Willoughby snored.

There was some hidden justice in that fact. My poor Blade had complained about not sleeping at every chance he got, and I knew I was the cause. It was my turn to be restless.

I tried to ignore the sawing of logs by thinking about anything else. But then I stumbled into worry over how angry Willem would be with me when I finally arrived at the castle steps. I tried to think of an excuse to give him. Everything felt cheap.

I hadn't spoken to my brother since our fight in front of the tavern, and I would doubt if he would speak to me until he had time to think about my actions and decide on my intent—an intent I didn't expect him to understand.

Dragons weren't real; I reminded myself. If they were real, I'd stand a chance.

I was a day away in distance and holed up in another inn with the same man I was with before. But then that concern bled into how the Duke had been earlier that night and toward me.

He'd felt cold.

Uninterested; annoyed.

A blurred mess of either— the Duke had been perfectly clear; he was not keen on siding with me for an adventure. My place was at home. I frowned, stewing at his traditional stupidity.

Who was he to decide that? I thought. What of balance? Wasn't that what he was all about? I wanted to know. Why did men get all the fun?

With that, I rustled the blanket enough to throw it off to the floor. It fell onto Ser Willoughby, who'd decided to sleep there, deliberately next to the bed where my feet would go, should I try and leave. He thought he was clever, but when the comforter hit him, he drew it into himself and wrapped it around his body like he was an éclair or some kind of crab.

The movement gave just enough of a path to the door.

I took it.

Downstairs, the tavern was eerily quiet but still open. There was a bartender at the counter and a patron here or there in the large, open space. I settled into the closest chair and tapped the bar for service. He arrived and gave me a once-over.

"Are ye old enough to drink?" he asked. "Why are ye dressed that way?"

"I'm sure there's a better answer in some reimagining of this moment later, sir, but yes. I am old enough to drink. I'm eight and ten; I thank you. I don't know why I'm dressed like this. Now give me something strong for asking."

"Heh." He shrugged, pulling an amber bottle off the shelf behind him.

"Ehhh," Ask appeared beside me; he waved the bottle off.

"Um, hello?" I croaked. "I wanted that."

He stole a glance and took the seat beside me. "Give us something better, yeah?" he asked. He threw a copper down.

I didn't want him to buy my drink; I wanted—

"Tell me you're not up to anything," he said.

I yawned, rubbing my eyes. "I'm too tired to think of something funny. Can you just ask me whatever it is you're asking?" I said. "I do hate riddles."

"Why are you down here?" he said. "Are you planning to run off?"

"No," I rolled my eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not always up to something."

He chuckled.

"I'm not!" I said.

The keep poured our drinks. They were a deep red sort of wine, and when I took a sip of it, it was warm and sweet. I moaned at its relief.

Askar watched as I drank the entire cup of it; he ordered me one more.

"But then that's it," he told me. "Does Willoughby know you're down here?"

I side-eyed him. "What do you think?"

He was waiting for my answer.

"I don't know why you're asking," I said. "You know he doesn't. Like he'd let me do anything without his company," I balked.

"He cares for you," he said.

"Sure," I took a sip out of the second as it arrived. "Man, that's good. And yeah. He cares, I guess." I yawned another time.

"Go to bed, love," he said. "Sorry. Princess."

I met his eyes; mine were watery from the lack of sleep. "I'm not tired," I said.

He took his own drink, fingering the rim, ignoring me.

"Your Grace?" I asked.

"Yes?"

My pinky found his hand at his glass, linking itself over between his pointer and thumb.

"What are you doing?" he breathed.

"I'm touching you," I said.

"You can't be drunk already," he argued. "It was a drink and a half."

In response, I chugged the last of my wine and set the glass next to his. "Why would I have to be drunk to touch you?" I asked.

"We're not alone this time," he whispered.

"No, but... But I'm still lonely."

"I see..." He wet his lips. "What are you suggesting?"

"Perhaps you'd keep me company?" I moved to trace his knuckle.

He hummed. "You are a troublemaker, aren't you?"

"Maybe I just find you very attractive, Your Grace?"

I held Askar's hand as we hurried up the stairs. Every time we heard so much as the floor squeak, or a door open, he hid me behind his back and held my hand tighter. In his room, he immediately stripped his shirt.

"Someone's ready?" I laughed.

He shook his head. "We don't have a lot of time." He took off his belt, tossed it to the side, and came and pulled my blouse out of my pants. "I think I rather like this look for you, Princess," he said.

"Gee, thanks," I said back.

He swallowed, his Adam's Apple rolling as he took it off of me.

I started loosening my pants when he bent to lift me into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. He kissed me; I kissed him back, and he took me to the bed. Once we hit the pillows, I dug my nails into his hair, and he lost a breathy moan.

"I live for that," he muttered.

"For what?" I laughed. "My fingers?"

He rocked his head against my hand, forcing the motion to repeat. I giggled.

"I see. Then what should I live for?" I mused. "No, I know. I live for your kiss."

"Hmm," Askar buzzed. He snuck his hand into the front of my drawers. He was inches from my face with his. "Not my fingers?" he asked.

I opened my legs to take him deeper. "T-Those, too."

Just as he had established a steady rhythm, he vanished, pulling his lips from mine and my pants down. They went somewhere into the room with my underwear. When he was low enough, he pressed his mouth into my sex, and I gasped in desperation.

"Yes!"

His tongue slowed as he dragged it from one end to the other.

"Ah!" I cried.

Another one of his cruel snickers followed that sound, and I shifted in the bed as his palm met my hip.

"Hold still," he laughed.

"It's hard to do that," I said, anchoring myself to his wrist. "It feels so good."

Ask licked me another time just as he had. "Is it better slow or fast?" Then he sped up, worshiping the very front and center at a hundred times the intensity.

I yelped.

He grinned, covering my mouth, and then something worried came over me, and I couldn't breathe. I pushed back from him, anxious.

"Stop, stop!" I realized what I'd done and then apologized. "Sorry... Sorry. It's good. Sorry."

I felt stupid. There was a pause.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said. "You're just kind of loud. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," I replied. "I just don't like hands on my... I don't like my mouth touched like that."

"That's okay." Ask saddled up beside me, tentatively bringing his arm around to my jaw. "Is this okay?" he asked.

All I did was nod.

"Let's slow down," he suggested, but I protested that, too.

"No," I begged. "Please. I want to do this. I'm fine."

I settled into the bed. The position felt almost like the claw we'd been before, but different. I was on my back, and he was hanging over me from my side. His hand rested at my face.

"Askar," I said. I leaned up to kiss him. "Should we be... Should we, uh?"

"Do this?" he asked. "No. Not at all."

"No, I meant...." I met his eyes. "Should we use some sort of protection?"

His mouth opened and then closed. "Protection?"

"Willoughby, he suggested some sort of sheath?"

"Rosie, I—" He stifled a groan. "Sorry. Your name is Eliza, isn't it?"

My lips delivered a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then his throat and neck. "Call me what you like," I said. "You can call me Rose."

"That's not your name," he argued.

"Not entirely true," I told him.

He stopped, brushing my hair from my face. "I don't have that sort of thing with me. It's not something that we practice in Gosil."

"Oh," I said. "Okay."

He kissed my lips. "I promise you; I'll pull out."

We rolled, and I wound up on top, straddling his lap. I played with the top of his trousers. He caressed my shape.

"Is that alright?" he checked.

I didn't really know. "My middle name is Rose," I said instead.

His eyes danced down my body. To tempt him, I ground into him, sending my hands up and down his chest.

"I feel as though I should call you Princess," he said. "You outrank me today."

"Are you a man who cares for rank?" I teased. "Your hands are on my breasts."

That sparked a grin. "Then maybe Eliza," he suggested. "At your insistence."

"Or love," I said. "I like that, too."

"Is that right, love?" He flipped me back over, tracing my skin from neck to belly.

"Show me something new," I asked.

"Hmm." He buzzed about it. "The thing that comes to mind might feel a little degrading for a princess."

I shook my head. "I'm not a princess, remember? I'm just Rose when I'm with you."

"I don't know," he said.

"Please?" I pouted. "What is it you said to Will...? Oh! Right. 'I'm not above begging if that's what you want.'"

He frowned, lying on the sheet beside me. "You're the worst," he said.

"Please?" I said, playfully getting to my knees. "Please fuck me in whatever way you like, Your Grace."

He stared at me in disbelief. "Lord have mercy; tell me you've never said those words to any other man."

I shrugged. "Maybe? Though Dukes are hard to come by."

His jaw tensed, and I could see the muscles pulse all down his neck.

"Askar," I said. "We've been over this. You're not my first."

He sat up, guiding me to face the headboard. "Put your hands up there, Your Highness." He helped me find where he was pointing, placing my hands himself.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Lift your ass up for me," he said.

I wanted to look back at him but didn't, opting to do what he said instead. Then he basically melted into my shape with his body and leaned over my back.

Ask started to play with my sex, his hand wrapped around me like a snake. I could feel his breathing from the very motion to the heat through my hair.

I felt him push his pants down, then his dick pressed up to my slit. He slid it through my slickness for far too long, and I was crazy with anticipation.

"Your Grace, please!" I moaned.

"You'll call me Askar, or I won't fuck you, Princess," he said.

"What?" I cried. "But you're–"

"Say it," he said, gliding back and forth another time. "Say my name if you want this, love."

"A-Askar," I corrected. "Please."

"Please, what?"

"Please," I giggled. "Please fuck me, Yo– Please fuck me, Askar."

At my request, he was inside of me, and I rasped at the sensation. It was such a curious change. My grip left the frame and ensnared his fingers at my waist.

He moved, thrusting into me.

"Oh!" I cried. I remembered that I was loud and did my best to keep my pleasure contained, but after mere moments, I had to seek the refuge of the pillow, clutching the cushion to my mouth to dampen my sounds.

"Oh, fuck," I muttered somewhere.

I went fast, and I was writhing into the bed like an animal, a scene I'm sure I should feel pity for, but I could not stop.

Askar finished after; I heard him vocally sputter as he pulled out and felt something warm on my back. He apologized, reached for one of the blankets, and wiped it off.

He fell back next to me, and when I could fully function, I slithered onto his chest. His arm came around, and for several moments we didn't speak.

"Was that alright?" he asked.

"I'm just confused," I said.

"Yeah. Sorry, it's not the best position for a lady, I think."

"No," I knit my face at him. "Never tell me who you think it's the best position for," I croaked. "I was going to say... I'm confused about why you think I wouldn't enjoy that. That was the best yet, I think."

"Ha!" He chuckled. "If you insist. We'll give it another go sometime."

"Sometime? As in now?" I asked.

"No." He kissed my crown. "No, right now, I need to sleep. And so do you. Hopefully, your knight is not awake."

"I feel that if he were awake, he would be banging on your door."

Ask sighed.

"What?" I asked.

"Do me a favor, love?"

"Yes, what?"

"Don't... Don't tell your knight you were with me again," he said.

"Why in all of Oreia would I do that?" I asked.

"Why would you have told him before?" he replied.

"That was... Yes, you're right. I'm sorry." I blushed.

"It's alright," he said. "I just don't..."

"Want to be forced into marrying me? Yes. I know." I sat on the edge of the bed and started searching for my clothes.

"That's not the worry," he said. "My worry is, you'll be forbidden from seeing me soon, and this will have to end."

I pulled on a pair of pants, quickly realizing they were his, and traded them out for the other pair. I shrugged.

"As if Ser Willoughby has that authority," I said.

"Maybe not, but I assume he has some say to someone who does. What of your mother's knight? Ser Elías, right?"

"What of Ser Elías?" I asked. "He loves me..." I caught how weird that sounded. "Like an uncle, don't worry."

"Still. If Ser Willoughby tells him I'm a bad influence, what's to stop him from telling Her Majesty?"

Ask joined me in the room and plucked the shirt out from my hands, pulling it over himself, then found his pants. I dressed in the remaining blouse.

"Then I suppose I should get a proper dressing down," I said.

He canted his head, touching my neck. "I'd like to see you again, is the point."

"You would?" I asked. Then I frowned. "Why?"

"...Why not?"

"O...kay," I said slowly. He walked me to the door; then he stepped into the hall. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm seeing you to your room?" He held his hand out for mine, and we moved in complete, weird silence until we got to Willoughby's door. "Good night, love."

"Good night, Your Grace."

I snuck in and pressed my back to the wooden frame. My hand hung onto the doorknob, and Ser Willoughby was still sound asleep on the floor. I couldn't see his face because he was wrapped so tightly in the blanket, but I could hear his snores.

For a moment, I contemplated what 'I'd like to see you again' actually meant. He might have to, I thought, if I were pregnant. I shook my head at that and went to bed.