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AYLETH

They talked for hours. Ayleth had no idea how long they'd lain there together, but at some point he lay flat on his back with his hands behind his head, and she rolled over to prop on his chest. There was a tense half hour where they argued over the definition of slaves, and whether Zenithrans used them. But by the time the moon was beginning to dip closer to the horizon, their words were becoming fewer and their stares longer. Ayleth was convinced neither he nor his people were cannibals—nor savages. And he had accepted that their use of magic was restricted to a small portion of the population—and that the indentured servants they held were not slaves.

They'd lain there, quiet, for some time when he suddenly sucked in a breath and put his hand over hers on his chest. "Will you still marry me?" he asked quietly.

She blinked and rose up to meet his eyes. Her hair had long fallen out of the hat, and she pushed it behind one ear to see him better. "Did you think my vow was made in jest?"

"No. But… it's very different in the flush of excitement and danger. We can see where our peoples, our cultures, are very different."

"Do you still want to marry me?" she asked.

"Of course!"

"Then the discussion is over. Do not ask me again, Etan. I am not fickle-hearted."

His smile crept up on one side and he raised his hand to push the rest of her hair behind the other ear, letting his fingers trail through it as he took his hand away.

Their eyes locked and Ayleth's heart pattered against her ribs again. "There is the question of our parents," she said, hating to face the tension of it, but knowing that they needed to.

He nodded soberly. "I'll speak to my father first, then yours."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Etan, you can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because they would never take us seriously if it was so fast. They'll think we're only in lust or—my father will accuse you of… Etan…" She swallowed, her eyes welling.

"What? What is it?" He pushed up to sit and pull her into his chest. "I know they'll disapprove. It will be difficult, but we'll weather it," he said, stroking her hair.

"You don't understand," she pushed out of his arms, but held onto his forearms—unable to ignore the steel strength of him, even as she forced him to look at her. "My father will kill you. His anger towards your father… his opinion of your people… it isn't a little thing, Etan. He will see my pledge to you as treason!"

Etan blew out a breath. "Borsche told me that. I thought… I hoped he was wrong. I should have known."

"He was not wrong."

Etan bit his lip and looked out into the night sky. "Then we must wait for the Peace Accord," he said quietly. "Unless your parents don't plan to sign it?"

The Peace Accord was the treaty of peace between all the Kingdoms of the continent. Any ruler willing to sign was accorded peaceful travel and trade with all other Kingdoms that signed—however, they must also accept the others within their own boundaries, and free any prisoners of war.

"Oh, they will sign," Ayleth sighed. "But…"

Etan's eyes glittered in the moonlight, and it was at that moment that she realized what their union would mean.

It would mean always prioritizing him. Even over her own parents. Even over her own people. His health and success would be hers. She couldn't deny him anything if they were ever going to succeed in unifying their nations. Ayleth pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin and met his gaze with her own, determined. "I believe—I do not know for certain—that my father intends to try to convince other Kingdoms to call foul with you and… disallow your parents the opportunity to sign."

"What." His voice was dark, hard, and far too quiet. Too calm. That leashed violence she'd seen in him when his man tried to resist him rolled off him in waves.

"We cannot let him succeed," she said. "I do not know for certain, as I said. But some comments he has made… it's the only way I can see that he believes your parent's access to the Accord is in question. They came to the Festival—surely they intend to sign!"

"Yes, they do." Etan pushed to his feet and began to pace. "And my blasted father intends to swallow every indignity, every baited barb, to ensure we get there."

"Good," she said.

Etan whipped his head around to look at her. "Good? You think it a positive that my father humbles himself before a man that would kill me for loving his daughter?"

Ayleth blushed even as she stood too, to resist him. "Yes, I do. True rulers show great patience and, yes, humility, where it will help their people."

Etan snorted. "Let me know when your father's ready to humble himself, then we'll talk," he said darkly.

Ayleth folded her arms. "Your father's strategy will succeed. If he doesn't rise to the barbs that are thrown, none of the other Kingdoms will have foundation to exclude him. He will be able to sign the Peace Accord—and then we can tell our parents, and under the protection of the treaty, become married. Eventually, we will unify our people, Etan!"

He stopped pacing to stare at her. "You're describing peace."

"Yes."

"True peace."

"Yes."

Etan looked away from her, his brow lined. But after a moment he took a deep breath and his shoulders rose and fell in the dark. "You're right," he said, reluctantly. "I do not like it, and I will do anything in my power to see my parents retain their dignity. But… you're right. We must wait. Two weeks. Until they sign the Accord."

"Two weeks," she said quietly.

"Two weeks," he repeated again. They stared at each other miserably.