"Come in," she said wearily, unwilling to move. The door creaked open, a familiar head poking through the opening. His black hair was mussed, normally sparkling blue eyes tinged in a gray sadness that hadn't been there a week before. He looked at her searchingly.
"You fell asleep in the catacombs last night. We couldn't find you, until one of the maids said she thought she saw you go down there. I—you were sleeping but I—I thought you died. Had—killed yourself. Even when I carried you back, you didn't wake up." His quiet voice caught, the pain flashing over his face briefly as he looked at her. "Gods Alanna, after all this… I couldn't lose you too." He slipped into the room, closing the door and in three great strides had her in his arms. Alanna buried her face in his shoulder, gripping at the dark, nearly midnight blue tunic he wore, barely noticing that her own shoulder was damp with Jon's tears. He pulled away, looked at her harshly, and softened when he saw the sadness in her face.
"Jon…I'm sorry. I wouldn't…I'd never…I didn't mean to scare you. I'd been with Duke Baird all day. I guess I was more tired than I thought," Alanna whispered. She suddenly realized how close he was, leaning over her like that, looking at her with eyes that were slowly beginning to lose their gray sadness and she blushed, looking down and wringing her hands. Jon looked at her quizzically, then moved back, cocking his head.
"I know you don't love me that way anymore. I wasn't going to do anything."
"I know," Alanna said, not wanting to meet his gaze. "It wasn't you I was afraid of."
"You refused to marry me."
"That doesn't mean I don't love you."
The last words left her mouth as a whisper, though she could see they had hit him hard. Then, suddenly, his mouth was on hers, crashing into her, his hands holding her shoulders, bringing her to him roughly. All the hurt and anger and fear inside rushing through his lips and tongue to meet her own pain. Caught off guard it took Alanna a moment to bring her hands around his neck, touching his hair, the side of his face, his muscular back. She knew him. Knew the curves of his body, could trace the scars on his arms in her sleep, Knew where the hair at the back of his whorled and which way each hair went. She felt him shiver and pull away slightly, then come back. Softer, gentler this time, as if easing the pain from the lips he had bruised against his own and thus easing the pain from her heart. She pulled away and looked into his eyes, seeing an understanding that hadn't been there in the desert.
"I wouldn't make a good queen," it was hard admitting this. He didn't know how hard, how right it felt to be with him the person and how wrong it felt to be with him the Prince. The King.
"I know, sweet. I just needed you. I know it doesn't change anything, I don't want it too. Thayet…she will make a good queen, if she accepts."
"She will." Alanna turned to lay back in his arms, her head and back supported by his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "George asked me to marry him." She didn't know how else to say it, she hadn't meant to, not now. She felt Jon's arms tighten into a hug, his face and lips press into her hair.
"I'm happy for you, Alanna."
She could feel his lips turn into a smile, and buried the back of her head under his arm to look up at him.
"I never could imagine you settling down, getting married, having children. Even when I asked you to marry me, I didn't think of us having children." Absently his fingers brushed her throat, touching the cord binding both the ember stone and the pregnancy charm Mistress Cooper had given her so many years before.
"No children yet, Jon. I—I'm not ready to settle down that much!" Jon looked at her, amused.
"I never thought for a moment you were, Lioness." Sighing Jon sat Alanna up on her own and stood. Hesitating, he added, "I should go. Things aren't fully cleaned up yet, they'll need me. Alanna…I thought you should know…we're burying today. Liam…and Thom…you should be there."