A/N: I'm so sorry! Man, this has taken me FOREVER to complete! And I wasn't sure if I should do it this way or as Jon asking her to marry him, but you'll find out soon enough! Hope you enjoy!

King Jonathan IV of Conté was acting very odd. Those who knew him would say he'd been possessed by some kind of demon, perhaps, but no one was there in his chambers to observe him—a fact which he greatly appreciated, indeed. Jon sat down, stared at his hands, then abruptly stood up to pace the floors of his personal study, then stopped, looked down at his hands again, and sank into a chair. This process had been going on for well over an hour.

The king sat down once more, closing his eyes tight and clenching his fists. The image of her just last night raced through his mind, scalding his eyes and making his throat tighten. Memories of everything that had happened played through his mind, tormenting him.

She'd looked beautiful in a gown of rich molten brown, the exact shade of her eyes. It was simple, following a long, fluid design that came to a V between her perfect curves. It continued down her torso, clinging like a second skin, to the top of her hips, then fell fluidly to the floor. It had been daring, exotic, and drove him crazy the entire night. He had wanted so badly to just take her in his arms and sweep her away, but duty had called for appropriate distance. He'd hated it, but had known he'd have to keep himself restrained until he could find the right time to

Sometime during the endless dances he'd come to realize that he could no longer see her, and for some reason the thought scared him. He'd ended the song with a bow to his partner and went to Alanna, who would surely know—but the knight did not. Panic had settled in, driving him to find her, although he had known she was most likely just powdering her nose, and he'd gone to the gardens to search for her. When Jon could not find her there, he'd cloaked himself with a spell to hide him from sight and rushed to her room, thinking she might have been upset by something, or simply become too tired.

Well, he had found her—he wished he hadn't. If he'd been with her all night, if he'd watched over her better, if he'd… but none of that mattered now. The memory of bursting through the door to find her sprawled on the floor, eyes wide open, staring blindly, would haunt him for a very long time. The panic had grown in to sheer terror as he'd raced forward, wrapping his arms under her shoulders and knees to lift her up and place her on the bed. Somehow a sane thought had entered his brain and he'd created a speech bubble to call for Alanna, not explaining but telling her to run to Thayet's chambers immediately. The Lioness had entered and doubtless seen a pathetic sight; Jon had been weeping, shaking her shoulders, trying to heal her but unable to, there was no wound, and he'd been pleading her to wake up.

Gently, Jon remembered she had moved him aside gently, she had knelt on the bed and gathered her magic to her fingertips and sparked it like a purple lightning bolt to the dead princess's body, making it rise and fall. Nothing. A second, third, forth time, and no result. The sorrow in the knight's eyes had nearly killed him, but he'd begged her to just take his power-all of it- and use it. Just once more. Something about his broken eyes must have made her agree to it, and Alanna had reached inside of him to take a firm hold of his sapphire magic and draw it into her, then release it all at once into Thayet.

A ragged gasp had torn the silence to shreds as Thayet's eyes shut closed and then flew open and she curled into a ball. "Thayet!" Her name had echoed in the room as Jon leaned over her, taking her wrists in his hands and bringing them away from her head, uncovering her and peering into her eyes. "Thayet, sweetling, look at me. It's me, it's Jon, I'm right here. Please, darling, look at me, see me, you're safe now." His eyes had frantically searched hers and she'd finally seemed to recognize what was going on. With a heartbreaking sob the lovely princess had thrown her arms around the king's neck and gripped tightly, shaking against him in terror. Neither had noticed their exhausted-looking friend stand and make her way to the door, where she was caught by her worried husband.

"Thayet, what happened? Speak to me, please." He had gathered her close and stroked her hair, kissing every inch of her face and brushing away her tears with his thumbs, only to wrap her in a blanket and sit with her cradled in his lap when the sobs only died to tremors that shook both of them. "Sweetheart, tell me what happened. Whoever did this has to be accounted for." That was a diplomatic way to say it, he'd thought. Rage had started to fill him, fanned by fear that such a thing could happen again when he wasn't looking.

"D-do-don't know. I just rem-ember being ha-handed a drink by some nob-ble, and I remember that person was l-l-looking strangely and then there was… pain. So m—uch pain… I ran. I don't re-re-re," he stopped her to take a breath and let it out slowly. "I don't remember anything e-else."

"What did this noble look like, Thayet?" His eyes had looked straight into hers, compelling her to tell him who the plotter was so he could kill the man.

"She—"

"She?" He'd looked stunned.

"Women can p-plot too," she'd retorted, and some of her old flame had come into her eyes at what she knew was going through his head.

"I have no doubt of that now, sweet. Tell me what she looked like. Please. This is very important to me."

"She had… a pale dress, peach colored, and… gold hair, straight, and long, halfway down her back," her brows had knit together in concentration.

"What about her eyes?" Already a picture was forming, and he didn't like the woman in it.

"Pale, blue or grey. She was tall, and thin, built like a willow, rather than with curves. I'm sorry, I can't remember much more than that." Thayet had buried her head into his shoulder and he'd crooned to her until she'd fallen asleep. It was only after she'd drifted that he'd gotten up and placed her in his room, tucking her into his bed before leaving to speak with a certain person of rogue-like qualities.

Jon heard a noise, snapping him out of his reverie. "I believe this is who ye'd be lookin' for, lad," the tall ex-Rogue stated with a wicked grin. You'd have to know him quite well to notice that it wasn't humor that lit his eyes, but the promise of quick retaliation should he decide the punishment given to the noble lady wasn't enough.

The woman he shoved in was stunningly beautiful—if one hadn't seen Princess Thayet, that is. She'd once been the crowning glory of Tortall, the most beautiful woman in the world, and she'd loved it. It'd even been rumored that she would marry Jonathan, but he'd met Thayet and plans had changed.

Jasmine of Horsehound Gates was tall, slim, with the face of an angel and eyes of deceptively soft blue-grey. The soft lips had once brushed against his innocently and wonderfully, but now they were pulled back in disgust. "I have told this… this… peasant to stop manning my person, but he refused! My king, might I ask what this is about?" Jasmine had changed tactics quickly when she'd seen the tick in Jonathan's jaw, going from outraged noble to humble servant flawlessly.

"I have it under my information that you have attempted to poison the exiled Princess Thayet jian Wilima, who is under my care after her escape from her war-torn country. Do you plead guilty to this crime?"

The only sign was a slight flicker in the lips, but her eyes remained level with his. "No, your Highness. Of course not. She is an honored guest."

"Oh, I'm afraid she's a bit more so. You see, I've already asked for her to become my bride—your queen." A one-sided smile graced his lips as contempt raged through the both of them; for him towards the lying she-devil in front of him; for her towards the she-devil that had come and stolen the throne that was owed to her! Owed, she knew it!

"That bitch is not worthy of—"

"If you ever, ever, call Princess Thayet anything other than her title, I will have your tongue removed. Am I understood?" His normally smooth voice was ice cold, each word spoken precisely and in a dangerously soft way. The woman's eyes widened and she nodded quickly, knowing she had best play it by his rules, lest she not live to play any longer. "Good. You will go to your seaside manor and remain there. If I even hear rumor that you are near the Princess, you will not live to regret it. Am I understood?" She nodded once more, paling remarkably for her already white skin, and Jon swept past her, giving George a slight nod of his head as he passed.

The noble would not live to threaten his Thayet. It would be the one thing in all of his ruling that he would feel remorse over, but he also knew that if he hadn't, she would have continued to go after his wife-to-be. He smiled as he pulled out the box that had rested inside his pocket the entire night. He might be sentencing one life to death, but damn if he wasn't going to give his life to someone as well. Always balance death with life, Alanna had told him once, and he honored those words to this day.

It was time he gave Thayet more of himself than his words and his time. He wanted to give her his heart, and after she'd nearly been taken from him, he wouldn't waste any more time.

The rest of the castle would wonder the next day why they saw the King smiling like a fool, until they all saw the ring that rested on the Princess's finger. After that, no one guessed what had made the king so happy these fine days, just as they never wondered about the dreamy look in Princess Thayet's eyes.

It was a royal match destined for happiness, indeed.