Loving the Forbidden Prince

ETAN

Etan was numb. His head buzzing. His skin felt too tight, as if it resisted movement.

Before his father said the words that fell like a hammer blow on his heart, he braced himself and made his face blank. He had the warning. He'd intended to watch Ayleth, to see, to make sure she didn't… he didn't know. Only knew that he'd intended to be there for her somehow, whether she realized it or not. But he was a coward.

He'd been unable to lift his head while his father spoke, until he was forced to by the approach of his parents from one side of the table, and Sarya and her parents from the other. He'd looked up then, raking his eyes over Ayleth—or where she'd been. But there were people standing between them now.

Even though he was supposed to rise, to greet his approaching betrothed and her parents, for a moment he sat there, dumbly, staring at the fat back of someone else's royal father, unable to understand why he couldn't see her. Did the world not understand what was happening? Did the Father of Lights want her to face this without him?

That thought rang a hollow pit in his stomach.

Doubt, suddenly. Doubt, and dread, like a suffocating blanket. His mind filling with all the other options, all the ways he could have chosen to address this. All the risks he could have taken instead…

Then the man moved and for a moment he could see her, sitting stiffly at the table, unmoving. Trystan had leaned across her, watching her with concern. Etan caught a glimpse of him leaning in, his lips near her ear, and rage flared to life in his stomach—that was his wife! What made Lord Trystan think he could—

But then his father was at his side, looking at him strangely, and Sarya was only feet away, staring at him like she was afraid he might explode. 

Her parents didn't seem to notice the way he had to rouse himself. They beamed and congratulated him, and spoke as parents should who anticipated their offspring's happy union.

And somehow… somehow with all the people around and the discussion, and Sarya's gentle nudging at his side, he ended up with his back almost entirely to Ayleth and he couldn't see her, and he couldn't turn. 

Every nerve ending in his body turned to face her, attuned to any sound, any movement, certain that he would know whether he could see her or not.

But the only warning he had was Falek sweeping into the crowd, his eyes narrowed and dark, flashing sheer rage when they met Etan's for the length of three strides, then people passed between them and Etan's teeth clenched.

Falek didn't understand. Ayleth didn't understand either. 

This was killing him. Killing him! But if he didn't do it, it would kill Ayleth. Did Falek want that?!

He caught sight of her burnished hair a few moments later. She moved discreetly through the crowd, Trystan on one side, Falek on her other. She didn't turn to look at him, didn't even seem tempted to. 

Why wouldn't she look at him? Why wouldn't she give him a chance to remind her with his eyes.

No matter what. 

No matter who. 

She was his, and he was hers.

No. Matter. What.

Had she forgotten so quickly? 

As she was swallowed up by the people between them, and without his permission, his head turned and he found the Queen, seated at the table behind him, watching Ayleth be ushered out, too. But when he moved, her eyes snapped to his.

And she smiled.

Etan whipped his head back around.

"Isn't that right, Etan?" Sarya said from his side, her voice a little too high, her laugh a little too enthusiastic. 

He blinked. "I apologize," he said after a moment when it became clear all five of them—his parents, hers, and Sarya herself, were staring at him uncertainly. "I was distracted with… thoughts of the future," he said, stumbling.

Sarya's parents both laughed with relief, and his father chuckled, but it was forced.

His mother didn't even crack a smile.

Next to him, Sarya had set herself hip-to-hip with him. He could feel every time she moved. And it took everything within him not to physically recoil. The urge was there to shove her away, to find space, to flee the room and go after Ayleth, begging for her forgiveness and explain everything.

Then he remembered her mother's face… the cold determination in her eyes—and the sheer revulsion towards him. "I would happily kill her if my only remaining choice is to leave her with you. I will not see her made Summitran…"

Etan's heart went still for a full beat, then hammered against his ribs in double time.

He couldn't let it happen. Ayleth didn't understand. Falek didn't understand. It was… unfortunate. But the risk was real and he would not allow her to be killed for the Queen's spite.

So he gritted his teeth and endured Sarya's pressure at his side, and her parent's smiles. He ignored the searching looks his mother kept sending him, and the warning glances from his father.

Somehow he stayed on his feet. Somehow he answered questions, and smiled, and found his manners. Everyone around him relaxed and the suspicious glances from his father ceased. But he had no memory of a word that was said a moment after it was spoken. 

He couldn't have relayed the conversation to another to save his life—even to save Ayleth's.

The only thing his mind held was the stiff set of her shoulders—a herald of her tears—the protective and worried stance of the two men who'd bracketed her to remove her from the room.  And that brutal smile from the woman who was still watching him, he was sure. She would take note if he seemed to distracted. If he moved out of the room before the appropriate time—or seemed unduly dismissive of his betrothed.

She would notice, and she would punish Ayleth for it.

So Etan shoved the sick, frightened feelings away and turned his energy to keeping himself smiling and engaged. To making sure no one had any reason to suspect him, or more importantly, Ayleth.

No. He would take Sarya back to Summitras, and there it would become clear that they were not suited, but would remain friends. And their kingdoms would remained allied. 

And he would figure out how to get his wife back.