And with all due pomp and circumstance, today the bride-to-be of the king has arrived.
     I could write these as letters to home, mother, had you been mother to me in your heart. But there is - was - no such warmth. Only corruption and dramatic perversions which I pretended not to see when I was with you. Strange; when I was a child, a young man, I accepted all of this easily, so evenly and openly, without judgment. And the older I get, the more I seem to find walls where before there had been doors, doors where before there had been archways.
     They are impediments to my all too human heart.
     He left after the banquet was over, staying just as long as would be proper and keeping his eyes and his expression quietly to himself. Noone could guess just by looking at him where his heart has been given, nor could they for this past nearing ten years. Tonight, noone could guess for even one instance that when his eyes have rested upon his long-time friend, the newly crowned High King, that there have been doubts behind those clear blue eyes. And yet, there are; they swim in the blue as the little fishes of the sea.
     But they have remained unspoken. If he said little, that was no surprise; Prince Tiernan has never been one to speak o'ermuch. He appears unbent and untouched by intrigue, gossip, palatial or otherwise, as he always has; everything has been kept behind his closed doors. Tonight, more than usual.
     I know what they say, of course. They call me Tiernan Toymaker less, these days, but there are many still who look upon me with pity - those who value titles above all else, and especially above achievement. There are those who persist in thinking that my being permitted to keep my title is folly and sham; that I should cease to ever think myself of noble blood, because the kingdom I knew in my childhood is no more. Occasionally, their thoughts and opinions trouble me, as if I've eaten burrs and nettles; I wrestle with it, where not even he can see. What would be the point? Saying something would imply that there is something to be done; and other hearts and minds, such as theirs, can only be won grudgingly. Instead, I pour myself back into my work. There is always work to be done.
     And I am progressing; already, I have made some money in that mortal Earth. I have learned about patents, and gained several. Devices which do the job of many men, with little fuel and only a little maintenance, for a variety of tasks - it is early days yet, there. But I believe that it will make me, one day, very rich. In time. And I have time.
     Here, it has been easier; your brother keeps the thieves from picking me quite clean, and my association with you makes some more than willing to do business with me. Who after all, wishes to risk the chance that the High King might not take offense if his old friend were too injudiciously chivvied, too overtly swindled? It is not the favoritism you once offered me, and for that reason, I can allow myself to accept it - even as I now begin to wish I could allow myself to accept other marks of your favor.
     He withdrew, after the banquet, without making the eye of any - nymph or otherwise - instead signaling a quiet retreat. A headache, perhaps. Celebrations sometimes wear on him, after all. None could guess at the thoughts prompting his withdrawal, where, by firelight he sat, bent for a time over his drawing table, examining his plans and his apparatus. Leon is nowhere to be seen; he has his own family, and on the island they remain.
     I fear the future, now. I never did use to. But now - you are to be wed, and the reality of it sinks home. It is not that I believe you incapable of loving more than one. But it is different, yes? If she is beautiful - and I imagine that she must be - even if she were not - she will be the mother of your children. How can that not put between us a divide, my captain?
     Will I be cast adrift from this mooring? I do not know what to think.
     No work is getting done tonight. With a quiet groan, Tiernan has risen from his table; with rough fingers, he pulls apart the finery, so fit for banquets and affairs of state. It is cast aside, and simpler clothing found. Denim trousers, a white cotton shirt, long in the sleeves and loose fitting. Barefoot, he pads to sit in front of the fire, a bottle of brandy in hand. He sinks to sit crosslegged with his back against a chair, taking up a glass and filling it with the dark golden amber liquid.
     One way or another, I anticipate losing you. We have gone through so many ups and downs, Io. I have nearly lost you before. I am realizing again how alone I am without you - how adrift. I make myself too tough a nut to crack; too quiet, too remote by far. The mirrors and mazes I have erected, in defense of myself and in defense of you; in defense of us, so that none might guess at our love. And on nights such as this ... I wonder if I have not constructed everything the wrong way round.

     He was notified of the caravan, notified of the guests who would be arriving, and still he was mystified. What wonder would have struck him had he been surprised? And from the moment that the bare, feminine feet belonging to seventy-two houri plus one touched the marble of his palace, he has been caught in the political dervish they created. There were meetings, formal and informal. There were arrangements and tours of the islands, of the kingdom to be joined with hers far greater than his own. There were performances by the houri, introductions to the one who was to be offered: Zafirah, Houri of Dreams.
     The performances by her seventy-two attendants was followed by demonstrations and performances from members of all the united kingdoms. Emissaries on hand after his coronation were here to witness the historic arrival, and none could doubt but that it would make for a historic coupling. If any maiden yet held hope of being chosen, such hopes were dashed by the dance and voice of Zafirah herself.
     With grace, she and Iowerth Rhudd Draig entered the banquet. With greater grace, and after much quiet conversation, did they take leave. It was said that the new king was more than politically polite, erudite as always of course, but there was a genuine interest that, though he kept his amazement in the folds of his garment, could not be hidden from plain view.
     The forthcoming announcement is surely nothing more than formality. He may as well be wed tonight...
     It is late. Dinner has finished, even for the most gluttonous or hedonistic. The palace is beginning to take on the lullaby stillness of a palace coming at last to rest after a very busy day and night. Fewer steps are heard, fewer voices. There is only the white noise of servants continuing to serve, of changing shifts between night and day.
     It is late when the door opens to your apartments, the king's key used. The king has been to his chambers before coming to yours. He has changed from the vestments of state to those of approaching slumber. He is clothed in the dark blue that marks his skin -- midnight blue silk trousers and a matching robe. His feet are bare. His torso covered only in his markings.
     His eyes show the amazement, the pure wonder that he has felt beneath the surface but has shown to none but one other. And now you. But when he focuses on you, you there writing, you there drinking, his look softens, deepens with love. And it moves through him, and it moves through this room with the trajectory of a fiery comet. No matter how dreamy his look or his stride.
     "I am thankful you are still awake," Iowerth Rhudd Draig speaks quietly as he steps even more quietly toward you. "I had not realized the hour. How are you," he wonders. It is not a casual inquiry. He can imagine how he would have handled this day were your position and his reversed.

     He is not asleep, but rather, mired in his own emotions; you may perhaps see that, when he looks up, turns from crackling firelight to look up at you where you stand. Others may think him cool, unemotional, even perhaps unapproachable; not you. You have seen the depths of his emotions, however quiet he might be when he reveals them. He is not one to be dramatic with them, nor make an obvious show.
     "Still awake," Tiernan agrees. He doesn't say anything else; he gestures with one hand, indicating the room. It is empty apart from you, with himself sitting on the floor. He brings brandy to his lips, sips, sets it aside. "Sleep is far from me tonight."
     It is how he is; it is the answer you get. Can you unriddle all his meaning, from that one sentence? But he has never been able to easily put his feelings out for the world to see... sometimes, no, not even for you to see. He sighs now, a hand coming up, dragging back through ink-black hair. "Would you like some brandy?"

     "Oes... please," he says. But he does not take a seat and expect you to wait on him. Iowerth comes to stand, and then to crouch down beside you. A hand on your shoulder, he leans in and places a kiss upon your temple. "Try not to worry," he whispers there. Then, standing: "I will pour a refill for you and a glass for me. I do not think I shall sleep either. We can keep one another company through insomnia."
     He pulls up the bottle you have started. You and he will finish it. He pours a glass for himself first and then comes to join you on the floor, tilting the bottle to finish it in your glass. "I have made her the offer of marriage," he says quietly, plainly. "And she has accepted. We were late, setting the terms of the agreement. There is more to do, but it is mostly the setting down of what we discussed tonight in principle."
     Iowerth takes a mouthful of the brandy and lets it slide along his tongue, down his throat. It is buttery, then fiery. Periwinkle eyes meet your own of blue. "You ... are a part of our agreement, Tiernan," Iowerth says, sitting forward, his free hand to your dark hair. "As I promised to you. Had Zafirah not been supportive of you, compassionate toward our love, our relationship, I would not have extended the offer to her, bargain with heaven notwithstanding. She and I will have a ... particular and, yes, peculiar relationship. She is an houri..." Iowerth pauses in the midst of his own explanation. "Do you know much about the houri?"

     His glass is held so that you can refill it; it is by now more than halfway completed. Your first words come as no surprise to him. That you would make her an offer, he rather expected; as did anyone paying even one ounce of attention to their surroundings, tonight. But the words which follow - those, those catch him by surprise.
     It is not that he expected you to forget him...
     "I am... relieved to hear that she is so supportive," Tiernan answers cautiously, looking at you and then closing his eyes as you touch his hair. There is skepticism; suspicion. Not of you, but of that future. It is so easy for people to say things.
     But you say more, and he opens his eyes again, his attention given fully to you. "Only the word," Tiernan admits. "It's outside my experience."

     "They are angels. Pure, feminine spirits. They are... like muses, of a fashion, only their power depends upon and derives from their purity. That which makes this match advantageous for the greater astral universe depends upon her purity remaining... unblemished." He looks at you and quirks a half smile along with an eyebrow. "The children we will create will be of her essence and my own, and she shall carry them as a virgin mother. She is...not physical as we are physical. Carnal relationships are not an issue of particular ...interest to the houri, though there are spirits for whom carnality is all but a commandment." Iowerth pauses as he feels himself heading down a tangent and he smiles.
     "She was, therefore, relieved that I am already in love and have a way to ... express my desires. That was very important to her. She is not only compassionate and supportive but ...shall encourage our partnership. While I imagine our years together will allow me to love her in a pure way, a platonic way, I do not know that romance," he grins now, "...is what she has in mind. We... share a vision. She is here because the greater universe has witnessed what my father started and what I am now carrying forward. My mind is... somewhat spinning," he'll admit that to you, if to no one else, "... from all she has told me. I feel like Mohammed or the Buddha, only without the foresight of taking notes."
     Iowerth takes another swallow of brandy and he leans forward again, this time kissing you upon your mouth, knowing it but still seeking to learn from it and how it moves. "She would like to speak with you directly. To know the man who loves her future husband. She wished me to tell you as much as I wished, shy of making your own head wish to explode, to allay any fears. But... I do not know what fears I can truly allay," Iowerth grins, his face still near your own. "Knowing how often you will have to bear the brunt of the inspiration my muse-wife shall set upon me. I should apologize now," he chuckles quietly, kissing you again.
     She has already inspired him. His mouth is trailing over your neck, your lips left to hum with the energy of the last kiss. "I promised you that I would not keep you in shadows," Iowerth murmurs near your ear. "When Zafirah and I are joined, and the kingdoms of the lower heavens welcome us in alliance, I will let it be known that you are my lover. Zafirah and I will announce it together, so that all shall know that she approves and supports you and your place in my heart."
     The silk is doing a fairly good announcement of its own just now. The muse has already had an effect upon him. Her beauty, her purity, her power has made him and his desire and love unfold, a greater flower than he was before.

     He listens to you speak, eyes closing after a few minutes; as if listening without seeing will make this strange and new information somehow easier to absorb, easier to believe. It is difficult to comprehend; different to take it all in. But he tries, heroically.
     "Next time, bring a stenographer," Tiernan murmurs to you, and he sighs, his mouth rolling against yours. He is slow to pull away, tasting your mouth but then pulling back. Easier to hear; easier to speak, without that distraction. And carefully-carelessly, his hand finds yours, fingers sliding against your wrist.
     "You know how I feel about you," Tiernan whispers. "How I continue to feel about you. It has never died; never changed, but in ways which bring me closer to you." He draws a ragged breath, brandy set aside so that he can touch your cheek.
     "I have locked myself away so that you could see me and noone else. Now you speak and you say that will change, and I no longer know what to think. It is as if I have not thought of such a thing for so long, that now, the thought of it leaves me confused, filled with unknown aim..."

     Iowerth chuckles, sitting back. His hand is left to the custody of your fingers. "Now, you know how I feel." He gives your hand a squeeze and suddenly he is changing his view, and yours, by turning around and reclining, his head resting in your lap. He closes his eyes, relaxing for the first time since dawn. "I have a hurricane in my head," Iowerth murmurs.
     Periwinkle and lavender sparkle as he opens his eyes and looks up to you. "We have talked about it, haven't we? I thought it is what you wanted. I will not force something on you." He pauses. "When you are ready, Tiernan, to be known for who and what you are to me... then tell me, and it will be known. I can understand if it makes you nervous, such a thing, after so many years of silence. I just want you to know that ... I would rather not hide it, and my queen would not understand the subterfuge. What difference does gender make. Love is love. And as God is Love, so they say on earth, it is love that matters, in all its forms."
     "I ... just love you," Iowerth says after another moment, his eyes closing again. He does not sleep. God no, there will likely be none of that. It is how he stills his mind, how he begins to relax, to calm his energies. It is meditation, not rest. "I would like you to join us for breakfast tomorrow, in the atrium. Do you think your sailing ventures and your employees will be able to deal with your absence?"

     "We have talked about it, and it is still what I want. But when one plays a part, one gets used to it; it has been long enough that my imagination has, I think, atrophied a little." Tiernan turns to look at you, his smile slow and as quiet as his voice. "But not my feelings."
     His hand covers yours again, briefly, and as you settle with your head in his lap, he places his palm against your forehead. "I do not want to hide. This ... passion has for so long, wanted to be shouted out, Io. It has wanted to be spoken of. Like any fire, it has burned low when hidden from the open air, but - give me a little time to get used to it. As much time as I also will have to take to the idea of you getting married." He chuckles quietly, and bends with suddenness, brushing his lips against your hair. "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, yes?"
     Nimbly, his fingers work now against your scalp, massaging in slow circles. "They had better be able to do without me," Tiernan murmurs. "I pay them well and have them trained to deal with anything, including earthquakes; I'll send a note, though. Easier if they expect me not to be there, than if they hear nothing. Besides, how long does breakfast last?"
     He shrugs a little, then sighs, bowing his head so that he is looking at your face. The perspective is upside-down relative to you. "You know I will be there, wherever it is that you are," Tiernan whispers. "For me - there is none other than you. Though," he smiles slightly, "you make me think panicked thoughts. Now I will have to start thinking about marriage and progeny, too. What's this thought you were having, about sacramental sex?"

     "You do not have to think of it. If you want to have children of your own, you will find a wife. There's no need for you to feel compelled but by your own desires, Tiernan. You do not need them as a shield or as a veil." He rolls his eyes closed as you massage his scalp. "I love that," he whispers. "You are so good at the subtle touches. Your fingers sneak pleasure," he continues with a grin. "The slightest glancing touch just brings me to my knees."
     No, there is no need to panic, no need to marry unless you desire progeny. Iowerth turns his head slightly as your fingers continue their massage. "Hmm.... sacramental sex? You wish to know how Zafirah and I will procreate barring intercourse? She has not explained it in detail. She simply assured me that there would be a way for her to retain her powers, her purity through her virginity, and bring about however many children the growth and future of the kingdoms required. Any female child will become an houri, like her mother. Any male issue will remain here. We have more to discuss. I am sure the discussion on procreation will be.... lively." He chuckles at that.
     "As for breakfast, when politics is one of the dishes it can take a bit more time to chew," Iowerth notes. "If you can block out several hours, it will allow a leisurely pace. She wants to get to know you a little better. You will be sharing her life, as much as she will be sharing hers with you and I, yes? We will all be in it together. We should approach it thus."
     Iowerth opens his eyes, looking back to you. Such a serious look, so full of his emotions. They have run high today. They crowd his eyes. "Take all the time you need, Tiernan. There is no reason for haste. And ... do not rush to wed on my account." Now, he smirks. "I do not know that I am yet ready to handle two wives."

     One hand moves from your scalp to touch your cheek again; then slides back up. Everything is slow. He is in no hurry; there is all night, with sleep barred from both of you. "I am not going to marry any time soon," he murmurs to you, confiding in you. "Eventually, maybe. But to what purpose? It seems silly to breed, with so little to pass on. I have more to do before I should be so bold."
     He listens as you speak of your wife-to-be, of how you and she will create children - of the relationship and its limitations. His expression is a study, almost comic in its perplexity. "If I marry, I think I will marry a woman of ordinary proportions," Tiernan tells you. "This sounds too complicated for me."
     One hand draws back through your hair, slowly, so slowly, and he sighs. You are close, and it warms him more than fire or brandy ever could. "I can make the time," he agrees. "I'll send a message, as I said." Two wives. He chuckles for that. "Maybe I should marry one of those other ones you mentioned - the ones for whom carnality is all but required," he goads you lightly. "Maintaining our opposition, yes? I am glad you sought me out, Io..."
     Instead of leaving me to my own thoughts, my own fears...

     "If it were not complex, I expect I would not be content," he slides the joke out upon a quiet voice, a quiet smirk to match. The smirk deepens as you mention the opposition. Yes, you would do that. "Such a wife would tire you out and then pat you on the head to send you to me, what little good I could make of you then," he chuckles. "That doesn't seem quite fair. But maybe if carnality were required, she would be of the mind and inclination to have us all in the same bed."
     Humor is the great comforter of worried minds, is it not?
     "I would have come sooner, had it been possible," Iowerth murmurs. "As it is, I am glad I was not too late, you in bed, or out of your mind with worry." He lifts an arm, his hand reaching back to slide against your side. "I did not want you to worry, Tiernan. My Thierry," he murmurs your nickname. One you gave yourself and he's adopted. "Hmm," he breathes his contentment, "... that feels amazing. Only one thing is missing..."
     Beneath you both, the hard floor turns to carpets and comforters, and pillows materialize on the edge of the blankets, large and small, overstuffed with swan feathers. "Another glass of brandy?" Iowerth leans upward, his mouth parting at the skin of your chin, rolling and feeling its way to your own mouth as he sits up, blanket and all to get another bottle.
     Who needs carnal wives with such a carnal kiss comes after. Iowerth looks at you, his mouth just upturning as he pours two more glasses full of brandy. "It will take more than this to drug us into sleeping, but at least my mind is beginning to empty." He grins. "I can begin to hear my own thoughts again."

     "You make such a hobby of complexities." Tiernan smiles at you. The pressure upon his heart has begun to lessen. His fingers draw away from your scalp as hard floor turns to pillows; excellent timing, for it is when that tension eases that he can again permit himself some measure of comfort, of luxury. And he slides down to lean into your kiss.
     An arm slips around your waist, tightening in a squeeze and then releasing. "More brandy, a little more. Not too much. I do not want to dull my senses." Only my brain, which tells me torturous lies. "I will take the day off tomorrow," he proposes. "For whatever purposes are required of me, yes? Though the day after, I will have to go to my island and check on matters there."
     He looks at you, the way you look, as you sit up, as you get more brandy, as you speak. The words stick in his throat for a moment; and patiently, he waits for them to clear. "Come with me," Tiernan whispers. "Let's not stay here. Let's go to the roof, where we can see the stars."

     He looks at you and says nothing. He only nods and smiles and then stands. A comforter is pulled up with him and wrapped around him like a toga, fitting for his surroundings. "I will leave the brandy to your care," he nods to the bottle and glasses as he bends. The pillows disappear. Perhaps they are already on the roof, waiting...
     For a moment, fleeting though it is, he looks reminiscent of the young man, the boy, who first loved you, wrapped in a blanket like a king of kings and sauntering toward the door. "The stairs from my chamber will be fastest..."
     The king has a private stair to the summit atrium of this palace. Conveniently (and quite purposefully) his chambers are only across the hall from your own. He goes uninterrupted from your apartments to his own, servants merely pause their work as he comes and goes, renewing their own duties and purpose once he is out of sight.
     As Iowerth strides up the stairs from his apartments to the topmost story of his palace, he begins to unwind the toga draping, letting the comforter trail behind him like a king's cloak. The night air is both warm and cool, carrying the spray and the smell of the nearby sea. The darkness is interrupted from horizon to horizon with swirling galaxies and stars. Too many wonders on display to absorb them all. Stretching out his arms, Iowerth spreads the blanket at his back and then turns, snapping it against the air and spreading it down on the marble.
     Pillows appear, and brandy, and warmed honeyed milk. In his midnight blue silks and seadragons, your king stands there, waiting upon your pleasure.

     He stays with you, follows you, keeps up with your steps. As short as the trip is - he has no desire to be left behind.
     And perhaps that is his fear, at its root; when things change, there is the risk that something, someone might be left behind. He has no desire and a morbid horror of it being himself.
     The brandy is carried easily; how many times has he done something like this, even if not this precisely? The stars are given a long and thoughtful look, his expression so serious; and then a slow and sweet smile is turned to you. The brandy is settled down, out of harm's way; and he goes to you, a hand settling on your shoulder. "No astrologer could have foretold this," Tiernan says to you quietly. "That we should meet, and undergo all we have, and still yet be together. I am your Patroclos. It has taken me a long time to put that name to myself, but I see it now. Where you go, I follow. I do not have your strength, but I will turn what strength I have when you need it, to where it is needed."

     "I'm no Achilles," Iowerth smiles a little. But he understands what you mean. "You have your own strengths, and I am grateful for them. Flattered that you would give them to me when I need them, where I need them." He moves forward, your hand sliding against the silk of his robe at his shoulder, his arms surrounding you. And beneath the stars, in clear sight of the heavens -- and whomever else might be watching -- the High King kisses you. It cannot be mistaken for anything other than what it is.
     There are too many years between you, too much intimacy. It cannot be feigned, nor can it be hidden. His arms draw you in to him, the pads of his fingers pressing. Even when the kiss parts, his arms do not withdraw. You stand in one another's shadows. "We are still together because of what we have withstood. Our hearts are strong, tested and found to be seaworthy." He grins at that. "Every ship leaks a little. So long as you have a good carpenter you can sail the seas straight to the sky, hmm? We're both carpenters of this love, aren't we," Iowerth murmurs. A hand touches to the nape of your neck. "We work at it when it needs work. We enjoy the ride when it is smooth sailing. That's how it's supposed to be."
     His hands return to the small of your back, locking there, as he whispers 'I love you' as he hugs you warmly. Iowerth places a kiss upon your forehead, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. "We do not need the stars to be prophets."

     "No," Tiernan concedes, his hand grasping at your hip for a moment, then sliding away. "We do not need prophets, found in the stars or elsewhere. But I still need you."
     He smiles a little at that, looking at you with his eyes, without tension, without anguish, just looking at you - as anyone might look at anyone else. He lifts heavy meaning away and lets it sit for a moment.
     "I am glad for the time I have in your company," he says suddenly. "Glad, too, that we can have this time, without it being all about thrones and angst. We are too old for that, aren't we? To make it that difficult on one another. Come on."
     He moves to sit, to draw you down with him, looking up at you with a twist to his mouth, a puckering partial smile. "Tell me how you feel about it. About this marriage. Not the information, but what's in your heart. And then let's roll around on the roof until we finally run out of energy, yes? Best two falls out of three."

     "I am excited about it, for the first time," Iowerth says as he follows you to the layer of softness over the marble. "We are going to create something for the ages.... something beautiful and lasting." He reclines, his eyes turned toward the stars, toward the millions and millions of possibilities that exist. There are more possibilities than there are stars. "When I met her, I felt ... of all things... hope, most clearly. That the gods should wish to join heaven to the dreams and hopes we have made? How could one but be excited at the prospects? She is not some girl from some country, Tiernan. She is from the greater heavens, past Chaos, from the fabric of Dreams Themselves. I am mystified in her presence, entranced certainly, but focused like the aim of an arrow. We are on the threshold of something greater than even I had previously imagined."
     His fingers twine with your own. Each time he says We, he includes you in his gaze, he includes you in this work. "Some may feel love at first sight. I have been in amazement at first sight all day. Just... completely turned on by the potential good that could come from all of this, for all of us." He draws your hand to his lips, lightly kissing your fingertips.
     Turning his head toward you, Iowerth smirks. "Fall? Off this roof? Are you mad?" He laughs. "We'd be reduced to grease. Or at least you would. I could at least transform into a bird and escape certain death." Chuckling, Iowerth rolls, lying on his side, his hand propped up on the heel of his hand. "No more angst," he murmurs, nodding as he bends, rolling over slightly to kiss you again. "You mean to wrestle the king?" he grins suddenly. Quick as a serpent, he is over you, pinning you to the comforter, his midnight blue silk robe trailing behind him. The seadragons twist and slither against his skin, against the sinews of his muscular frame. They breathe seas and stars.

     "I will be interested in meeting with her." He is truthful, speaking slowly in response to your enthusiasm, your excitement. "I ... cannot really wrap my mind around it. Maybe when I have met her, when she has had the chance to see me as I am. I will try not to disgrace you."
     He smiles at you with that; not entirely serious, but not entirely in jest, either. "Does your mother know yet? Have you warned her about your plans to announce us? Or would she be too quick to tell your father?" He, having no family, is the more curious about yours; but then you divert him with movement.
     Divert him, by moving faster than he had expected, his hands lifting too late as you press him back. He laughs, shifting his weight and bunching up his muscles to push at you, then settling himself down again. "Your title isn't half so heavy as you are," Tiernan grunts, laughing again. "...I will try not to be afraid. I am still finding my place in the sky, Io."

     "You could not disgrace me," he shakes his head slowly. "What could you possibly do to disgrace me. Hmm?" He is not concerned -- only that you should think it possible for you to do. "I will be announcing it to the family tomorrow, once the terms are settled and documented. I am High King," an eyebrow lifts. "Whether my father likes how I handle our relationship politically has no bearing on my decision. He will learn to get over it." Smiling, Iowerth sits up, his legs still straddling you, but some of his weight is off of you.
     "I thought you liked feeling my weight pressing down on you," his hands grab at your sides, his fingers playing at your ribs. His grin slants across his face, fiery. "Have you found someone whose weight you like better? Or is this your way of telling me to cut back on the treacle?"
     He gives you his weight again, grinning as he pins you to the comforter. "I am excited for you to meet her. She will be your family," he murmurs, serious now. "You will be in this marriage as much as she will. Maybe once the politics are settled, we can have our own little ceremony. Would you like that?" Iowerth does not wait on your answer. His own emotions catch him off-guard and he stumbles forward into a heady kiss. It parts after a moment, and you can see how crimson his face has become (and the rest of him, too) in the blush of that intense emotion. "I want you to be a part of it, Tiernan. To join my family. I love you."
     The words are choked in the tautness of his emotions. His skin darkens again, blushing from tip of his nose to the tips of his toes. The seadragons turn purple with it. His hands cradle your face, his fingers stroking you cheeks as his mouth dives again.

     "As if anyone's weight would sit on me better than yours." Tiernan drawls the words, his arms sliding around your waist, his legs tangling with yours. "Gain five hundred stone and I should be squashed flat and still love you the same. But it doesn't hurt that you are young and handsome and virile, no."
     His blue eyes dance with mirth, his fingers knitting into your hair. "You are, you know. You have always been. Maybe not quite this tall or solid when I first saw you, but from the first, you compelled me. From when you first invited me to your ship."
     It is a memory which warms his eyes, excites his appetites, and his emotions rise even as yours do, his mouth parting to yours. "I tell you the truth and no lie," Tiernan whispers. "Your family is the only family I have ever known. You are the one I love; and for your sake, I would do many things, good or terrible." His arms wrap around you, tightening in their hold. "Whose family could I join? More, who else's family would accept me, this pox-marked son of a dead and evil kingdom? I love you. I would not repay good with evil, even if that stamp were in truth on my soul, where I could not get it off. I fear that someday it could be revealed," he admits, quietly. "That there is something yet that your mother missed, that is in me - something which would make me betray my feelings for you."
     There is a distant horror in his gaze for the memory of what was found; what almost happened. It still has the power to make him sick, after these years. "Anything you want," he whispers, before your mouth cuts him off. "I would give it to you, Io. If all you want is me... how can I be anything but gratified and astonished?"

Posted by rowan at January 01, 2007 05:37 PM