AYLETH

It took some time to pack up camp, but both Falek and Borsche insisted. They would all travel back to the castle the next day directly from their accommodations.

Ayleth didn't ask, but she was glad to hear that she wouldn't spend her wedding night in a tent. That seemed… indiscreet. She glanced at Etan whose back was turned and admired the set of his shoulders as he leaned over to pick up a bedroll he'd just finished tying. Her heart fluttered and she sent a parcel of love and desire down the bond. She hadn't used it that way since they'd left the castle, but she saw him tense, then relax, and then he turned to find her with heated eyes.

They smiled at each other and she felt his surge of returning love and heat, then they both went back to their tasks.

She and Etan were both oddly silent throughout the process of breaking camp—both of them taking every opportunity to touch each other, but neither of them speaking. She wondered if, like her, he felt as if they were under a spell that might be broken with the wrong word.

Was it really possible that they would be married tonight? Finally?

Ayleth would have sighed and fluttered if it wasn't such a headless thing to do.

When they finally had everything in their bags, or tied to the saddles, Etan stood at her horse's bridle and held it until she was mounted, then sprung into his own saddle and nudged his horse up against hers so he could take her hand.

They stared at each other, both of them with faint smiles.

"I know this isn't what we would have chosen," he said, his eyes dark and his voice low. "But Ayleth… I find I can't regret it. I don't want to wait any longer."

"I think I already made it clear that I don't either," she murmured.

"I heard that!" Falek snapped from her other side. "Kindly do not say another word before I am forced to kill your fiancée, Ayleth."

Ayleth giggled, but Etan caught the man's glare and thought perhaps he wasn't joking.

The afternoon sun was becoming twilight before they reached the town—larger than Etan had anticipated, but still small. Borsche urged them to keep their hoods up and move quickly through the streets toward a small, white building that had been erected on the last street.

They all dismounted and tied the horses to the rail inside the small picket fence, and Etan moved immediately to Ayleth's side, offering his arm. She giggled, which seemed immature, but she was so full of nerves and hope and thrill, she was struggling to keep her composure.

The tiny church was little more than a square with a steeple. But Falek led them to a side door on the lean-to, so short that after a quick, rapping knock, Etan and Falek had to duck to step inside. They found themselves in a small chapel, all lined in wood, with a slightly raised dais at the steeple end, that held a podium. There were openings to rooms at the back, but heavy curtains pulled across.

"Who is this ghost walking through my door?" A male voice said from deeper within the building. "It isn't possible! Surely the Lord has taken me to heaven and I'm looking upon a vision of his saints?"

Borsche frowned at Falek, who just rolled his eyes. "Enough theatrics, Gareth, I know it's been a while, but I find myself in need of your… particular services tonight."

A man appeared from the behind the curtains at the back of the building, dressed in normal clothing, though with a long ribbon around his shoulders. "Falek?" he said breathlessly. "Is it really you?"

Etan was looking at Falek by this time, but Ayleth grinned. She'd met the small minister once before. He was a little eccentric, but a good man. And he loved to tease Falek who had absolutely no time for it. She enjoyed it immensely.

Then the small man rushed forward, arms out, and threw them around Falek's broad chest, pinning his arms to his sides, while Gareth kissed both cheeks in greeting, then patted his chest. "Always so fierce, Falek. You really should know better than to show up on my eaves without warning and expect me to treat you seriously."

Ayleth giggled and Gareth turned quickly, his eyes wide. "Is that—it is! The Princess Ayleth is gracing my little church for a second time?! How the Lord is blessing me today!"

"Hello, Gareth," she said, smiling. Etan kept his arm in tight, holding her close, but he smiled too. "I'd like you to meet my fiancée," she said indicating Etan.

Etan swept a brief bow, but Gareth's mouth fell open. "Are you… Lord Summit?" he said breathlessly, all sense of teasing gone from his tone.

"Yes, why—?"

Gareth rushed behind them to peer out the door where they'd come in, then close it softly. "We'll need to move the horses, but I can do that in a moment. Did anyone see you all arrive?" he asked quietly, rushing back to them.

"Hopefully no one that would recognize us," Borsche said, his words clipped.

Gareth looked at him and nodded. "Good eve, sir. You must be Lord Summit's man?"

"How do you know of me?" Etan asked, his voice rough and firm. Ayleth realized suddenly how tense he was—he and Borsche—at being recognized.

"Sir—my Lord—as a minister of the crown I make it my business to be aware of all the, er, major players on the continent. As you can see, it can prove beneficial at times."

"Do you have services, or any commitments tonight, Gareth?" Falek asked quietly.

The man's eyebrows popped up. "No. Though I cannot speak for the ladies of the local council who often determine to bring me tasks for charity," he said, in a way Ayleth couldn't determine was joking or not.

"Lock the doors," Falek said, already walking towards the front entrance to suit his own words. "Tonight you serve the crown, and history. The ladies of the local council will have to wait."