Jonathan of Conté stood near the hearth, elbows on the ledge and head in his hands. "I couldn't get away sooner," he said in a low tone, too tired to raise his voice. "We don't have parties because we're in mourning, but these… 'quiet get-togethers'" he spat the words out in distaste, "take hours, all the same." He closed his eyes and opened them wearily when the man came over next to him. This man had honey hair with gold streaks, where Jon had midnight black with blue tinges. Where Jon's eyes were a startling blue of sunlit sapphires, the man's were a hazel color with more of a rich green tone than the earthy brown. Both were tan, but the second man's skin was darker, lines from laughing and squinting into the sun around eyes that always glinted with ill-contained mischief.
George Cooper, known in the world of thieves as the Rogue, King of the Court of the Rogue, mortal enemy of Lord Provost, looked at his king-to-be with what Jon knew was censure. "You should've waited." His lilting voice eased some of the knots in Jon's stomach even as it clearly spoke in reprimand. "She fell asleep in her chair, poor thing. She's weary. They all are." Jon knew who 'she' was: Alanna of Trebond-Olua, knight of the King's Court, known in battle as The Lioness, friend and former lover of both men in the room.
Some time ago Jon had asked-no, he had assumed, he thought in his head- that she would marry him, but pride and temper, something that both possessed in spades, drove them apart. Jon had gone back to court, flaunting that he could have any woman at his feet, and she had gone off to far-away places. While Jon didn't harbor any ill feelings, he wondered if she did. He knew for certain that she had grown to 'know' George, but Jon approved that immensely. Jon had always known that George loved her, and Jon had a feeling that while Alanna didn't want to acknowledge it, she loved the thief king back.
Jon sighed, coming back to the present. "And there's little rest for my lady knight here." Even now there were rumors spreading about once again, about her fight with Roger when she first became a knight, about being his squire, about little things that just seemed so ridiculous! Jon took a breath and listened to what George was saying. If he was to be king, he needed to learn to deal with this sort of thing and still be in the present.
"Does he know she's back?" Jon knew George was referring to Roger this time.
"He knows. I just don't- what?" George had gone stiff. No, not stiff—tense. Then he relaxed and a small smile played across his face while his eyes were the slightest bit sad. Without a word he opened the door, bowed, and pushed in the lady knight. With the blink of an eye the thief lord was gone, closing the door behind him. The awkward silence that stretched between the two former lovers was filled with questions.
Suddenly she moved forward and Jon braced for her temper to strike out. Instead, she knelt and bowed her head, leaving the king-to-be reeling with shock and wonder. "My liege. I am yours to command."
"You're sure, Alanna?" he asked in a tender tone, putting his hands on her hair.
She met his eyes with a strong look. "Until death and after, Jonathan."
The poignant feeling of being fully accepted as a friend again moved through him with the force of a sudden tide. "I accept your fealty, Sir Alanna. I accept, and I vow to return fealty with fealty, honor with honor, until death and beyond it." With a laugh he lifted her to her feet and kissed both of her cheeks. "You don't know what it means to have you home." The instant the words were out the tears he'd withheld for so long burst free and he covered his face. "He killed himself, Alanna. He made it look like a hunting accident, but it wasn't. Oh, gods!" A sob tore through his chest and rocked both of them as she drew him close in comfort and just held him. "Why did I have to lose both of them?"
Alanna, gods bless her, held him, rocked back and forth, shushed him and wept with him. When he'd finally calmed down, they talked about her travels. It was then that she told him she did, in fact, have the Dominion Jewel. The enormity of those words forced Jonathan into a chair. She really had it. Perhaps with it, the fingers of doubt spreading through the land-doubt of his rule- would stop for good. He took a breath just as George reentered the room.
"All's well, then?" Alanna and Jon shared a smile. "At last," George sighed, and while his tone was happy Jon saw a flicker in his eyes that remained sad. Instantly knowing the cause, Jon let him continue until he could catch his attention. "I never felt right when you two were on the outs with each other. We were havin' tea," he said to Alanna. "Will you join us?" She nodded and the thief poured a third cup. Jonathan caught his eye and shook his head. A momentary pause and a quickly disguised look surprise mixed with a large dash of hope and delight was all that could be seen from Jon. It was enough that Jon had to suppress the urge to grin. He knew exactly what was on the Rogue's mind in that instant.
After explaining the tea to Alanna, who stared at it with distrust, Jon held his cup up. "To old friends, the best of friends," he winked at George, who Jon could have sworn blushed.
"So mote it be," Alanna replied, and drained the tea quickly. It was not to her taste.
"Hear, hear," George added and sipped his after giving it a cursory look for poison. Jon supposed it was automatic habit.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" the low voice caught Jonathan's attention and drew it to the door. His eyes widened and he choked on the few drops of tea he'd attempted to swallow.
"Great Merciful Mother!" he wheezed. George clapped him on the back with a grin on his face.
In the doorway stood the most beautiful woman to ever be created, Jon knew without a doubt. Clad in a simple night gown, delicate hands with long fingers tried to hide dainty bare feet that graced the floor beneath the bottom of the nightdress. She was tall, slender but with curves lovingly shaped by the Goddess's own hands. Hair was spun from the deepest depths of a forest, a brown so dark it was nearly black but shone with fiery tints . The face was flawless, a deep cream in the firelight, with rounded cheekbones that melted seamlessly into a soft jaw line. Her mouth was truly spectacular, curved and plush and a soft rose color. His gaze traveling up a strong nose for such a soft face, his gaze was caught and held by the most wonderful eyes he'd ever beheld. The brown wasn't brown, it was liquid chocolate, molten earth, the Goddess's own, for sure! Those eyes flicked away from him nervously, trying to arrange herself properly. Jon thought she would be beautiful in a peasant's clothes, or-to his blush- nothing at all.
Thayet tried to hide herself beneath the all-too-revealing gown, feeling a fool. Stupid cat, she muttered. Said traitor sashayed to Alanna, who was concealing a grin behind her hand. Thayet noticed with interest that George was staring at not her, but the knight, joy spreading into his eyes at some realization. "Faithful woke me up, and then I couldn't sleep," she tried to explain while backing out the door.
Moving faster than she would have thought possible for such a large man, George was behind her and pulling her into the room. "We were havin' a bit of tea," he soothed, closing the door. "There's a seat by the fire- over next to Jon." Jon! As in Prince Jonathan? Thayet's mind scrambled. Oh, nonono. She couldn't meet him like this.
Swiftly the king-to-be stood and gracefully walked to her, taking her hand. Her startled, unsure gaze met his and was trapped by the blazing cobalt. Those eyes searched hers as the hand he held was brought to his lips. A blush roared through her face, she was sure, as lightning traveled through her at just that simple brush. Trying to hide it, she quickly withdrew her hand and held her head high. "We haven't been introduced." She heard a chuckle and flicked a glance at George, who was sharing a look with Alanna now, both of them sharing some sort of inside merriment.
Off balance, Jon felt the heat creeping up his neck and into his ears, then his cheeks. He heard a noise and glanced first at Alanna, then George. Both were grinning from ear to ear and he reddened even deeper.
"Thayet jian Wilima," George's deep brogue resonated with laughter ill-contained, "may I present Jonathan of Conté? Are you officially 'King' now, Jon, or does that wait till the coronation?"
The Rogue's attempt to settle their nerves was unheeded by both royals. "Does the introduction meet your standards, your Highness?" He asked, meeting jaunty look for jaunty look, dry tone for dry tone.
He watched as she curtsied to the exact degree that was proper for a princess meeting a prince, but noticed with an inner laugh that her head remained up and her eyes challenged his. "I am 'Highness' no longer, your Majesty. My father is dead, and I am an exile. I hope to become your Majesty's loyal, low-born subject." She inclined her head while the thought, 'Like that could ever happen, darling,' traveled through his mind.
A noise startled them both, an odd sigh that originated from Alanna. Jon and Thayet looked over at her at the same time to see her staring at Thayet's curtsy and instantly everyone in the room knew what it was about; Sir Alanna had never been one of ladylike manners.
Thayet and Jon looked at each other, and the princess began to giggle, then laugh, and Jon broke into laughter as well, holding his hand and drawing her to her feet. He led her to the chair next to his, letting go of her hand reluctantly, and sat down. George sat not far from them, directly across from Alanna, and the four of them began speaking as if they were old friends, starting with the story behind Thayet's coming to Tortall.
By the time the great tower clock had chimed midnight, the four of them were immersed in conversation of all sorts. Hearing it, and seeing the Lioness's yawn, George stood and walked over to her to hold out is hand.
"Yer tired, lass. Don't deny it," he said as she opened her mouth to do that exactly. He grinned. "Come on, Alanna. Ye know yer not goin' t'win when ye can barely keep yer eyes open." He turned to the two royals and bowed. "Yer Highnesses," he said, and with a wink Thayet he drew a mumbling knight away.
Thayet turned to Jonathan and grinned. "He's head over heals for her, isn't he?"
His gaze moved slowly over her face, lingering on her lips. "And she for him," him murmured.
Belatedly realizing they were alone, Thayet stood up quickly and curtsied just as nimbly. "I do believe I should also be going to my chambers, my Prince." Her eyes locked on the floor until his hand cupped under her chin and drew it up.
Taking her hand and bringing it up-and in doing so causing her to stand- he placed it against his chest, over his heart, and kept his palm over the back of her hand. His other wrapped around her waist, slowly, noting that she had gone stiff and unmoving. "I will not hurt you," he promised softly, his eyes locked with hers. Keeping her gaze steady, he leaned closer, until their lips were nearly touching. "Kiss me, Thayet."
The whisper sank into the fear in her mind and set it aside. Still nervous, she hesitantly brushed his lips with hers and the brought her head back, looking at him expectantly. She heard a soft chuckle as he brought her body even closer to his and felt his mouth brush hers as he spoke softly, gently, to her. "What is it about you that captivates me, Princess?" Her eyes fluttered and closed, her lips parted as strange sensations made their way through her body. "Your eyes are pools of color, your skin so soft it melts against mine, but it's not just that." He drew back to look at her, loving the clouds that had sifted over her eyes, making them dazed and soft. "Your mind is wonderful, quick, sharp, but your heart softens it." He pressed her hand against him, letting her feel his heart's erratic beat thundering against her palm. "Your heart and your strength are what make you who you are. Your wisdom, kindness, openness to life. You captivate me, Thayet. And I don't want to fight it. Kiss me, Princess. Let me know who you are."
His kind words before had made her smile, but these… these brought her out of her daze and she saw the look shining in his eyes, the respect and wonder. Any hesitation left and she kept one hand over his heart while the other reached to sift into the hair at the nape of his neck and she pressed her lips to his, wondering herself at the enormity of what was happening.
Jonathan groaned at her softness, wondering at how giving of herself she was. Here was a woman who knew how to lead, but listen. She was strong, yet supple, wise but kind, sure and compassionate. She was everything he'd asked for, and more. His heart hammered against hers as he kept the kiss light, enticing. With a soft sigh she offered her mouth to his, accepting when his tongue stroked hers languidly. Now it was his turn to sigh as he drew back, kissing her softly once more before leaning his forehead against hers. "Thayet," he whispered, and she smiled up at him.
He sighed again and drew back further, taking her hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. "I will escort you to your rooms before I do something shall both enjoy," he said formally, but his eyes glittered into hers and she laughed, knowing he was trying to be chivalrous despite the fact that he clearly wanted her.
"I thank you for the honor, your Majesty," she chuckled, and let him lead her to her chambers. They reached the door and she turned to him, one hand wisping over his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Thayet leaned into him, standing on her toes and gently brushing her lips against his. "Good night, Jonathan," she whispered, and slipped into her room.