Aliana. Castle Randal It was as if she had not slept in years. The comfortable novelty of being in her own chambers had worn off in a matter of short weeks, replaced instead by visceral fear coursing through her veins at all hours. The dead of night was the worst, the hours after the exhausted collapse had worn off and before it set in again. Aliana did not dream as much as she hallucinated. Derrick standing before her bloody or dead; the image was seared onto the part of her brain which made her dreams, both in sleep and the waking ones. It appeared in the cold hours of midnight and lingered after dawn. She awoke in cold sweats. She wasn't sure if they were from a terror that had startled her awake, or a lingering waking dream that worked her up. It had been nearly six months since they'd left. Six months of the night terrors, and she'd shared them with no one. This time, Aliana was sure she had been asleep when the gruesome dreams came. The images were so vivid, in perfect horrible color against a nondescript background of murky faded grays, so clear in her mind's eye that they could not have been hallucinations conjured up in the space beyond the four posts of her bed. She'd awoken with a start, clammy with sweat. She drew a shaking hand along her neck, pulling the strands of hair off her prickling but damp skin, and started; her hands were even icier than her skin beneath the perspiration. Aliana rolled onto her side and pulled the coverlet up higher, tucking it over her body and curling her hands between the heavy textiles and her chest. She pressed her eyes closed, willing herself to believe the insides of her eyelids were a blank canvas not meant to be touched. It was noise which startled her awake the next time, either minutes or hours later. Aliana opened her eyes to the darkness as she felt her mattress dip on one side, and a hand on her shoulder. "Your Highness, you must come with me," panted the intruder, a voice she recognized as belonging to Master Keynes. She rose to sit, adjusting her nightdress even though Keynes could not possibly make out anything more than her silhouette in the darkness. He must have sensed it as dawdling, for Keynes added insistently, "Really, milady, you must come now." Aliana was already out of bed with a heavy brocaded robe around her and slippers on her feet before the gruesome images to which she slept came surging back, full force, and she gripped the doorframe leading from her bedchamber. Derrick. Blood. Clammier than even her own hands. "Milady?" Heloise asked, touching her arm as Aliana blinked back the apparition. She did not respond to the lady's maid, instead brushing past her to join Keynes at the far door. He led them by candlelight out of her chambers and through the castle. Aliana had her arms wrapped around herself. She kept her head up and only blinked when it became too painful not to. She began to hear noise as they reached the servants' quarters, and the back entrance to the castle. The doors had been flung open, and Aliana estimated at least five voices and the whinnies and grunts of as many horses. There was a group of no more than ten waiting in the courtyard outside the doors, illuminated by a half dozen torches and pale moonlight. Aliana had taken only a few steps beyond the threshold when she found herself bared down upon by William, attempting to divest himself of his armor while approaching her. Aliana was rooted to the spot. She had seen neither Derrick nor William since they'd departed nearly half a year earlier, and the sudden apparition in the dead of night turned her blood to ice. "What's going on? What's happened?" Aliana implored William as he drew closer, arms crossed tightly to her shaking chest, hands clutching the fabric of her robe. "William, what's happened?" she repeated. She realized as William tossed the breastplate of his armor carelessly aside that he was out of breath. One of the torches cast light across his features, and she saw there was blood everywhere; smeared across his brow, staining his tunic, coloring his ungloved hands. He didn't speak to her until they were face to face. "He's hurt," William said, panting still. "Badly hurt." William said more about where they had been, how they had been attacked, but Aliana did not -- could not -- hear him. She'd pushed past while William caught his breath, seeing one of Derrick's tall, broad guardsmen carrying something in his arms, silhouetted against the night by the torches. They drew closer at a swift pace, and Aliana immediately recognized her brother's form, limp in the guard's arms, curly hair matted with blood. She could not muster the voice in her throat to scream. She froze, met the guard's gaze as he moved swiftly past her, felt her feet move involuntarily in a circle until she once again faced inside. Then she ran, chasing after the guardsman back inside Castle Randal. Blood pounded in her ears; it was all she could hear. She arrived at the entrance to Derrick's chambers moments behind the guardsman and her brother, and saw the court physician was already at her brother's bedside, waiting to examine him. They must have awoken him as they had her. "All of you, out," the physician ordered, as he beckoned to his assistant for help. "You'll do him no good hovering around. Out, I said!" Aliana saw Keynes at her side again, this time taking her arm to guide her away. Her gaze lingered on Derrick as Keynes pulled her from the room. Aliana offered up a silent prayer as she left the room, a promise that she would see Derrick alive after tonight. She had lost a brother once before; she refused to do it again. Keynes closed the bedchamber door behind them. Aliana turned around to face the group that had assembled in the antechamber; William, three of Derrick's guardsmen, Keynes, and a few of Derrick's household attendants. Keynes turned to the latter and said, "Fetch the privy council. Please be discreet." Two of them made swift exits. Aliana was cold and numb. She approached the third attendant and said, "Please, get these men some water to wash with and something to eat," indicating William and the guardsmen. If they looked up at her or spoke to her in thanks, she did not notice them. "And fetch them something clean to wear," Aliana added, catching sight of the bloodstains on William's tunic and inferring that the same lay under the guardsmen's armor. She crossed the chamber to a low bench by the far wall, sitting upon it as the attendants left to fulfill their requests. She saw Keynes approach William and ask him to explain; an attack on the southern road, three of their pages dead, one guard lost. They had come to Castle Randal with great haste, and had nursed Derrick's wounds as best they could for the journey. "What happened to him?" Aliana said, not realizing she was speaking aloud and not in her own head until William turned to acknowledge her voice. He looked just as shocked to hear it as she was to know she'd said it. "He has a nasty gash on his leg," William started hesitantly, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. "He lost a lot of blood, mostly from that. And he took a bad blow to the head, though I didn't see it to know how. He hasn't been conscious since we got him out of there." Aliana had not known Derrick was completely unconscious. The knowledge made her insides turn. "Thank you," she said, looking away from William and staring instead at the tapestry on the far wall. She focused on a spot at its center, and concentrated on breathing. One attendant returned accompanied by a maid. They placed a tray of bread, cured meats, fruit, and wine on the writing desk in the chamber. The attendant had a stack of clean cream tunics hung over his arm, a large bowl of water held in his hands. Wordlessly, William and the guardsmen followed him into another of Derrick's chambers to wash and change. Alone now with Keynes, Aliana rose and poured wine into a goblet for herself. She heard Keynes breathe in sharply as if to object, but he said nothing. She drank deeply. The privy council began arriving soon thereafter. The nine counselors were either hastily dressed in proper attire or, like Aliana and Keynes, in robes over their nightclothes. None of them hid their surprise well at being summoned to Derrick's chambers, only to find Aliana and Keynes and a locked door to the king's bedchamber. When the last of them arrived, Keynes addressed them, "His Majesty has been seriously wounded. The physician is seeing to him now. We cannot know more until then, and the physician has requested we not pry." There was a murmur of agreement accompanying the inevitable shiver of shock that coursed around the room. Aliana's hands shook; she could see the vibrations on the surface of the wine in her goblet. She nearly startled altogether when a heavy hand closed over her left shoulder. She looked to that side and saw William standing next to her, now wearing a plainer but clean tunic, hair still damp from washing. Aliana met his gaze briefly, then looked back to the rest of the room, as if to say she was alright. He lowered his hand and moved to the tray of food. Another half hour passed before the door to Derrick's bedchamber opened, and the physician slipped out. All fifteen people rose, staring at him. The physician sighed, adjusting his own heavy robe before speaking. "His Majesty is still unconscious, I'm afraid," he began, and Aliana's knuckles tightened to whiteness around the stem of her goblet. "His leg will heal nicely, but his head -- it seems to have been a terrible blow. We cannot know when he will wake and what condition he will be in if he does..." "If?" Again, Aliana found herself speaking without realizing it had happened at all. The rest of the room turned to look at her. She knew what little color had lingered through the night had drained from her face entirely. The physician looked right at her, as if addressing her personally. "I cannot predict these things, milady. My assistant and I will stay with him through the night. That is all we can do now, I'm sorry to say. But he is alive. We can rule nothing out." Aliana offered, "Thank you, doctor. Please alert Master Keynes if there is anything you might need." The physician nodded to her and slipped back inside the bedchamber, shutting the door. She set down her wine goblet, hands resting against the heavy fabric of her robe. Aliana was accustomed to behaving as mistress of the castle in Derrick's absence, and continued. "Master Keynes, see to it that these men and their fellows downstairs are given lodgings in the guest house," she said, indicating the guardsmen. "And please do compensate them generously from my personal treasury," Aliana went on, turning to the guards as she continued, "I am in their debt for their service to my brother." Keynes bowed to her and indicated that the guards should follow him out of the king's chambers. William brought up the rear of the small group. Aliana put out a hand to grab his arm and stop him. "Stay," she quietly said. It was neither order nor request nor plea; given the circumstances, she knew he would stay if the choice were presented. Aliana turned to the nine men of the privy council. They were all already staring at her. "Gentlemen, we ought to give them peace," Aliana said, nodding toward the locked doors of her brother's bedchamber. "We will adjourn to my chambers." She started for the door, intending to lead. She felt better when she sensed William turn and fall into step behind her. They found her own chambers already amply lit; her lady's maids had done the job when she'd left earlier. Aliana was thankful for their foresight and resourcefulness. "Please, sit," she offered to the privy councilmen, but herself remained standing. "I am sorry we could not all convene under better circumstances," Aliana admitted, straightening up to her full height. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands to stop herself crying. "Given the circumstances, milady, it is quite important we manage things immediately and effectively," Towson said, taking the floor from Aliana; she willingly relinquished it. "There is still a war on. His Majesty's condition must not lead us to falter." "He would not want us to falter on his account," William interjected. He spoke fiercely; it fortified Aliana to hear the weighty tone of his voice she'd only witnessed in the dungeons of Tyron's Keep, but it stirred the councilmen. All assembled knew that he, better than any of them, Aliana included, spoke as Derrick's voice in the king's absence, but that made him no less their inferior. William seemed to realize his speech was hardly desired by his superiors, that his presence was for Aliana's benefit alone and only at her will. He bowed his head and fell silent. Sensing the need for a peacemaker, Aliana spoke candidly, "Unless you would all tell me otherwise, I believe we can save the strategy and the minutia for the morning." She paused, her gaze focusing vacantly on one of the lamps on the back wall of the chamber. "For now," she refocused, "it must be decided how to proceed, in my brother's absence." "Begging pardon, milady," started Towson again, "but I should believe that obvious." The aging councilman glanced around at his peers, many of whom nodded to him. "His Majesty did declare you his heir, milady, and it has been so ratified in our records. You will serve as his regent until His Majesty is well." Aliana felt older then. Weary, like she had aged a decade in an hour. She was not a little girl being asked to do her chores; she was a woman compelled to do her duty, and her duty was to serve as princess regent in Derrick's stead. She did not say anything for a long time, and neither did the councilmen. She bowed her head in thought, hands still clenched at her sides. She had taken charge of the castle in Derrick's absence, but never all of his responsibilities, not even a small fraction. And she had watched both Derrick and their father as kings in practice, but that did not amount to a working knowledge of regency. I declare you my heir, with all the rights and responsibilities Father accorded to me, he had said. And she had agreed. Finally, Aliana looked up at the men assembled in her chambers. "You all honorably serve my brother, as you did my father. I pray that you will do the same for me," she said. Towson rose along with Benedict, her father's two most trusted advisors in his lifetime. "It will be our honor to serve you, milady," Benedict said, to a chorus of agreement from the other councilmen. Those who were still sitting rose to their feet. William did the same. "I am very grateful," she answered calmly. "We will reconvene in the morning. I hope to bring better news of my brother's condition to you then," Aliana said. She dismissed the privy council forthwith, and watched William turn to leave with them. "Lord Ingraham," she called for him, "might I have a word?" He stopped. The surprise at her calling him by his title was apparent on his face. He lingered a few paces in from the door as the councilmen filed out. The weariness on his face and in the droop of his shoulders were displays Aliana was sure she too possessed. Aliana approached her two lady's maids who had been waiting at the door to rejoin her after the council met. "I must have a word with Lord Ingraham, but do not force yourselves awake on our account," she said to the two women. "Please, go rest, I will snuff the lights myself." There was a moment's hesitation before the lady's maids curtsied to her and left down the corridor for their own quarters. Aliana pulled the heavy chamber doors shut and locked them, and turned inward to face William. She started speaking immediately, still carrying some of the poise from the council meeting. "I want you to serve on the privy council," Aliana said. She had made up her mind, and spoke it. The look of surprise lingering on William's face multiplied, expanded across his features. "I...forgive me, my-- Aliana," he caught himself in the forced formality. "I do not know what I have to offer you. I cannot accept." Aliana pursed her lips. She maintained the distance from William and sighed. "I thought you might say that," she admitted, her poised resolve breaking. "I do not want to force you, believe me I don't. But what you and I have been through..." Aliana continued, walking closer, "I cannot forget that. And I need you with me now. I trust nobody as I do you, you know that. Nobody but Derrick, at least," she concluded, finding it was harder to breathe having said her brother's name. William too seemed to break then. "I'm so sorry," he said effusively, striding toward her. His apology was a surge in her direction, his bright blue eyes darker, rimmed with obvious exhaustion, not to mention war-weariness. "I'm so sorry, Aliana," he repeated, drawing closer still. They were soon only an arm's length away, their gazes aligned. She wanted to tell him off for apologizing. She wanted to tell him he bore no fault for what had happened to Derrick, that he owed no apology to her. She wanted to stop the unnecessary apology from touching her deeply anyway. Instead, Aliana walked past him, across the room closer to the threshold of her bedchamber. Her head spun. "He only ever made me his heir as a precaution," she said at last. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "It should never have come to pass, it..." she turned around, eyes clouded. Her voice bore signs of her teariness. "Never like this," Aliana said, little more than a whisper. William strode cautiously toward her. He looked more defeated than ever before, even when they had communicated through iron bars at Tyron's Keep, his body caked with dungeon grime and their spirits broken. When he was close, Aliana looked up to him, feeling broken again. "I can't do this alone," she admitted through tears. "For now, you are all I have of my brother, what he would want, what he would tell me to do..." "You don't need his help," William interjected, his tone surprisingly soft. "I have known you practically your whole life, and I-- Listen. Derrick would not have made you his heir if he did not believe in you. He does. He thinks more highly of you than of anyone. As do I." Aliana did not have the heart to argue with him. "So you will accept?" she offered, tone calm if quiet. The subsequent pause hung heavily between them. "By the gods, I will try," William at last relented, his affirmation almost a prayer, mellifluous and strong at the same time. "I have the highest faith in you. I cannot stop you from having the same in me." "And I do have faith in you," Aliana echoed. She met his eyes strongly, unwavering. Again she saw the defeat, the failure. "This is not your fault," she said, softer now. It had been the two of them like this before, alone in the dungeons, having to embrace an undesirable conclusion. She touched his hand just below his wrist; both of them were shaking. Aliana knew that William took responsibility for keeping Derrick safe in battle, for not only being his closest friend but also his most trusted comrade in arms, his champion. And whether by his own fault or not, he had failed. William's hand shivered beneath hers, and he seemed to break, body suddenly wracked with sobs. He sunk to his knees before her, head hung in defeat and hands clenched. "Fault or no, please forgive me," William said, voice thick. "I have failed him, and you." Aliana stood astonished, her own chest quivering with caged cries. Silent at first, she touched William's shoulder, and he grabbed at her robe with both hands, clinging to the fabric hanging just below her waist, bowed head hovering near her abdomen. She'd caught glimpses of William's emotionality before, but only glimpses. She considered it something of a privilege. But never had it been like this; desperate, raw, and painful. Slowly Aliana bent her knees, lowering herself to his level. His fingers had uncurled from her robe, though his hands lingered in the space on either side of her, quivering. Aliana spoke gently, almost a whisper, "You never could fail me, William." It was silent between them but for the sound of their breathing. Aliana placed her hands on William's unstable shoulders; he responded by resting his forehead on one of hers, fingers finding the loose folds of fabric that had pooled around her folded legs. The shaking of William's shoulders beneath her own shivering hands soon broke Aliana too. The physician's "if" echoed over and over, the image of Derrick bloody and unconscious seared deeply into her recent memory, and Aliana felt herself collapse even though she was already on the floor. Her hands slipped from William's shoulders and her posture crumbled. William caught her by the arms at first, hands gripping her upper arms. Given the brief moment of stability, William pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly even as she shook. When Aliana had been young, her father would gather her into his arms in the same way. He told her that her papa would make it better, and she believed that in his heavy arms he had some magic, some power over the universe that would seep forth when he embraced his little girl. There was no magic in clinging to William on the floor. She had already learned too much unfortunate realism in her life to even try and persuade herself that there might be magic just in having hope. Aliana tightened her fingers in the loose fabric of William's tunic and breathed in the scent of him, still earthy from battle but crisp from a quick washing. She would rather it have been her brother embracing her upon a safe return home. But William held her thoughtfully and gently, his heartbeat a calming rhythm against her shoulder, and Aliana did not protest. The fact was, she had never protested to him. Debated, perhaps. Challenged, certainly. The trust between them was an accepted fact, not a changeable notion. Nobody else would have stayed with her, not in a moment such as this. And now that he had, she did not want to be left alone. "Stay," Aliana said. If her earlier saying of the same word was just a statement, the repetition was a quiet plea. She could tell that it shocked William, from whom she so rarely begged for anything. Aliana withdrew, and shaking still tilted her head to meet his surprised gaze. "Please stay," she repeated, quieter still. Aliana was not even sure for what she was really asking. William held her gaze. His breath tickled her face has he breathed in and out through his mouth. It was quiet, and for the first time even Aliana's mind was still. He leaned forward first, touching her forehead with his lips. It was hardly more than a whisper against her skin. His hands were callused but gentle as they rose along her neck, cradling her face with fingertips only. When he withdrew, William met her eyes again. "I will stay as long as you need me," he affirmed with quiet fortitude. "As long as you want me," he corrected, almost sheepishly. "You and I both know that you can stand on your own two feet. That isn't need." "That's not true," Aliana said, words spilling forth before she could stop them. "I need you desperately, or did I not just..." She had meant to remind him that she'd said as much before, that she had pleaded with him to stand by her as her brother would have. If anything, that much was true; self-reliance or no, Aliana did need him. He did not hear her, or perhaps he did and had already absorbed it. William's hands tightened along her jaw and drew her closer again. This time, his lips did not touch her forehead but her mouth. It was at first like a whisper, a weak summer wind passing across her lips, enough to know its warmth but too fleeting to stick. His lips hovered over hers, no longer close enough to touch. Aliana tried to raise her eyes enough to find his; William seemed to have done the same toward her. They looked for what felt like forever and yet no time at all. Their breath intermingled in the small shaft of space between their mouths, growing heavier with fear and anticipation at once. It was a silent agreement. Finally they stood. William helped Aliana to her feet and did not let go of her hands until she pulled them from his grasp. She did not look away from him, not even as she moved silently around the antechamber, snuffing out each lamp her maids had lit. With the lights out she felt that they were really alone. It was only then that she took William's hand again. Aliana led him silently through the darkness, treading the steps she knew well across the inner threshold of the room into her bedchamber. Her maids had lit only one lamp there after she'd rushed out. Aliana left it burning. It cast a dull molten glow on the floor near the threshold and on the near side of her four-postered and canopied bed, fading away at its foot and on the room beyond. William tugged on her hand. She stopped just short of her bed to face him, at the brightest spot of the sole lamp's dull glow. "Your brother would kill me if he ever knew," he said plainly, blue eyes reflecting the lamplight. Aliana sighed, her head hanging from exhaustion more than disappointment at his words. "Do you wish to go?" she asked timidly. She was embarrassed at the silent request she had made of him. Her blush would be evident even in the flickering and weak light. "We would speak no more of it." "No," William countered, far from Aliana's own timidity. "No, I do not wish to go, and would that we could speak of it loudly and often." He had drawn closer, his tired face half in shadow and half turned a shade of glowing pale copper. "You asked me to stay, and gods know I want nothing more. But I swore an oath to Derrick once, that I would protect you if anything befell him. I cannot -- I will not risk sending any blow against you myself." Aliana remembered well the vow he'd made her brother in the wintry chill outside Castle Randal when they'd stolen away into the night, on the run before the truth of her as Derrick's heir could condemn her. And he had protected her, as much as she would allow and more, she was sure, than even she knew. Aliana looked at him almost sadly, realizing how indeed she felt. "You cannot protect me from myself. I have suffered enough... you have suffered enough, at the will of other people. I asked you to stay, and I meant it. If any ill should befall me now, then by the gods let me be happy for it having been a risk I --." He kissed her then, deeply and desperately and suddenly, his callused hands buried in the heavy darkness of her hair. Aliana gave in to him, tilting her head so his mouth would have greater access to hers, his hands easier access to her neck. The shadow of stubble on his face scratched at the corners of her mouth, but it was a gentle pain, a pain dulled by his tenderness. Aliana slid her own arms around his lean torso, hands lifting the hem of his tunic unbidden. She shivered when her fingertips brushed across his lower back, skin warm and taut with muscle. William's hands moved down her neck, broad palms descending to her collarbone. His fingers were nimble and slipped easily between her nightdress and robe, hands smoothing over her still-covered shoulders and under the heavy brocade. It slid down her arms with ease, hanging on her elbows as her own hands continued exploring his back. Aliana finally let go long enough to let the luxurious garment drop to the floor, pooling around her feet with a soft thud. They had not yet broken their kiss. Aliana quickly returned her hands to William's back, bolder now. His mouth remained insistent on hers, tongues dancing together first with timidity and then with vigor. Her hands slowly progressed up his back, along his sides, until they could go no higher beneath his clothes. William pulled away, long enough to tug the tunic over his head and toss it aside. He buried a hand in her hair behind her neck and bent his head as if to kiss her again. Aliana was swifter with a hand against his chest, his skin laid bare under her palm. "Let me see you," she implored him, finding his gaze. William did not break the look, only dropped his hand as he stood before her. He had always taken care to preserve his modesty when they had been in hiding, washing and changing in the semi-privacy of the woods in good weather or during the night while she slept and he kept watch. They'd had an unspoken but mutual rapport on the subject. Aliana was transfixed by him now, by the ridges and valleys of his upper body, muscles honed by years of swordsmanship and archery and riding. Her brother was slimmer, lither, almost more delicate to befit his nobility. William was broad of shoulder, his arms slightly thicker, his build fuller. He was still lean, taut, balanced, and she knew he moved with the light grace of a well-practiced knight. She let her hands explore it, first fingertips and then palms, hardly touching and if so not for long as she marveled at the mystery she'd never wanted to solve. She moved to his back, hands ghosting across his proud shoulders. The lamp made shadows and mixed golden pools of light across his skin. Aliana stopped as she moved around his left shoulder. Her eyes met with the jagged line of raised scar tissue stretching from his collarbone out and nearly across his whole upper arm. It was the blow he had taken for her, the only outward representation of their escape from Tyron's Keep. Aliana's hands had already tightened around his arm just above the elbow and she drew herself closer, forehead resting against the unevenness where his scar laid. She tasted bitter hatred in her mouth, the metallic feeling of anger on her tongue. So you will go to Derrick and start the war yourselves, she had said. It left William scarred, Derrick unconscious, and her perhaps barren. The temptation was there to sink to the floor in agony at herself. We just have to make it right. She looked up at William, and saw he was watching her with fascination. Aliana looked to him, then back to his shoulder, transfixed by the scar tissue, lost for words. He sighed; he understood. He turned and took her by the shoulders, positioning her before him. All she could see of the great scar was the slight line where it extended across his collarbone. "Don't," William told her, softer than she'd expected. "Not tonight." He kissed her again and she relented. His mouth washed the bitterness from hers. William bent his knees, descending slowly from his greater height, and at last he was lower than she, her head inclined just downward to meet his. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled upward, taking Aliana with him and groaning against her mouth at the effort, however slight a weight she was to lift. He carried her to the bed and placed her upon it so she sat upright on the edge. William looked down at her thoughtfully, almost appraisingly. "No," he finally muttered to himself, taking Aliana's hands in his and tugging gently. Aliana stood. A question after his intended meaning died on her tongue when his hands found the tie of her nightdress. William made quick work of the lacing at the collar and drew closer to her, hands finding the line of buttons down her back. He wished to undress her as she had him. He proceeded slowly, mouth dropping to her neck and pressing gently heavy kisses there and to her exposed collarbone and shoulders. Aliana had never known a lover's touch, only the formal but insistent push of her dead husband's hands, nor had she ever known herself to be pliant at William's will. His fingers had found the last few buttons and then slid up her back, curling beneath the open edges of the nightdress. He pulled it forward off her shoulders, and the silky fabric slid down and off easily, piling on the ground around her feet. She wore nothing beneath her nightclothes, and so stood bare before him, clothed only by lamplight and the heavy waves of her hair over her shoulders. William drew her closer and lifted her again, skin against skin, mouth against mouth even as his body fell to cover hers on the bed. Soon they danced together. William had not before known her flesh, but he knew her, her, her heart and her mind better than anyone. When he brought her to pleasure, Aliana buried her cry in his shoulder, hands shaking. Silent tears streaked her cheeks, rubbed off on his warm skin. William said nothing, only tightened his arms around her and held her there, still deep inside her, still pressing her into the mattress. There in a lover's embrace she cried, until something stirred within her chest that told her to resume the dance. When William finally pulled the blankets up and over her it was nearly dawn, bits of pale light sneaking in between the heavy coverings on her windows. "You can't stay long," Aliana murmured, eyes rimmed red from sleeplessness and the fear still pooling in her stomach of what the new day would mean. You will serve as his regent. "Is that an order, your grace?" William asked her as he tucked the heavy coverlet across his waist. The lamp next to her bed had long since died, and so William's features were silhouetted against the grey light from the windows. Aliana sighed, hands tightening to fists. "One I must give, I'm afraid," she answered softly, meeting his eyes in the semidarkness. Had there been a way she knew, she would have thanked him, gratefully and passionately, for leading her temporarily to forget what had happened, that her brother lay still only a few corridors away, that she was to sit upon his throne. But then, Aliana suspected William held the very same gratitude for her. William covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply and lifting her upper body off the mattress with a strong arm behind her shoulders. "It will be my honor to serve you, my lady," he said when he pulled away, the oath the other councilmen had sworn to her mere hours before. His blue eyes flashed with a passionate sincerity she recognized from years of his friendship to her brother, his unfailing loyalty to her family, and to her most of all, even unbidden. "Go, please," Aliana found herself begging him, a calmness in her eyes. The words were ones of duty. William withdrew his arm and pulled back the blankets, swinging his legs off the bed and standing. Aliana watched calmly as he dressed and sat up to take her robe from him when he held it out to her. A serious look passed between them, but neither said a word. William placed a hand behind her head and drew her close, and leaning down pressed his lips to her forehead. Aliana closed her eyes and concentrated to remember it. When he was gone, Aliana rose and slid into her robe, naked beneath its heavy brocade. She pulled open the coverings on the windows and watched the sun rise.