Nobody asked, and yet, I delivered: Chapter 14 Part 4. This was SUPPOSED to be the end of it, but the Eadlyn's "epilogue" is actually multiple scenes and probably going to be another 1.5k words. That'll have to be a separate thing. Actually should I take this miniseries out of the one shot collection and make it its own thing? Is that the correct thing to do?

I'm going to have to write something really wholesome to make up for this, but for now…enjoy some Kile POV. TRNT update tomorrow!

It's midnight, and I've been staring at the same page of my book for an hour. I can't stop thinking about "it"—meaning the queen, her husband, and the mess I've dragged all of us into—for long enough to actually read. It's not like me at all, but then again, it's also not like me to pine after a married woman, regardless of how unhappy her marriage might be, or how beautiful and intelligent and misunderstood—

I don't let myself finish the thought.

I give up on the book. I toss it and my reading glasses on the nightstand and switch off the lamp. Unfortunately, trying to sleep in a bed that's not familiar anymore is worse than trying to read. Eadlyn's in my head again, haunting and tempting me like she always does. I can hear her voice so easily, berating me for showing up here and encroaching on her territory, because that's what she does when faced with something she can't control: she lashes out.

She'll never believe me, probably, but the truth is, I didn't know. When I got on the plane, I didn't know. How could I foresee the profound effect she'd have on me, the way seeing her for the first time in years felt remarkably similar to having my heart torn out of my chest?

Tension and turmoil and the resulting scolding be damned; the memory of seeing her on the stairs is a fond one. She's entirely changed but still entirely herself. Angry and beautiful, telling me I shouldn't be here, Eadlyn.

Then she's here with me, like I've called her from my head into my room. I blink in the dim light, wondering if this is a dream or a nightmare or something in between, but no. I'd recognize her anywhere, in darkness or daylight, and I can smell her perfume as she gets closer. This is definitely the real Eadlyn.

And she is definitely climbing into bed with me.

"What are you doing?" I hiss, even though it's kind of obvious, actually. "What happened to don't talk to me?"

"Changed my mind," she replies shortly, which does not actually give any indication as to why she's in my room at midnight. Her next move, however, makes her intentions explicitly clear: she slides onto my lap and kisses me, clutching my face with both hands.

It's an explosion. I feel the switch flip within me. One minute, I am heartily confused by her motives, and the next, I couldn't care less. It doesn't matter why Eadlyn's here, only that she is. Nothing matters besides her kissing me, grabbing fistfuls of the ratty t-shirt Josie gave me no less than six birthdays ago, pressing her entire body into mine. Fuck. This could go anywhere if we let it. Are we going to let it? We shouldn't; I'm dimly aware of that, but considering how many times I've dreamed of exactly this over the years, it's highly unlikely my mouth will be able to form the word no.

Five years. Five long years since I last touched her, and that was nothing like this. We're not teenagers messing around anymore, though the rush is the same. That's just her, the effect she has on me. Already, my pulse has skyrocketed, my heartbeat drowning out the sounding of the alarm bells. Wrong, the voice in my head reminds me, she's married, but there's another voice, more urgent, whispering her. Her, her, her.

She's reaching for the drawstring of my sweatpants. I gasp for air. Momentarily, the spell is broken; I go back to feeling like I'm on a merry-go-round spinning two-hundred miles an hour. "Eadlyn."

"Yes?" Despite having kissed me very expressively just moments ago, she's flat and emotionless now. So…business as usual.

"You told me, in very specific words, that we were not having an affair."

She scoffs, almost laughing, but not quite. "Changed my mind about that too."

She leans into me again; I push her shoulders back. It takes all my strength—I'd be happy to be her affair, her second choice, whatever part I have to play to keep the two of us in this position. But there's a small moment of clarity between kisses, and an even smaller part of me that recognizes we could end up regretting this. She's married. I'm not that kind of person, and neither is she. If her marriage vows didn't mean something, this would've happened years ago.

If I could just go back…

There's this tight little frown on her face, hazel eyes that refuse to look at me. Right. Pressing me into the headboard, fine, my hands on her waist, fine, but eye contact? That is too much.

But that's always been the way she works.

"Tell me what changed your mind," I request softly. I might not like her answer, but I want to know.

Eadlyn still won't look at me. She's determinedly staring out the window at the full moon. Her soft skin is lavender in the moonlight; her silky black robe is navy. "I kissed Erik tonight," she admits reluctantly, like he's the sordid side action and not the person she's legally married to. Regardless, his name hits me like a punch in the gut; I realize, belatedly, the lengths I've been going to not think of Erik. "We haven't—it's been—it doesn't matter. But he…told me to come here instead. Because he thinks it's what I really want."

Eyes glassy, I think, for a moment, she's going to cry, but instead, she pulls herself together like she always does. "It's really over with him. We don't love each other, and he doesn't care…what I do."

She's implied that before, the part about over, but never said it out loud in those exact words. I'm not sure what to say. I think it throws her off too, the unshakeable Eadlyn Schreave, because she finally disentangles herself from me and pulls the blankets up to her chest.

I instantly miss her weight, but that's not—or at least, it shouldn't be—my main priority right now. It's a lot to take in. As her friend, my heart aches for the end of her marriage. As the guy she was making out with just now…I have to admit I'm thinking other things. Things I probably shouldn't say.

"I don't want to talk about it," she says stubbornly, before I can even suggest it. Now she sounds like herself, the Eadlyn I know. "It's been over for a long time. We were just…pretending."

"Oh, Eady."

It's instinct; I wrap an arm around her. She leans into the touch, but she still won't look at me. My heart pounds, an entirely different type of adrenaline than the kiss. Guilt, maybe. Is this my fault? I didn't do anything wrong, technically, until now.

But I really, really wanted to.

Eadlyn exhales, and then she looks at me. It's a tangible shift in the air, when she makes up her mind. "Don't. It's fine, really fine. It was obvious from the start; we weren't going to last."

Obvious is a harsh word, but I admit I did have my doubts about Eadlyn and Erik from the beginning. I assumed—correctly, I now realize—it was just lingering jealousy, not actual cracks in their relationship, and went off to get my architecture degree like I thought I wanted.

"Besides, it's not like he's wrong," she says, mad about it, almost. Eadlyn loves being right.

The locked eyes are worse than the staring off into the distance, but I find I can't look away. She's pale in the moonlight. The queen is all sharp edges, usually, but tonight she's blurred to me.

"About what?" I ask carefully, slowly. It's delicate between us; I could easily ruin this without ever fully finding out what "this" is.

"About what I really want." She pauses; I hold my breath. "You."

I had good intentions. I was going to be noble and above-board and her shoulder to cry on. All that is gone in an instant. Me. She wants me. That cancels out everything else I should care about, the diamond ring on her finger, the husband a couple doors down. I want her too. I've never wanted anyone or anything like I want her.

I'm frozen, taking too long to respond. She's not patient, never has been. And the Eadlyn I know would never plead or beg, but she's dangerously close now. "Don't make me think right now," she requests, voice low.

And who am I to disobey my queen?

I pull her back onto me, kissing her with renewed ferocity. She's pleased; I can tell by her fingers pressing into the back of my neck. We can't possibly be close enough. I'm keenly aware of her shifting hips, the way she's clearly wasting no time, tugging at the hem of my shirt. Her obedient servant, I pull it over my head, and she looks at me like she's hungry.

I don't command the same authority, but when I give a questioning look towards the belt of her robe, she complies. I untie the knot, and she shrugs the silk off her shoulders, adding it to the heap at the foot of the bed. My breath catches in my throat, and I am thoroughly absolved any wrongdoing in this affair, because it's suddenly clear that Eadlyn decided she was going to have me long before I agreed to it. Underneath the robe, she's dressed sparsely in black lace, the kind of underwear you only wear if you're absolutely certain someone else is going to take them off.

It's enticing as it is, but it'd be just slightly more enticing if this was the first bedroom she'd crept into tonight. A flash of jealousy I'm not at all entitled to pulses through me as I run my thumb along the hem of her bra. "You wore this for Erik," I state. Eadlyn's not mine and never could be—she's no one's; she's the queen—but the idea of her being Erik's pisses me off more than it reasonably should.

It's not an accusation, but she takes it as one, straightening up and correcting me with a snap. "I wore this so Erik would fuck me and I could quit thinking about you."

I've never heard her talk like that before. It doesn't turn me off in the slightest.

"And he didn't?" I ask incredulously. The jealousy has vanished; I'm looking her up and down with new eyes. I don't think she minds, that I'm staring at her. Actually, I think she likes it. "He saw you like this and he didn't?"

She's pretending she's annoyed, rolling her eyes at me. "Kile."

"I would've had you in the reindeer sweater," I inform her, and it's the truth. My morals have failed me. I want her so bad.

A smile plays at her lips, but it's pretty clear Eadlyn doesn't want to talk. "Shut up," she tells me, leaning in so close I could count her eyelashes. "Shut up, and prove it."