Loving the Forbidden Prince

I NEED YOUR HELP! I love that you love Ayleth & Etan like I do, and I am committing to trying to write daily updates for it in July. However, as the third book I'm writing simultaneously, and a Spirity entrant, this book will be measured by AllFull purely on its real-money income. It currently has about 25-30 readers paying to unlock chapters. Unless I can get that number above 500 by the end of July, I will be forced to put this book back on hiatus indefinitely.

If you have the choice to use fast-passes, or unlock the chapter, please consider unlocking rather than reading for free. If you don't have a choice, definitely make sure the book is added to your library and keep reading for free (and give your votes!), because those reader stats will encourage WN to show the book to others who may be able to pay.

Our goal is 500 paying readers by July 30th... LET'S DO THIS!

*****

AYLETH

Ayleth's arms ached as she raised them for the maids to drop the ballgown over her head. The design was such that the dress had to be worn with no undergarments, but instead had been lined in silk that slid along her skin until it settled on her curves in a way that reminded her of Etan and his wonderful hands.

The way he'd groaned in her arms that morning, then taken her nipple in his mouth in their stolen moments in the wood…

There had been no fighting this time. Though Falek had given her a dark look when they'd returned. Apparently she'd had leaves in her hair.

Her cheeks pinked.

"Are you warm, Highness?" one of the maids asked. "I can call to the kitchen for an iced—"

"I'm fine," Ayleth said shortly and pressed her hand to the beaded bodice of the dress, trying to hide how she flexed her hands and arms to soothe the ache. The daily training was working. She was already becoming more skilled. Getting faster. But in return she was never quite comfortable in her own skin as her body strengthened to accommodate the new routine.

It was the end of the first week of the Festival and that night's ball—the Candlelight Eve—was a tradition. The ballroom would be darkened, lit only by banks of candles whose glow was intended to signify peace lighting up the darkness of war.

Between the poor lighting and the way everyone would be drinking, Ayleth hoped the night might offer an opportunity for she and Etan to spend more than ten minutes alone. She more than hoped. She had a plan. But as her maids laced her stays and prepared her hair, her stomach trilled. She suspected Falek anticipated her. He would be very attentive tonight. She would have to be either very clever, or very sneaky, to get past him.

But she was determined to do it. She needed more than a few, rushed minutes with Etan when she wasn't already sweaty under her leathers.

As her maids finished she stood and turned to the mirror to take in the full effect of her gown—beginning in deep purple at the straight, strapless bodice, it faded to a near-white cream at the hem. The outer layers of fabric sheer and shimmering over each other, it was sewn with pale gold, glass beading scattered all over in clusters that would catch the candlelight and sparkle like stars.

It made her skin appear to glow, and set off her hair, which tumbled around her shoulders in copper curls, like fire.

"Oh, yes," she breathed. "That is much better than sweaty leathers."

"Pardon, Highness?" one of the maids asked as she crouched at the hem, hurriedly stitching a small spot where it had fallen.

"Nothing," Ayleth said, smiling at herself in the mirror. "I was just mumbling to myself."

*****

ETAN

He detested candlelight balls. It was far harder to keep eyes on a villain when they had deep shadows to hide in. Not to mention, drag unsuspecting princesses into.

Though, he wondered if he could somehow manage to get his own Princess into a dark corner for a moment.

No. It was too risky.

As he tied the cravat on his suit and ran his fingers through his newly washed hair, he grieved that he would be unable to watch Ayleth from the other end of the ballroom. Even she wouldn't shine enough to reach him in the bowels of the Great Hall.

But when he and Borsche reach the Great Hall—early again, so he could watch for Ayleth—it was immediately apparent things would be different this night.

Instead of the usual tables, the entire floor had been cleared, leaving benches and seats in semi-circles on all sides. The nobles who had already arrived milled about, mingling between nations and stations in ways that didn't usually occur.

"Apparently everyone feels more free in the darkness," Borsche muttered.

Etan snorted. "Then I shall, as well," he said, and strode to the other end of the Great Hall, near where the Royals would be seated, the usual head-table replaced with thrones for the King and Queen, along with smaller seats for Ayleth and the King's Advisor.

"Do not become reckless, Etan," Borsche growled as Etan flicked the tails of his suit out before sitting on a bench only two rows away from the stage.

Etan only smiled.

But an hour later, he regretted the decision. What had he been thinking, giving himself a front-row seat to watching his glimmering bride-to-be courted by other men?

He'd been able to feel her before she entered the hall, his anticipation rising as he felt her draw closer and closer. Then she appeared at the top of the staircase where he'd first clapped eyes on her, that very first night.

Had it really been only a week ago? That seemed impossible.

Everyone in the hall stood to greet her as she descended the stairs, her ladies spreading in her wake the train of her dress.

And what a dress.

She looked like she'd been clothed in the night-sky, her pale skin glowing, and hair afire in the candlelight. And all of her set off by the glittering beads and designs sparkling on the layers of sheer fabric that shadowed and fluttered, hinting at the body underneath, though in truth nothing could be seen.

When she'd appeared, he'd lost his breath and it was only Borsche's restraining hand that had kept him from joining the tidal wave of nobles and Heirs that rushed to the base of the stairs to greet her.

He'd had to swallow first rage, then despair, when she reached them and scanned the faces of each of the men, smiling and receiving their adoration.

But then, when she'd looked beyond them, towards the stage where she would be seated, she'd scanned the room… looking for him.

He'd stepped forward into the brightest light nearby until she found him and their eyes locked.

He'd mouthed, "Beautiful."

She'd dropped her eyes immediately, but her cheeks pinked in the glow of the candles, and as she started to move towards her parents, the smile that bloomed made her, impossibly, even more beautiful than before.

As he watched her sweetly, but firmly, delay the Lords that were already pressing her to dance, he'd swallowed back the ache low in his belly, and murmured, "No matter what it takes, I will hold you in my arms tonight," under his breath.

"Not if you want to end the night retaining the royal testicles," Borsche muttered next to him.

Etan grunted dismissively, but turned away from her before anyone noticed him staring. "Watch me."