Three months had passed since the incident at the Great River and Alya had seen very little of Talan in that time. The heat of summer was starting to fade and the cool nights of autumn were just over the horizon and Talrinen, the great capital of the kingdom, was already preparing for harvest time when merchants and pilgrims and peoples from all over the kingdom and beyond would come to the city for the great harvest festivals.

With summer’s aging, however, the two young nobles had found their free time increasingly curtailed especially after they had been caught skinny-dipping in the River. Their studies had kept them both very busy, and it seemed as if their parents were making their disapproval known by stacking even more work on them so that they had little chance to be alone together. This was incredibly frustrating for her, now that she'd had a taste of what it was like to be intimate with a man… not just any man, but the one she loved. She wanted more. She wanted to feel the soft warmth of his lips, she wanted to trace the muscles of his chest and abdomen, kiss and lick over them, she wanted to hear his gasps and moans as she teased him, brought him the pleasure he so desperately desired from her.

And he did desire her she saw that in the looks he gave her, in the way he spoke to her, in the way he moved. Grace and control were the hallmarks of the nobility, able to mask intention and emotion so that they could look calm under pressure and not give away secrets or fears. But she could read him easily, he was an open book to her. She had frequently found herself with damp underwear and hard nipples when he looked at her and her mind wandered to the brief, ecstatic coupling they'd enjoyed by the river.

Today was a day she was looking forward to even in spite of the lingering heat in her belly and the separation from Talan, more than the newfound joys of love making she did miss him. The way he laughed, the way he always knew how to make her smile, that glint in his eyes when they strove against one another in whatever competition they could think of. Today was her combat lessons with Captain Ilun of the Royal Guard. Ilun was an old grizzled veteran and he did not suffer fools lightly but despite his gruff exterior he was rather close with his two noble students, whom he seemed to consider to be like his own children. Not that that stopped him from giving them a whack with his staff to correct their form or silence impudence.

The courtyard where they would train under Ilun’s gaze was sited under the shadow of one of the great spires of the Royal Palace which rose up behind the courtyard like some great sentinel made of bright stone, a testament to the power and the glory of all the kingdom. Pennants of over a dozen colours snapped in the wind from poles erected along the edges of the square and though they could not be seen, the eyes of the great kings and queens of the past – Talan’s ancestors- seemed to fall heavy upon them, that lingering sense of the weight of history that all felt when passing through the Hall of the Ancestors in the palace that was heavier than the stone that composed the great statues, the quickest route to find the courtyard.

Alya was wearing much more masculine clothing than she normally did since she was going to be fighting today, with tight black trousers and a form-fitting white shirt with boots. Not only did they offer greater range of movement but they outlined the shape of her body perfectly, especially the round swell of her breasts and the curves of her pert rear. Though the clothes helped her to move freely and so fight more effectively, their emphasising of her... assets also served a purpose. It was Alya's intention to use the form-fitting garments to draw her opponent's eye away from their fight and more towards her body, so that she could distract him and more easily beat him in their match.

Talan himself was stood on the opposite end of the courtyard dressed in plain clothing that was also tight-fitting to allow him to move freely. His attire was much the same as her own except for the fact that his shirt was dark green and his trousers were brown. He had already picked out the weapons he would use for this bout. Two lightweight swords identical to one another, a style with which he was intimately familiar due to the fact that the ancestral weapons of his House were two blades passed down since times immemorial, said to have been wielded in the War of the Dawn in the First Days against the old gods by the Father of Man himself.

Standing on the top of the steps that lead to the Royal Palace of Talrinen itself stood the large figure of Captain Ilun himself. There was a sword belted to his side and he was wearing fine chain-mail armour, polished and well-tended so that it gleamed in the sunlight. In his hand was a large staff of oak with an iron point at its end, the staff of office for the Captain of the Royal Guard. His visage was stern, his raven hair greying at the temples, his eyes were storm-grey and could cut down any arrogant noble or upstart recruit with but a glance. Some whispered that those eyes had slain more on the field than any blade the Captain had wielded. Here was the Lion of Miharan, the Ruin of Sithara, the Wrath of the King… here was a man no one dared cross.

"Prince Talan, Lady Alya, I am pleased that you are both on time... for once," Ilun said, "Alya pick your weapon and prepare to begin. This sparring match will be a test to see what you have both learned in my lessons, to see what your strengths and weaknesses are."

Alya nodded and walked over to a weapon rack and picked out a staff that was almost as long as she was, with two sweeping crescent blades attached at either end, "This, a staff of a Battle-Magus."

"Very well, assume your positions," Ilun commanded.

They both stood at opposite ends of the courtyard and bowed formally, though Alya had a subtle smile playing about her lips. Talan was going down, and she was going to love every minute of it.

Ilun watched them silently a minute, scrutinising them and then barked, "Begin!" As he struck the stone floor with his staff the sharp crack like lightning, reverberating in the air.

They both straightened and started circling each other slowly, keeping their distance, watching to see who would make the first move. Talan had his swords extended, one forward and up, ready to ward off an attack or flash out in a quick strike if she left a gap in her guard and the other held back and slightly sideways to be ready to defend himself if she got past the first blade, "Ready to have your arse kicked your grace?" He asked with a grin.

"We'll see whose arse gets kicked my lord... normally it's you who is nursing his bruises," she replied with a smirk, "People might wonder if you let me win."

"Would I dishonour you so, Alya?" He asked with a wounded expression.

"If you thought it would get you in my good books," she replied, and then suddenly lunged forward with her staff, aiming to slash him across the chest.

Talan deflected the blow and then the second as she used her momentum to swing the second blade up, she pressed against him for a moment and then broke off, keeping her distance again.

Talan chuckled, "Testing my guard? Two can play at this game," he went on the offensive this time, unleashing a flurry of blows with his blades, weaving a complex pattern of thrust, strike, block, strike against her guard in quick succession but she managed to deflect the first two, block the third and then spin her whole body to deflect the fourth strike with the second blade of her staff which put him slightly off-balance so that the fifth went wide.

Cursing as he tried to regain his footing, Talan stumbled and just managed to ward off Alya's counter-attack, but once he got some room to regain his balance he went back on the offensive, an overhand blow knocked the first blade of her staff aside and he managed to ward of the second as it flashed up to try and catch him off-guard.

Their movements got faster and more sure as the fight wore on, they had fought each other countless times and it fell into a familiar, flowing pattern of block and parry, thrust and dodge, spin and lunge. It was almost as if they were dancing rather than fighting and in a sense it was true, moving together as they were, flowing in step, it was much like a dance.

Alya spun around to gain momentum for her next strike, putting her whole weight behind her blow as the staff scythed through the air, if this had been a real fight with sharpened weaponry such a blow could have cut him in two, and as it was the blunt blade-staff would certainly be able to leave nasty bruises and broken bones, but Talan was skilled with his chosen blades and he did not try to fight against her strike, instead he flowed with it, bending away from her as his sword knocked the staff upward slightly. Trying to block such a strike would merely knock one of his swords from his hand, and he was not so foolish as to risk that.

The crescent blade went right passed his face and Talan could feel the air it displaced blow against him. For just a moment Alya was overextended and her guard was down as she tried to recover and Talan took his chance to regain the initiative. He lunged forward to try and stab her in the chest, an instant kill blow that would end their spar in his victory, but Alya recovered too quickly and she blocked the strike with the shaft of her staff.

Talan cursed as his blade slide off the shaft of the staff, his second sword flashing up to block the returning blow from Alya’s upper blade. He gritted his teeth, straining against the blow as she tried to force him to drop his sword. Alya smiled at him sweetly, eyes flashing, “Having trouble, my lord?”

He glared up at her, ignoring the shiver that went down his spine at the sound of that purring lilt in her voice as she teased him, “You’ll be the one in trouble soon, Alya!” he wrenched his sword aside, flowing away from the descending blade as he struck out with his other sword as the sudden shift sent Alya off-balance again.

Alya twisted, bringing her staff up to block the blow with the shaft, but there was strength behind it and the staff shattered in twain with an almighty crack. Alya stumbled back, the two halves of her staff held in her hands, panting, breasts heaving under her form-fitting shirt. She stared at her broken weapon a moment and then turned to Talan, eyes narrowing, “Now I’m mad.”

Talan gave a flourish with one of his swords, smirking, “Do your worst, your grace.”

“I fully intend to,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, raising one half of her staff high, angled towards Talan as the other was held closer to her body to ward him away. She let out a great cry and charged at him, broken staff now more akin to two short spears as she unleashed her own flurry of blows on Talan and drove him back, again their bodies flowing by instinct, blow into parry into block into lunge into blow. Together they danced from one end of the courtyard to the other, always pressing close to each other, always seeking, always harrying, never giving a moment’s pause or rest to their opponent.

They moved and flowed together so close that Talan could feel the heat radiating from her body and she his, their scents mingling, their blades clashing again and again in a cadence of clashing metal, a sound almost akin to ringing bells, a song of steel. At last something had to give and there was an almighty clang of metal on metal and one of Talan’s blades went scything away, light glittering over its edge as it spun away far out of reach.

Undaunted by the loss of his second blade, Talan shifted to a two-handed grip on his remaining sword and struck, faster and faster now, spin and lunge and parry, ever faster their bodies moving, their dance quickening towards climax. Louder and more insistent was the cadence of metal upon metal, Talan’s blows more sure and powerful now as he could lever greater strength behind every blow.

Alya fell back, sliding into the defensive as Talan tried to smash aside her defences in retaliation for the loss of his own. Sweat slicked her brow but she couldn’t waste a moment to flick it away out of her eyes, the heat between them was intense and ever-rising as they moved together as one. Eventually there was another discordant clash of metal amidst the greater song and one of Alya’s short spears was knocked from her hand. Now came the final crescendo, victory was near for one or the other, their defences were being smashed aside in turn and now it became a contest of will and strength and speed, the first one to break the flow of movement and get under the other’s weakened guard could claim victory.

It was Talan who struck the first blow that he thought would put an end to the fight for god, a blow that managed to jar Alya’s arm and send her half of her blade-staff just enough off-centre for a quick reversal of his stroke to sneak under her guard. Her weapon slipped from her hand, but Alya reacted on instinct and let it go, flowing to the side so that the blade barely missed her flesh, snagging on her shirt and tearing a ragged hole through the fabric just under her breasts with a great ripping sound.

Heedless of what had happened, Alya struck. Her hand flew up to strike Talan in just the right spot to numb his entire right arm as his missed strike left him so briefly exposed. He cried out in shock as his sword slipped from nerveless fingers, but he managed to pull away from her follow-up knife-palm towards his chest.

Talan backpedalled, managing to at last break from Alya, their rhythm shattered, their dance faltered as they circled each other again, eyes wary, watching, tension slowly filling the air, the silence heavy after the ring of steel on steel that had filled it before. Inevitably something had to intervene and break the silence, and this time it was Talan who opened the bout. He closed the distance in an eye blink, giving her little time to react as he lashed out with a fist. Alya blocked with a forearm and returned with a punch of her won. Again they closed together and again they began to flow together, every motion mirrored, advance and retreat, punch and block, kick and dodge.

There was something intimate about how close they were, too close to give the other much of an opening, minds focused purely on the rhythm of battle, of the dance they knew so well. It brought to mind an even more intimate dance they once had shared on the bank of the Great River under the shade of the trees at the height of summer. Like then their bodies were as one, every motion the other made as familiar as raising their own arm. Again the heat built between them, bodies pressed close, unrelenting in their dance to and fro across the flagstones.

Alya couldn’t help but grin, a laugh bubbling up from her throat silver-bright and clear as bells, an answering laugh coming from Talan, voice deep and sonorous. Her raven hair flew about her shoulders wildly, eyes of sapphire blue met his of silver-grey and she had to fight the sudden urge to kiss him there and then, beneath the watchful eyes of their teacher.

That moment’s distraction was enough and suddenly she found herself flat on her back with a cry, breath stolen from her as she stared up at Talan with wide eyes, he had her pinned to the floor, fist raised, a grin bright as the sun on his face and a wild laugh on his lips, “Yield, Alya. This day is mine.”

“Asenmar yields for no man, your highness,” she retorted, smiling, “Don’t crow yet.”

“You’re pinned, you can’t move. I’ve won,” he said, “Now yield gracefully. There’s no way you can-“

He was cut off as he felt her lips on his, soft and warm and sweet, a gasp slipping from him, his grip on her slackening for a crucial moment distracted by her taste and the soft warmth of her beneath him – something he was now acutely aware of where he had not thought a moment of it mere seconds ago.

Before Talan could break away and gather his wits, he found himself rolled over onto his back, Alya’s full weight pressing down on him, cold steel pressing to his throat. Alya smiled down at him sweetly, his own sword held to his neck that she had scooped up as she had rolled them over, realising where he had not how close to it they had fallen, “What was that about yielding gracefully, Talan?” She cooed, blue eyes alight with laughter.

He groaned, head laying back on the hard stone of the courtyard, “Yield! I yield you terrible woman.”

Her smile widened and she pulled the sword away and got off of him, helping him to his feet, “Oh hush, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy my little ploy.”

Before Talan could make his retort, there was another great cracking sound of iron upon stone and their attention was drawn to the great steps leading up into the Palace and the Hall of the Ancestors where Captain Ilun had stood watch over their fight. The captain shook his head, “A good spar, both of you… however… Talan. You were distracted. Distraction is death in true battle. Be mindful of your surroundings, do not allow yourself to fall prey to such things. What is the First Maxim?”

“In War, Serenity, ser,” Talan said, shamefaced.

“That’s right. You lost control of yourself. You had victory and allowed it to slip through your fingers. You need to meditate on the First Maxim more. Remember that any true warrior of the Miharan Schools has control over himself, his opponent and the field of battle. Victory is his before he even steps foot on the field. If you had remembered the Eye you would have been victorious.”

Talan bowed, expression contrite, “My failure, Master. I will not make the same mistake again. I will remember the Eye of the Storm.”

Ilun nodded and then turned his attention on Alya, “As for Her Grace… you have a warrior’s cunning, you did well to distract Talan and so snatch victory form the jaws of defeat… but it should never have been so close in the first place. You should have disarmed him far sooner and certainly not allowed him to disarm you in turn. If Talan had not been as foolish as to hesitate then you would be dead. No warrior on the battlefield will be so courteous or foolish enough to mock his opponent before killing them. They’re not likely to be so distracted by a kiss from a pretty girl either. You both have done well, but you have much yet to learn. Both of you should meditate on your spar today, remember that a true warrior is the calm at the eye of the storm. All emotion, all distraction, all pain is without, the warrior is still, the warrior is calm. War and battle and blood may rage upon the storm that is his blade but the warrior himself is the calm at the eye. He is at peace even in war. Remember that.”

Alya mirrored Talan’s bow, “As you say, Master.”

The older man nodded, smiling slightly, “Now go clean up, have some rest… and get a new shirt, Alya. You look positively indecent with that great tear showing off your breasts to any who pass by. If you hurry about it, you both will have a few hours to yourselves before your evening classes with your tutors.”

Alya coloured, her alabaster skin darkening with a blush as she tried to hold the tear in her clothing closed, “It’s a good thing I brought another pair of clothes just in case of this… with your permission, master?”

Ilun nodded and gave a shallow bow to the both of them, “You are both released for the day…” as they both turned to leave he called, “Oh and children? Do hurry up and tell your parents about the two of you soon. As amusing as it is to see you sneak around like teenagers it is rather scandalous behaviour for people of your station,” at the spluttering from Talan and the open-mouthed stare from Alya he smirked, “A warrior is observant. Remember that too. Now off you go, my lord and lady. You’re wasting valuable sneaking around time.”

The two young nobles fled his presence before he could say anything more to mortify them, once they were gone entirely he shook his head and chuckled, “Were you ever planning on telling them that you and the Old Duke had already decided to betroth them, Tyahn?”

From out of the shadows of the entrance to the Hall of the Ancestors, His Majesty En’Talr Tyahn the Wise, Third of His Name and Lord of Talrinen, stepped into view with his golden circlet on his brow and his body draped in fine silks of Imperial Purple. He seemed much like his son, but older and a little taller, his eyes were green unlike his son who had taken his mother’s eyes. The King smiled slowly, “Ah, but where is the fun in that, old friend? Kyan and I decided to keep our arrangement secret in case more… advantageous matches were made by the time they came of age. You know how the situation in the West has developed. It was possible that we would need to marry them to one of the royal houses there to shore up the old alliances… besides it is rather amusing to see them be so obvious about it and think it secret.”

Ilun chuckled, “It reminds me much of you and Liera in the old days. You were both terrible at sneaking around too.”

Tyahn snorted, “At least I was not carousing with the tavern wenches and wildly exaggerating my tales of valour, O Lion of Miharan. Hm… still, I do see what you mean. He does rather take after me in many ways. He is still young, let him have his fun. Heavy the head that wears the crown. He deserves his youth full of light and laughter and pleasures before he assumes the duties of the Amethyst Throne.”

Talan and Alya had found themselves back inside the Palace itself, taking a shortcut through the extensive gardens to a side entrance that wasn’t frequented often so there was less chance of someone stumbling across Alya in her ruined shirt. After their embarrassment over Ilun’s words had dwindled Alya had spent most of the walk grumbling about Talan’s lack of swordsmanship skills and his tearing of a perfectly good shirt.

Wisely, the young prince had said nothing in defence of himself, so by the time they reached a store room where Alya could change her shirt in some semblance of privacy, he had managed to win himself back into her good graces… or at least she had stopped giving him looks sharp enough to draw blood.

As they reached the door to the store room, Alya turned to Talan and grabbed him by the front of his shirt with a wicked smile, “You’re coming with me,” she growled, tugging him inside the store room and shutting the door behind them. Talan, his eyes wide, swallowed hard and tried to pull away from her but her grip on his shirt was like iron.

“A-Alya... uh… what about your shirt?” He stammered, looking distinctly nervous. If she decided to murder him then he was pretty sure they’d never find the body.

“I have plenty more of those. I’m rich after all,” she said, that wicked look in her eyes unabated as she leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth, her lips devouring his hungrily as they crushed against him, her body pressed flush against his, the soft warmth of her breasts rubbing against his chest through the torn fabric of her shirt.

Talan groaned quietly, returning her heated kiss with passion of his own, a fire bursting into existence in his belly as months of repressed need surged through him. He kissed her back harder, arms encircling her and pulling her close. Alya moaned sweetly, stumbling back until he had her pressed up against the wall.

She pulled her mouth from his to kiss along his jaw, nibbling at his neck to draw another guttural moan from his throat. His hands grasped her ruined shirt and, seeing as it was torn anyway, he ripped it from her body so he could palm her yielding flesh. A shudder ran down Alya’s spine and she clutched him close, one hand sliding up to tangle in his hair, the other sliding down to squeeze his rear through his trousers.

“Alya,” he moaned softly, “Oh gods…” he ground himself firmly against her, letting her feel his arousal beneath the cloth separating them. The feel of his member pressing into her drew soft noises of desire from her and she soon grasped his hand and pulled it down towards the waist of her trousers.

”Undo them,” she whispered into his ear, nibbling along it as she moaned heatedly, “I want you so badly… please Talan.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, he fumbled at the buttons holding up her tight-fighting trousers, his eagerness making him a little clumsy. Eventually however they snapped open and he tugged her trousers down and let gravity do the rest, pooling it around her legs. She wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Talan groaned as he felt the wet, soft heat of her sex, her moans of need turning sweet as he stroked at her dripping cleft, “Ahn! Talan!” she groaned, hand sliding down to grope the front of his own trousers, feeling his arousal beneath the fabric. Her breath hitched as he slid two fingers into her, her walls clenching around them as they sank deep within her. She muffled her moans against his neck, hands desperately tugging and fumbling at his own trousers.

It wouldn’t be long until she managed to free his length from the confines of his clothing, grasping the thick, throbbing shaft with her hand, stroking at him with muffled moans and pants. A shudder went through the young prince and he groaned, “Alya… ooh gods I want you too… uuh!”

She wrapped her legs around him, her body pressed right up against the wall, her hands grasping at him, clutching at his back as she felt his stiff cock press against her heat. She rolled her hips, pressing herself up against his member with desperate need. She wanted him so badly, wanted to feel him inside her like she had when they’d given their virginities to each other on the bank of the River.

Talan obliged, his smooth, thick manhood sliding slowly into her hot, clenching tightness until he had buried most of himself inside her. He groaned quietly, hands seeking out her breasts to squeeze and stroke. His fingers glided over smooth alabaster skin and soon found the stiff pink buds of her nipples. Alya moaned, hips writhing against his cock as he pinched and tugged on them, trying to encourage him into thrusting into her. He needed no more prompting than that to start dragging his length back out of her almost fully before driving back home with a loud smack of their hips together.

Alya shuddered and bit back a cry of pleasure, her sex tight and silken around her lover’s cock as he stroked in and out of her, her legs tightening around his back to push him deeper, forcing him to make shorter, harder thrusts. They kissed again, hard, that burning need thrumming through their bodies driving them into a great passion, Talan’s hips smacking harder, faster into Alya’s dripping cleft. His cock sank deep within, driving into places he had never reached in their first lovemaking at the River. Her moans and pants of pleasure were muffled in his mouth, her tongue playing and wrestling with his for dominance of the kiss. His hands groped at her breasts roughly, urged on by a burning need to feel her, to touch every inch of her alabaster skin.

The kiss broke and Talan’s mouth found her neck, tongue lapping along her throat, tasting the sweetness of her, teeth grazing over sensitive skin. Alya moaned low, hips squirming and rocking into his length, “Talan… oh Talan harder… harder!” Her voice trembled, her every moan sweet as honey to him, it sent of a thrill through him to think that he could make her sound this way. That the voice of silver bells and clarion song that could captivate everyone who heard it, that could inspire bravery and strength in the smallest man with but a few soft, well-crafted words could be made to quiver with desire… that her voice could cry out his name in a way it had for no other, and never would if he had anything say about it.

It was hard to tell how long they were like this, pressed together, bodies moving in an altogether more intimate dance than their earlier sparring. It could have been minutes or hours, time was without meaning as they lost themselves in every pant and gasp and touch. Only the sound of muffled voices and movement from outside finally interrupted them and brought the outer world back with startlingly clarity. Talan’s eyes widened and he clamped his hand over Alya’s mouth to stifle her desperate noises, slowing in his thrusts into her welcoming heat but not still entirely as he listened for any sound that might hint at their discovery.

She squirmed against his hips, moans muffled by his hand as she tried to encourage him to keep thrusting, to keep driving his thick length so hard and deep inside her. She was so close, his quieter, slow pace was torture! Talan couldn’t restrain himself, she was so soft and wet and tight around him. He pressed her into the wall, pulling her a little higher with his hands so he could thrust faster, harder, teeth gritting to stifle his own moans and grunts of pleasure as he took her, watching her breasts bounce with each smack of his hips against her own. Their bodies moved frantically, writhing against each other as their pleasure built and built, Alya’s fervent cries of pleasure as she slipped into her climax on his cock were still muffled by his hand. Talan groaned heatedly as she clenched around him, a shudder going down his spine as he fought not to explode inside her, dragging his cock from within her molten core as she relaxed against the wall. He pulled his hand from her mouth and kissed her firmly, moaning into her mouth. Alya clung to him, body still quivering, “Y-your turn,” she whispered against his ear.

Alya untangled her legs from him and stood, though not for long as she soon sank down to her knees and grasped his length, hot and hard and slick with her wetness. She smiled up at him and drew him into her mouth, not minding the taste of herself on his length as she sucked on his cock. Talan groaned, eyes half-closed, hand tangling in her hair as he guided her head down onto his cock. Her tongue lapped slowly at his length as she sucked on him, swirling around his tip every time she drew back from it. She cupped his balls in her hand and stroked them gently, tugging on them as her warm, wet mouth slide down his length.

Talan pressed down on her head more insistently, hips rocking instinctively up towards her mouth, his breath coming in hot, ragged pants as he felt his pleasure start to peak, “Unf.. uuhn… oh Alya…” he groaned, a throb running through his shaft as it swelled moments before he reached his own climax.

Seed, thick and hot, spurted from his tip and leaped into her mouth which the young noblewoman swallowed greedily, being careful not to spill a drop as her lover poured himself down her throat. She felt Talan’s hand on her head relax and she pulled away from his cock once it was spent, pressing a kiss to his tip with a giggle, “You really like doing that,” she whispered, looking up at him with her big blue eyes, licking her lips, “It is a good thing you taste good!”

Alya rose to her feet gracefully and leaned in to kiss him, giggling again at the glazed look in his eyes. Talan shook himself and grinned, embracing her and holding her close, “I do love you, you know…”

She smiled warmly, “I know,” she pulled away from him and grabbed her trousers, tugging them up and fastening them whilst Talan fixed his clothing and tucked his member away. Now all she needed was a new shirt, given that Talan had literally torn what remained of her old one from her body, “Thank the gods for the Sacred Arts,” she mumbled as she closed her eyes in concentration, murmuring incantations under her breath as she reached into thin air in front of her, arm vanishing up to the elbow in nothingness before returning with a freshly laundered linen shirt in her hand of a similar style to the one she had worn to train in earlier.

Talan watched her work her magic and shook his head, wonder in his eyes, “It never ceases to impress me, how well you took to the Arts.”

Alya smiled as she pulled her shirt on and buttoned it up swiftly, “It’s not too hard a thing to learn. Just a bridge between here and my wardrobes. It’s much easier to make such a small aperture than to actually try to Travel… and of course I still need an anchor point to attach the other end of the bridge to, in this case a runic inscription in my wardrobe itself.”

He chuckled, “Still very impressive to someone like me who has no talent for it!”

She smirked, “You’re just trying to flatter me, love. Hm… still what woman doesn’t like a bit of flattery now and then? Come on, let’s go to your room. It’ll be more comfortable and private there. I really enjoyed what we just did but… mhm… well I’d rather something a little less frantic next time,” she said playfully.

“That can be arranged,” Talan replied with a twinkle in his eyes, opening the door to the storeroom to check to see if the coast was clear. Seeing not a soul, Talan took her hand in his and squeezed it. The day was far from over and they had time yet for a little more time together before the duties of high nobility intruded once again.