looking at the ground between them. Something flashed across his face, a sadness, but only for a moment and then it was gone. "I hate sitting in meetings and doing peace conferences."

She watched him for a moment before speaking, "That's not what you were thinking."

He looked up at her and she was taken aback by his expression. She hadn't seen him so guarded in a long time. "But it's true." Was all he said.

"Why do you hate going to them?"

"Because they're boring. And nothing new is ever agreed on."

Rory bit her lip, shifting closer to him, "What was it you were thinking before?"

It was his turn to watch her in silence, letting the space between them shimmer. After a moment he spoke quietly, his voice despondent, "There are a great many things that I don't like about being king, Leigh."

She tilted her head, "Tell me." He looked at her for another moment before sighing, dropping his head. She moved closer, touching the side of his face, "Tristan." She whispered.

He looked up at her, shaking his head lightly, "It's nothing, really." She just stared at him, unrelenting. After a moment he shrugged one shoulder, his face unreadable, "I don't like not controlling my own life."

Her head cocked back, surprised, "Controlling your own life? I can't imagine you of all people not having any control over your own life."

His eyebrow arched, "No? You think I can do whatever I want? Go wherever, whenever I want? Say whatever I think? Associate with whoever I choose? Marry whoever I love?" he shook his head, "No Leigh, having the power to say no isn't the same as having the power to say yes. I can choose what I won't do, not what I will." She looked at him, obviously confused, and so he went on, "I can say I'm not going to go somewhere people have planned for me, I can tell Finn I'm not going to meet with him to discuss the defense problems at our western borders, but I can't just decide I'm going to go to the coast with my family. I can't just leave. I can't even make plans to leave because I want to. I can refuse to answer a question or give my opinion, but do you really think that I can say what I want without dire consequences? I can refuse to associate with certain nobles but I can't befriend the villagers and the people in the city, no one would ever allow it." He sighed, his entire frame sagging as he dropped her gaze. His voice softened. "I can refuse the princess of Rivenlear, but I can't choose to marry whoever I please, Leigh. Don't you understand that?"

She looked at him in the silence that followed, her heart going out to him, "Have you ever been close to marrying?"

He laughed humorlessly, "No."

"Why?"

He looked up at her, amused but bitter, "I guess, Leigh, that I just never found anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with." He shrugged, "I've all but given up on marrying for love. Now I just want someone who will be a good mother to my children."

She bit her lip, watching him in silence for a moment. She could see he was miserable, but for some reason the most insane urge to ask him a question that she knew would add to it, a question that just popped into her mind. She opened her mouth slowly, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, "Tristan." She said quietly. He looked at her, inviting her to continue, "Have you ever done anything as king that you regretted?"

His head cocked back, surprised, "What?"

"Have you ever given an order…invaded somewhere…signed something…promoted someone…turned down a proposal…had someone arrested or killed…and you regretted it after?" as she finished speaking she realized that she was looking at the ground. He didn't answer and so she looked up at him. He was watching her as if trying to decipher her meaning.

He blinked slowly, pulling his knees to his chest as well, "Have you ever done something you regretted, Leigh?"

She bit her lip before pressing them together, and just looked at him. She didn't think he was really asking for an answer, and so she didn't give one. And they just sat in the dim afternoon light that filtered into the room, watching each other without speaking. ***********************************************************************

Rory sat in the kitchen later that night, laughing with Marty, Sookie, and Jackson as they finished cleaning up after the evening meal was over. Marty looked over at her, grinning widely, "So the ball for Tristan's birthday is the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, I know." She answered, rolling a spare apple around the table.

Marty leaned on the countertop across from her, not bothering to sensor himself in the nearly empty kitchen, save the four of them, "Word around the castle is the king is taking you to his birthday ball."

She shrugged, "I'm going, if that's what you mean."

He clicked his tongue, "Oh no, Leigh, I have a friend who works as a seamstress in the castle. Have you seen the dress they're making for you?"

She shook her head, "I haven't seen it. I know what it will look like, though." It was pretty, to say the least. It had been described to her as having a low square neckline, a tight fitting bodice, cap sleeves, and a much fuller skirt than she usually wore. She'd wear a white under dress covered by a larger frost-blue overdress and it would all be trimmed in silver…she could imagine it but hadn't yet seen it.

Marty smirked at her, "Well then do you know what Tristan is wearing?"

She gave him a look, "Why would I know what Tristan is wearing?"

"Because your dress is being made to match, of course." She looked at him strangely and he grinned, "Don't you know about balls? When two people go as a couple they dress to match so that everyone knows." She didn't bother telling him that she was perfectly aware of ball attire etiquette, having attended many during the first years of her life. She was more shocked that her dress was being made to match Tristan. She was sure that wasn't proper.

"Marty." Sookie called, holding up a pile of baskets, "can you take these to the storage barn outside? We won't need them with the harvest being almost over."

He took them from her, "Of course." He shot Rory a look, "This conversation isn't over. I'll be right back."

"I can't wait." She deadpanned, and he left laughing. Jackson followed him out after a look from his wife.

"Rory." Sookie hissed as soon as they were alone. She snapped her head around, still shaken by a voice belonging to someone other than Jess, Luke, Rachel, Lane, or Dave using her real name. The cook looked at her as if she were insane, "You aren't really going, are you?"

She gave Sookie a strange look, "Of course I am."

"Have you lost your mind? You can't go. You'll be recognized for sure."

Her eyes widened, "What?"

"You got lucky with Tristan's friends not recognizing you. You grew up in the city and they all live in manor houses in the country. The only one who actually lives in the city is Louise and she didn't move there until a few years after you left. But at the banquet there will be hordes of nobles from the city, people who watched you as a child and knew your parents." She shook her head, "You have too much of Lorelai in you not to be noticed."

Again Rory jumped, her mother's name having a strange effect on her. She hadn't heard the name spoken out loud in years, and Sookie just threw it around like she used it every day. "But I can't just not go. How am I supposed to explain that?"

Sookie shook her head, shrugging, "You just have to, Rory. You absolutely cannot go."

"No, you don't understand. I have to go. Anna won't let me not go. She'll force me kicking and screaming. I can't not go without a reason.

Sookie watched her, her gaze calculating, "Well, I guess I could…" she trailed off, biting her lip.

"What?"

She sighed, "I could give you something. Food prepared wrong. It will make you sick so they won't be able to make you go. You'll be miserable, but you'll be alive."

Rory's face scrunched, "Food?"

Sookie nodded, "Yes. It's painful and uncomfortable. You'll throw up and have a fever, but you can't go. I don't know what else we could do to get you out of it. The sickness will only last a day or two."

Rory crossed her arms, leaning on the counter top. She wondered how Tristan would react to her being sick, "Okay." She said quietly.

Sookie nodded, "Alright. I'll get it to you at breakfast on the day of the ball…" she trailed off, "No. No, the day before. We don't want it to seem too planned."

Rory snorted, "Sookie, no one in their right mind would plan to make themselves sick to get out of a party. I don't think anyone will suspect foul play."

Her late mother's best friend shot her a conspiratorial grin, "Oh Rory, Rory, Rory, you're going to hate me."

Her nose wrinkled, "I would, except that you're probably saving my life. I can't believe I didn't even think about people recognizing me there."

Sookie rested a hand on her arm gently, "Don't worry, it will all work out."

"What will all work out?" they snapped around to see Marty pushing the door open, shivering against the night wind.

Rory smiled brightly, "My dress." She held the apple in her hand up, "I'm not eating until the ball." She patted her stomach, "Wouldn't want it to be too tight."

Marty rolled his eyes, "I seriously doubt that two days of eating normally is going to make the dress too small. And two days of fasting won't make it fit if its too small now."

Rory shot Sookie a look, her face brightening, "Oh Marty." She said happily, bringing the apple to her mouth, "You're so right."