Frozen Princess

Iona shook her head, golden waves slipping loose from combs holding half of her hair out of her face. The gold dress disappeared, tossed over the back of a chair draped with at least six other rejected gowns. Another took its place. Soft blue with glittering sapphire beading across the bodice.

“I like the color, but the skirts seem too… heavy.”

“Perhaps if I knew what you needed the dress for…?” Brigid asked, eyes scanning the piles of discarded gowns scattered across the room. Hard no’s tossed over chairs and tables. Perhapses flung over a privacy screen long abandoned. The not yet worn dresses hung neatly on a long rack against the wall. Brigid had even gone into her personal collection of designs she had sewn but had never sold or shown to Iona before.

Heat rushed up the back of Iona’s neck. A dress. For him. Broad hands at her waist, the scent of pine and steel as he lingered for just a moment longer than normal.

“The Midsummer Feast, of course.” Iona tugged at the short hem of her shift. The thin fabric felt suffocating clinging to her overheated skin.

Brigid narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were to wear the pink dress at Midsummer?”

The pink dress. Chosen by her mother weeks ago. A beautiful thing of rose and cream with golden ribbon and delicate embroidery. Soft, lovely, like a spun sugar pastry. Iona didn’t want to look like a pastry on Midsummer. Even if he did have a sweet tooth. He’d never even ever attempted a nibble.

“I’ve changed my mind is all.”

Still, she held the blue dress against her body. It was close. But too much like the innocent flower she knew much of the kingdom saw her as. Not at all like the quickly unraveling woman who was in love with her best friend. She bit her lip, hard enough to taste salt and copper at the memory.

Standing together beneath the palace archway long after the others had said their goodbyes, just as they had since they were children. The air had been cool, but the brush of Angus’s fingers against her hand had burned as he led her toward the waiting carriage.

“You’ll write to me when you get home, yes?” He’d asked, as if they had not written almost weekly for most of their lives. 

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you in a month, for Midsummer.”

Then he’d kissed her knuckles, as was proper, a hand at her waist, eyes falling to her lips instead of pulling back. 

Iona forced herself to take a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut. If she could shove the memory down she might think more clearly.

“Is it the prince?”

Iona’s eyes snapped open. Brigid held another dress in her hands in front of her like a shield, eyes wide as if shocked she had been so bold. Iona swallowed. Her maid probably knew her better than her own mother. If anyone could help her untangle her feelings, it would be Brigid.

“Why do you say that?” Iona asked instead. Brigid sank her weight back on one foot and propped a hand against her generous hip.

“You’ve wandered through the castle glassy eyed since you returned from your visit. If it’s not the prince, then I fear I may call for leeches to balance your humors.”

Iona smiled at that despite the racing of her heart. Her hands rose to cup her face, trying to hide the flush she could feel flooding across her cheeks. 

“I just need to know for certain how he feels,” Iona said, covering her eyes. It felt a childish thing to do. If she couldn’t even face her own feelings how could she face Angus. Brigid gently pulled Iona’s fingers away from her face.

“Princess, how is it everyone else can see how he adores you, yet you cannot?”

Iona stared at herself in the mirror. Bright blue eyes set in a heart shaped face stared back. Doubt flickered across their depths. “That is different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” The answer fell from her lips too quickly. “Angus loves everyone.”

That is what worried her. Angus loved fiercely and openly. His heart entirely outside his body for the world to see. He laughed loudly. Grieved openly. Threw himself into every friendship, every battle, every triumph with enough passion to ignite the sky itself. People followed him because he inspired them. People loved him because it was near impossible not to. 

Even now, years after they had first met as children, hiding stolen pastries behind their backs as they raced through courtyards, Iona had never once seen him turn down someone in need. He had always been warm, always burned bright. But what if that heat had just been Angus. What if she mistook sunlight meant for everyone as something only meant for her?

Brigid held out another dress, silvery white with trailing sleeves. She hummed and helped Iona step into it. She laced it quickly then stepped back, assessing her work with a critical click of her tongue. Brigid stepped back in and began unlacing without waiting for Iona’s thoughts.

“No.”

“No?” Iona asked, allowing the dress to slide to the platform in a heap of shimmering organza.

“Too innocent.” The dress disappeared. Iona blinked, her mouth gone dry. 

“What do you—“

“You mean to make the man fall to his knees do you not?”

There was no hiding the flush, it spread from Iona’s collarbones to the roots of her hair. “Brigid!”

“You want to make him see you as a woman. Not Iona McDougall, the little girl he once shared scraped knees with as a boy.” Iona swallowed, but nodded. Brigid smiled, her eyes softening. “I think I know exactly the dress.”

A boy. That was the trouble, wasn’t it? Angus had long since grown into broad shoulders and strong hands that sent fans fluttering from every eligible lady of the court. Dowries to rival the crown’s coffers had been paraded before him even before he’d charged headfirst into his first battle. His heroics were sung by bards in taverns from Aberdeen to Crail now. Noble and true they said. And he was, strong and fierce with a warm smile that crinkled his soft blue eyes.

A flash of beading caught the light as Brigid pulled out another dress.

Dark blue velvet this time. Brigid held it before Iona’s body. It was heavy but fluid against the pads of her fingers as she trailed them over the soft fabric. Brigid helped her step into the gown and laced it up. Iona looked up and forgot how to breathe. The neckline swept low across her shoulders in soft curves, exposing more skin than most other gowns. The bodice skimmed down the line of her body, pulling in at the smallest part of her waist. The skirts did not flare out into confectionary flounces like the pink dress. Instead it draped softly over her hips, falling like gentle waves. Gold beading dripped from the deepest cut of the bodice, across her stomach, and flowed like sunlight through a river current down the rich folds of the fabric. The skirts parted more readily than any gown she had ever worn, revealing flashes of her leg as she moved from a daring split in the overskirt.

“Brigid, this is…”

“Dangerous?”

Iona nodded. She’d never seen a cut of dress like this in court. It was scandalous. Something Brigid had never dared offer to a noblewoman before. They would have time to tailor it to fit perfectly. If she wore it, if nothing else, she would set tongues wagging. 

“Perhaps, it is time to be dangerous.” Brigid said, more statement than question. Iona opened her mouth, then shut it. The dress was exactly what her frazzled mind had been looking for when she asked Brigid to help her. Before she even truly knew what she wanted, only that she didn’t want to wear the pink dress. The safe dress. The kind of dress Angus had seen her in dozens of times before in their lives. But now that she had this dress, apprehension prickled down her spine. 

“How long have you loved him?”

“I don’t know.” A lie. She knew exactly when. Maybe not the precise moment. That had rooted deeper than she thought she might ever know. But she remembered the moment she knew she couldn’t take it back.

Sixteen years old. Angus grinning at her from across a training yard, dark curls damp with sweat and a blunted sword slung over one shoulder. A bruise darkening his jaw. Sunlight gilding the edges of him. His eyes had danced with joy at seeing her, as if her presence was the best part of his day. Iona had trembled at the thought. Not at loving him. But knowing another woman might stand at his side one day. Would wear his colors. Bear his children. Share his bed. Be kissed by that smiling mouth. 

If she said anything, she might lose him. So she said nothing. Holding that feeling deep down, hoping it might fade because losing him to feelings he did not return was a pain she could not bear. Years passed. Then more. Still the yearning stayed. 

“Face the danger, Princess. If you get burned, at least you know you’re alive.”

Iona nodded, she had to know. Her hands ran up her hips over the luxurious fabric to rest at the curve of her waist. The memory flashed again in the back of her mind.

 His hands tightening at her waist. 

The courtyard had smelled of rain. He kissed her knuckles, as he had since they were twelve and it had become expected of him. Iona had laughed, because it felt more like a game, two friends pretending at formality after spending a week ignoring all propriety. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck for a hug. He smelled of pine and the steel from the training yard that morning. As she pulled back, his hand had found her waist. Their eyes had met, his fingers tightened, and for a moment his eyes dropped to her lips. They were close enough she could feel the warm wash of his breath over her skin. The air had gone funny, thick with anticipation. Angus’s head had lowered, just a fraction. And for a moment, she was certain he was going to kiss her. And gods save her, she would have kissed him back. 

But a dog had barked, the spell broken, and Angus pulled away. Iona had climbed into the waiting carriage and waved goodbye as if nothing had happened. But something had happened, and there was no coming back. At least not for Iona.

She took one last look in the mirror. The deep blue velvet brought out the color of her eyes, bright as a summer sky. Her skin seemed luminous, plush and soft, begging for the trace of warm fingers. The gold beading an exact match for her hair. She felt radiant. A woman choosing her path instead of walking the one laid before her.

“At least I’ll know.” 

ANGUS

The world had felt topsy turvy since Iona had left. But now it felt that way because Angus was falling through the air. He hit the dirt with enough force to rattle his teeth.

The training sword went skittering from his hand as the impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Dust bloomed around him in the late afternoon sun. And for a moment the world stilled to the clash of steel and smell of sweat. Somewhere above him Proletius swore.

“Your Highness!”

Angus blinked up at the cloudless blue sky. Training. The grandmaster of the knights of Crail had come specifically to train him. This, under any other circumstance, would have been not just a great honor but the highlight of Angus’s month. Instead he couldn’t get the scent of Iona’s lilac and honey perfume out of his nose, nor the feel of the span of her waist beneath his hand long enough to focus.

Strong hands grabbed his forearm and yanked him to his feet. Proletius met his eyes, mouth tight but laughter dancing in his eyes.

“My prince, are you hurt?”

“Just my pride.” Angus rubbed the back of his neck, noting where his shoulder strained from the impact. It would be sore in the morning. 

“You seem distracted, Your Highness.”

“Tired,” he said, dropping his eyes. A partial truth. He hadn’t slept well, his dreams filled with sky-blue eyes and the heat of her skin beneath the silk of her dress. Words spilling from his lips he didn’t dare say in the waking world.

Proletius’s eyes narrowed, searching Angus’s face as if trying to determine if his prince might have actually suffered a head injury. Mercifully, another knight called for him from across the training grounds. Proletius pointed a gloved finger at Angus before turning away.

“We’re not done.”

Angus offered a distracted nod then exhaled, hands running through his hair, ruining his sweat dampened curls even further. Gods, he had wanted to kiss her.

Iona had looked so lovely that day. Mist curling tiny wisps of her hair around her face like a golden halo, laughter lingering in his ears as she pulled him into a hug. Normal. A routine they had followed for years. Yet in that moment he’d realized that their comfortable familiarity had shifted into something more, at least for him. He wasn’t sure when the love grown of their friendship had turned to longing, only that he couldn’t remember the last time her leaving had not left him feeling hollow. 

It had become second nature to shove those feelings down. Whenever his gaze lingered too long on the plush pink of her lips, he looked away. Whenever she tucked herself against him during long boring dinners, soft curves molding against him as if carved just for his body, he reminded himself that she trusted him. Whenever she laughed with him, eyes sparkling with delight, he repeated the same thing over and over in his head.

She is your friend. She trusts you. Your feelings are not worth losing her companionship.

Angus sank onto a bench beneath the shade of an awning at the edge of the ring. He tried to enjoy the breeze cooling the back of his neck where curls clung damply to sweat. There was no peace to be found. Not as he remembered the soft tilt of her head when his eyes had dropped to her mouth as if she had wanted to kiss him too. But perhaps it was a distortion of memory, something he only wished he had seen. Angus leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and reached for the ladle in the water bucket near his boot and poured cold water over his head.

The bench shifted beside him as Proletius sat down. Angus tilted his head, droplets of water falling into his eyes as he met the knight’s gaze.

“Tell me your distraction is not because of a woman, my prince,” Proletius said, hand stroking his beard. Angus stiffened and nearly launched himself face first into the dirt.

“Why would you think that?” He sputtered, jolting back to an upright position, and promptly overcorrected to nearly fall backwards. 

Proletius steadied him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Angus could feel heat seep into his ears and up his neck, so hot he could imagine the dripping water from his hair evaporating immediately. He had never been very good at falsehoods. He found they sat funny on his tongue, tasting bitter as medicinal herbs. Perhaps that was why he had been unable to get Iona from his mind. Three weeks. Three weeks until Midsummer. Three weeks and he’d have to chew those sour words each time they spoke and he didn’t confess his true feelings.

“It has long been my duty to protect the crown. Part of that protection comes in noticing patterns. Such as the way your hands shake for a week after seeing Princess Iona,” Proletius said, tipping his head back to look Angus properly in the eyes.

Angus rubbed his shaking hands against his thighs. “My hands do not shake.” Proletius simply raised a brow. Angus sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “I only wish not to make any mistakes when it comes to our friendship.”

“If I may, Your Highness,” Proletius said, standing to cast a long shadow over Angus. “The princess looks at you as though you hung the moon.”

Angus blinked. “No she doesn’t.”

“She does.”

Did she? He never had to wait for her to look at him. Each time he sought her gaze, she was already there. As if she had been looking for him too. Eyes bluer than the sky, twinkling with delight at whatever half-baked plan had just entered his head he wanted to try. But she held that kindness for everyone. The only time he had ever seen her face grow hard and gaze to ice was at injustice. A beggar turned away on the street by a noble. A child bullied by someone larger. A dog beaten by its master. If she could spare equal kindness for a trapped spider, what proof was her kindness of love for him? 

Proletius set a heavy gloved hand on Angus’s shoulder. “When it comes to matters of the heart, it is better to speak up than choke on your fears. If she is what you say she is, a friend, then I imagine she has seen your mistakes and worst lies and still sees the truth of you.”

A crease formed between Angus’s brows. Iona had always been his favorite person in every room. Where others only saw a prince and the heir to the Kingdom of Fife, Iona saw Angus as he was. The boy who had a sweet tooth and snuck pastries from the kitchens only to give her the larger half. The boy who read by candlelight far too late into the night just so he had a new tale to tell her when she might grow bored. The boy who raced her across the highlands and still couldn’t catch her because she sat a horse better than he ever could. 

And as the years passed and she grew more and more beautiful he had been often struck dumb at how completely she knew him. And that day in the courtyard he had wanted… Gods, he had wanted her. All of her. The heat of her skin beneath his hands. Her laughter curling around him beneath his sheets on early mornings. Shared pastries at a table together. A child with her dancing eyes and his dark curls. 

“And if she does not feel the way I feel… as a friend… you are saying it is better for me to know?”

“Indeed.”

Angus dragged one hand down his face, forcing himself off the bench with the other. Proletius tossed him a sword and Angus caught it without thinking.

“Come, my prince. I think I can part your feet from the ground at least once more before your heart remembers it is training and not pining.”

Angus rolled his eyes, but smiled, rotating the sword once in his hand before meeting Proletius in a raucous clash of steel.

———

The letter had come a week before they left, and Angus had read it enough times that he could see the letters imprinted on the back of his eyelids when he closed them.

Dearest Angus,

The castle has been dreadfully boring. I fear I grew too used to our daily adventures during my last visit. Have you been on many without me? I cannot wait to hear of everything you have done these past weeks. The roses are finally blooming in the gardens. Perhaps we shall go for a walk at Midsummer to see them together? Then a gallop across the fields, I believe I can best you once more. It would make twenty races I have won in total.

With Love,

Iona

With love it said. With love. But so did almost all of her other letters. It was embarrassing how many others he had quickly scanned to see how she had signed them. Those letters sat in a box in his chambers, neatly stashed away in case he ever needed them. This last one sat pressed against his heart beneath his doublet as the royal procession neared the McDougall castle. 

At least his hands had stopped shaking.

The families greeted each other as they always did. Heraldry and loud trumpets blaring as curtseys and bows were exchanged and soft kisses were pressed to knuckles. Iona looked lovely, as always. Wrapped in pink silk with heavy skirts edged in gold ribbon. Her hair was pulled back out of her face in a loose bun at the nape of her neck and held in place with a pearl encrusted net. 

She immediately joined his side, hand looping through Angus’s offered elbow.

“How was your journey?” Iona asked, looking up at him.

Angus’s tongue felt too large for his mouth. ‘I spent every moment thinking of you’, he thought.

“There were no goblin attacks, so fairly boring,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Iona laughed, nudging her elbow into his side. “Only you would hope for a goblin attack to break up the monotony of travel.”

“If I’m not attacking something then what good am I?” He joked.

Iona opened her mouth to reply when another lady of the court placed herself before them. She was of an age with Iona and Angus. Mousy brown hair in a thick braid slung over one shoulder and clothed in a silvery dress cut low enough in the front that she nearly spilled from the fabric.

“Your Highness,” the lady said, dipping into a low curtesy, fan shivering at her collar bones. “It is good to see you made it safe to our lands.”

Angus reluctantly released his hold on Iona and slid his hand under the woman’s, pressing a dry, quick kiss to her ring encrusted fingers. 

“It is good to be here,” he said, forcing a smile to his face. Iona’s hands folded neatly in front of her, a similar polite smile floating on her face. No dimples, if she were truly happy her cheeks would be creased with them. “Will you be at the feast this evening?”

“I shall,” the lady said. Angus wracked his brain for her name, certain he must know it. But he could think of nothing, only the warmth quickly vanishing from his side since he had released Iona. “Will you be sure to save a dance for me?”

“Of course,” Angus replied, distracted as Iona straightened the silk of her voluminous skirts, wafting lilac and honey in his direction. 

“My prince?” The lady said, her eyes wide. Lady Tilly, that was her name. Some second or third daughter of a lesser nobleman. Surprisingly wealthy. Polite but terribly dry in conversation.

“My apologies, Lady Tilly, what was it you said?”

“I said that my father has told me you’ve become quite a warrior, Your Highness.”

Iona’s smile curved up a bit higher then, dimples creasing her cheeks. Angus shrugged, heat blooming in his ears. “I try.”

“And quite impossible to get a moment alone with…” Lady Tilly smiled and pressed a hand quickly to Angus’s sleeve. Angus didn’t notice. A small strand of golden hair had come loose from Iona’s pearl net, falling over one eyebrow and landing in a loose curl near her lips. 

“Though I suppose,” Lady Tilly continued, taking a half step back and folding her hands before her. “That Princess Iona has always had first claim to your attentions.”

“She usually does,” Angus replied. 

Angus grinned as Tilly and Iona laughed together. 

“I do seem to be the only one willing to keep up with whatever Prince Angus decides to chase after next,” Iona said affectionately, stepping closer to set her fingers in the crook of his arm again. Angus wondered if she could hear his heart for how loudly it banged against his ribs. “It has made us rather… inseparable.”

“You’ve known each other forever, haven’t you?” Lady Tilly asked, eyes dropping for a moment to Iona’s hand tucked against Angus’s arm. Her smile dropped just a little bit, resignation falling over her face.

“Since childhood,” Angus said, looking down at Iona. She was already looking up at him.

“How lovely.”

“Aye. I can’t remember a time she wasn’t at my side.”

Lady Tilly laughed again, a polite tinkling noise that fell hollow against the stone walls. All Angus could see was the delight in Iona’s eyes, the soft golden curl begging to be tucked back into place.

“Practically a sister then.” There was a desperate edge of hopefulness in the woman’s voice.

“Something like that.”

Angus wasn’t even sure what he was agreeing to. Not when Iona stood near enough to see the flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck. He wondered what her skin might taste like if he pressed a kiss there. But the curve of her mouth fell slightly. Not fully gone, but enough that the dimples vanished. Her fingers stiffened against his arm then loosened, hand falling to her side.

“I shall see you tonight then?” Lady Tilly said. Angus turned and gave her a distracted nod. Lady Tilly tugged her braid, gave a halfhearted curtesy, then turned her attention elsewhere.

Angus reached for Iona, but she took a step away, eyes following Lady Tilly. His hand connected with hers, lightly tugging her back towards him before he could stop himself. Iona turned at the contact, catching his eye.

“Apologies, Angus,” she said, fingers reaching out to tangle with his. “I am needed elsewhere. I will see you later?”

Angus heard his name being called somewhere over his shoulder as well. If it wasn’t one thing, it was always another. He bit back a grimace and nodded.

“Did you mean what you said in your letter?” He asked, chancing one step closer.

Iona’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening then closing. She looked to be measuring her words. Something he had rarely, if ever, seen her do with him. “Exactly, what is it that you hoped I meant?”

With love, the letter had said. He’d spent the better part of a week wondering if she’d meant those words any differently than all the others. “A-a walk? Through the gardens?”

Her mouth dropped open in a small “o”. Dimples returned to her cheeks.

“I did. A walk later would be lovely.”

Then she rose on to her tiptoes and did something she had never done before. She pressed her lips softly against his cheek, almost at the corner of his mouth. Then she stepped back and walked away, lilac and honey lingering in her absence. His fingers went to where her lips had touched, as if he could press the moment into his skin before it slipped away.

The next time he saw Iona, his knees nearly buckled.

The day had flown in a whirl of preparations and monotonous conversations. This was supposed to be a festival and yet somehow it always came back to politics. A curse of his station.

Eventually, night fell and music echoed through the Great Hall. Nobles swirled across the floor lit by flickering candlelight. Ale and wine flowed freely alongside servants carrying trays of roasted meats. But Angus hardly saw any of it.

He had been halfway through a sentence with a squire discussing the finer points of goblin smashing when the world suddenly narrowed to Iona stepping into the hall. His mouth went dry.

Long gone was the rose dress she wore earlier. This new gown swept over her body like liquid sapphire threaded with sunlight. The neckline curved low across her shoulders, exposing soft porcelain skin, while the fitted bodice glittered with gold beading, drawing his eyes helplessly to the span of her waist. She glowed beneath the candlelight. Hair tumbling long and loose in tight, wild golden waves. A teardrop sapphire pendant on a thin golden chain glinted against her sternum. When she moved, the skirt split to reveal flashes of bare thigh between the folds of velvet entirely too scandalous for court. Angus abruptly forgot what the squire had been saying.

Iona tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and Angus watched as several men tracked the movement. It dawned on him with creeping horror that every eligible man in the hall now stared at her. As if every fool in the kingdom suddenly remembered she existed. Wolves scenting blood.

A flare of possessiveness crept up his throat. She was not theirs to feast upon. Only his. Angus nearly recoiled from himself at the ugly thought. Iona was her own person. But several men had detached themselves from the tables or dancing and headed in her direction.

Angus looked back up and found Iona’s eyes waiting for him just across the room. His feet were moving before he could think twice.

IONA

Iona couldn’t breathe. 

Not when Angus pinned her in place with devoted eyes from across the Great Hall. He had stilled the moment she entered the room, mouth hanging open mid-word with some squire who tapped lightly on his arm in a futile attempt to regain his attention. Angus’s hand tipped, goblet of wine sloshing precariously to the side. An entire month of nervous waiting, nothing could have ever fully prepared her for the reality of this moment.

The blue velvet clung warmly to her skin beneath the candlelight. She had chosen it because it made her feel beautiful. Because it made her feel brave. She forced her hands to stay neatly folded in front of her instead of clutching at her skirts. Shoulders back, head high, eyes on Angus. As long as she held his gaze, she could stay brave. 

Whispers lilted over the musicians playing some upbeat jig. Iona felt eyes burning into her from all sides. She found she didn’t care.

A nobleman stepped in her path, waylaying her and forcing her eyes away from Angus. The man dipped into a low bow, hand scooping her up to place a firm kiss on the back of her hand. 

“You are an exquisite jewel tonight, princess,” he said, eyes traveling the length of her body, barely finding her gaze again.

“My thanks,” Iona replied, dipping into a polite curtesy. Several other bodies crowded her. She peered over their heads but had lost sight of Angus. Iona felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic as hands scooped hers up and heads bowed before her. She’d made her way through small throngs of suitors before at various feasts. But normally Angus would have been hovering somewhere near her elbow, ready to sweep her away to the kitchens to taste the dessert before anyone else or race her to the stables where they might ride out to some nearby glen he had discovered full of glowing frogs. Now, she could not find the familiar sway of dark curls or flash of softly smiling eyes anywhere among the well dressed bodies.

“You must let me find you a refreshment, Princess,” one man was saying, his hand tugging eagerly at her waist. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard my family’s lands were very prosperous this year,” said another, too close to her ear.

“Your hair is polished gold this evening.” Fingers pushed her hair over her shoulder without asking.

“There goes my dance,” a feminine voice said to Iona’s left. She took a staggered step back, eyes falling on Lady Tilly. The woman was tracking someone across the hall, resignation settling in the twist of her mouth. Iona followed Tilly’s line of sight to find the crowd parting around Angus. He stepped between two men, oblivious to the fact that they were trying to pull Iona to their side. He had found her.

“Dance with me,” Angus said, finally reaching her side. He held out his hand, fingers lightly shaking in the dim candlelight.  Iona smiled at the tumble of words. Barely coherent, as if his tongue were caught on the consonants.

“Good evening to you as well, Angus,” she said, slipping her hand into his. 

He only moved when she took the first step towards the dance floor. 

The musicians settled into a slower tune. Angus’s hand settled at her waist, pulling her close as Iona draped an arm across his shoulder. The world turned beneath her, but Iona wasn’t even certain they were moving. His eyes searched her face, looking for something she hoped she could give him. 

“I missed you today,” he said at last as they settled into the rhythm of the dance. 

Iona’s eyes softened. It had been torture being away from him. Half had been duty to help her mother and father finish preparations for the feast, the other half her own worries she might melt into a puddle of longing before she could work out what she wanted to say to him had kept her from his side.

“I missed you too.” Iona brushed nonexistent dirt from his shoulder, if only to feel the warmth of him beneath the fine fabric against her hand as he spun her across the dance floor.

“I fear you are right,” Angus said, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “The castle here is terribly boring without the right company.”

Iona found herself laughing. He had such a way of putting her at ease, even as heat coiled low in her belly at his nearness. “I am glad for your company, Angus. You brighten every room you enter.”

“Me? No, that would be you. You’re— you’re…” he trailed off, pulling back to search her face once more. “You look lovely, Iona.”

“You clean up well yourself.”

He did. Broad shoulders accentuated by the dark blue of his doublet that tapered to the sharp V of his waist. They had matched without planning it. Tall polished boots showed off the strength of his legs. Curls, perfectly wild, framed the strong lines of his face.

“I could not help but notice the other ladies of the court watching you closely tonight,” Iona said.

“I… suppose so.” His fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her near flush to him. He was so close she could almost feel the beat of his heart in the narrow space between them. “Though, I did notice every man in the hall looking at you.”

“You know…” Her fingers danced closer to his collar, brushing over the soft curls at the nape of his neck. “Lady Tilly seemed much relieved earlier.”

Angus’s brows drew together. “Relieved?”

“Yes. When you agreed that I was practically your sister.”

“What?”

“Earlier, when Lady Tilly asked for a dance. You agreed with her that I was like a sister to you.”

“I don’t believe I did.”

“I assure you, you did. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of you.”

Angus pulled back, just slightly. Confusion twisting his mouth into an uneven smile. “Lady Tilly?”

“Yes, Angus.” Iona spotted the woman across the hall. Her braid had been coiled about her head like a crown, held in place with glittering pins. She chatted animatedly with another potential suitor, though her eyes still drifted towards Angus now and again. There was no bitterness there. Only acceptance and perhaps a little lingering hope. 

She was a sweet woman. Iona almost felt guilty that her own affections for the Prince might stand between them. Then Angus pulled her close again, and those thoughts vanished entirely.

“She normally only wants to speak to me of her father’s grain shipments when we dance. I hadn’t been paying much attention,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

“Angus!” Iona laughed, head dipping to his shoulder for a moment to hide her mirth. “She was desperately trying to catch your attention.”

“I wouldn’t know, I only saw you.”

Applause erupted around them. The song must have finished, but Angus still held Iona close. Iona looked at him then. Really looked at him, and saw the same longing in his eyes that she saw reflected in her own mirror. Had they really been such fools? Had she been so blind to his affections? Her pulse raced beneath her skin. She was vaguely aware of the musicians tilting up into another foot-stamping rhythm, people already lining up across the floor in two lines. 

“Angus…”

A group of dancers whirled past, almost colliding with them. Angus pulled her out of the way, hands lifting her at the waist with ease. When her feet touched the ground again their noses nearly brushed. Her eyes dropped to his lips as they parted slightly. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Iona…”

“Yes, Angus.”

“Maybe we should take that walk.”

———

The cooling night air did little for the raging wildfire racing over Iona’s skin as Angus led her out onto the balcony. It wasn’t the gardens, but Iona was certain her legs wouldn’t carry her that far. She could hear muffled laughter and conversations intertwined with floating music from beyond the doorway. Below, moonlight spilled over the gardens, coating blooms and flagstone walkways in a silvery-blue sheen. 

But it was only the feel of Angus’s shaking hand against the small of her back that she could focus on.

He stood beside her at the balcony’s edge, shoulders falling and rising a bit too quickly, the same cadence Iona could feel in her own breath. A lock of unruly curls had fallen over his brow, obscuring his eyes and ruffling softly in the breeze. Iona had to lace her fingers together to keep from smoothing his hair back in place. For a moment, neither spoke. Silence had never felt uncomfortable between them. But now, it seemed tenuous. A golden thread pulled tight.

Finally Angus turned to her, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You really do look lovely tonight.”

Iona wasn’t sure what to do with that. “Thank you.”

“That dress. You—“ Angus’s hand went to his hair, shoving it out of his eyes. He looked wild, a man holding on by sheer will. “I think it just might kill me.”

She pulled her fingers over her exposed collarbone, straightening the pendant sitting at her sternum. He tracked the movement with his eyes. 

“I fear you are being a bit dramatic.”

“Iona,” he said, voice strained. Rougher and deeper than she had ever heard it. “A woman cannot wear something like this and expect a man to think clearly.”He reached out and dragged his knuckles down the soft velvet of her bodice, then pulled back as if burned. His eyes dropped to the balcony floor. He seemed almost apologetic, fearful even, of the confession. Iona swallowed, feeling brave, and reached for his hand. 

“Why do you think I wore it?”

Angus’s gaze snapped up, eyes dark and breath hitching. The night breeze stirred between them, lifting golden strands across her bare shoulders. Iona could only hear her heartbeat in her ears now. Everything else washed away to a dull roar.

“That day… in the courtyard,” Iona said, her free hand coming up to reach for his other hand. “There was a moment… I was worried I had imagined something that did not exist between us. But I have not been able to put it out of my mind.”

Angus’s fingers slid over her wrists, up to her elbows. He searched her face, looking, perhaps, for the same thing she was. “You did not.”

“When you looked at me, when you held me, I thought—“

“I wanted to—“

“You are my best friend—“

“And you are mine.”

They had pulled close to each other, breath mingling between them. Iona laughed softly, breathless and broken around the edges. She could scarcely breathe for his nearness.  Angus huffed out a laugh too.

“But I do not want you like a best friend,” Iona said.

Once the words were free, Iona knew there was no return. She had leapt from a cliff and only hoped for a soft landing. For a moment neither one said anything. Then, Angus’s hands came up to cup her jaw and his lips slanted over hers.

Nobody had ever kissed her as Angus did in that moment. Most first kisses were soft tentative things. A question looking for an answer. This. This was coming home. A deep breath after diving into the sea and you feared the waves might never let you surface. Realizing you were starving after the first bite of a meal.

Iona whimpered, fingers curling into Angus’s hair, dragging him closer. She tugged, lightly, nails scraping over his scalp. Angus moaned against her lips and Iona felt the last thread of her self restraint snap. Years. Years of wondering and agonizing. What fools they had been. The wasted time. She wanted to find out how to make him make that sound again. What other places might make him shiver beneath her touch. So much time to make up for. Gods she loved him.

Angus’s hands dropped to her waist, pulling her flush against him. He nipped at her lower lip and she gasped. He took the opportunity to sweep his tongue into her mouth to taste her. Her hands found the buttons of his doublet. Nimbly, she undid the first few golden discs, pushing them through the fabric and exposing his throat. One finger traced down, dipping into the hollow at the base of his neck. Angus swallowed.

“Careful…” he warned, pulling back just enough to still her fingers. “I am trying very hard to behave.”

Iona’s other hand found the hem of his doublet and slid her fingers underneath. Of course there was another shirt beneath, but she could feel his stomach flex at her touch. “And if I don’t want you to behave?”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Find out.”

Angus’s eyes glittered with mischief, a crooked grin spreading across his face. He dipped back in, mouth more urgent now against hers, and backed her toward the shadowed stone wall without breaking the kiss. His hands roamed freely, leaving burning trails in their wake. He stumbled as her back touched the wall, elbow coming up beside her head to catch himself.

“Apologies… I—“

Iona silenced him with a long kiss, pulling back just long enough to catch the wonder in his eyes.

“You always move too quickly for your limbs to catch up to your heart.”

He kissed her again, Iona could feel the curve of his smile against her lips. She drew a sharp inhale when he moved down the length of her neck.

“Gods you’re beautiful, Iona,” he whispered against her skin. Angus’s teeth brushed over her exposed collarbone. “I can’t believe—“

“I know.” She pulled his face back up to hers, fingers tugging his hair to tilt his head back so she could pepper soft kisses against his throat. His pulse jumped beneath her lips as she buried her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in the soft scent of him.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Iona pulled back at the sound of his ragged voice. She searched his eyes. Wide and dark with desire, but soft and earnest. This sweet impulsive man. The man who always found her in every room. The man who would recite her favorite ballads in silly voices to hear her laugh. The man whose hand always found hers during a storm, even long after she had outgrown her fear of thunder. 

“I love you too,” she whispered back.

It felt good to say it, to finally free it from the cage of her heart. For years the words had sat between them, unspoken out of fear of what they might change. Now they were gone. She should have felt calmer, able to think more clearly. Instead, knowing he loved her just as deeply as she loved him seemed to unspool Iona further.

His hands slid lower along the fabric hugging her waist until he reached the curve of her hips where the skirts flared away from her body. Slowly, Angus fisted the loose fabric, gathering it in his hands. His fingers brushed over the tops of her exposed thighs. Iona gasped at the contact. The cool air suddenly freezing against the burn of her skin. Years. They had denied themselves this for years.

“Angus…”

“We can stop…” his forehead came to rest against hers, their panting breaths mingling between them. Iona shook her head, nose brushing softly against his. Angus huffed a laugh of disbelief.

“I’ve dreamt of this, of you, for longer than I care to admit,” she said, cupping his face so he would look her in the eyes.

“Me too.”

Iona closed the distance between them once more, mouth eager against his. Her hand found his on her thigh and slid it higher until his fingers brushed the apex of her thighs. 

They moaned in time at the contact.

It was surprisingly easy to cross the boundary between friends and lovers. Perhaps because Angus had known her for so long. He knew the meaning of every raised brow and every poorly hidden smile. Somehow, without either of them speaking, he seemed to know exactly what she needed. Pleasure washed over her body like a wave as he stroked between her legs. She could feel him smiling against her mouth again and she couldn’t help but smile back through panting breaths. He was hers just as much as she was his. Her best friend, her prince, her Angus.

His head ducked back to her neck, tongue licking from ear to collar bone. He groaned against her skin, as if he could feel the pleasure he was giving her despite the only touch Iona was giving him was her fingers stroking through his hair or clutching at his shoulders. 

“You taste good,” he said. Iona’s heart raced against her ribs, threatening to burst from her chest. Angus’s hand stilled and he dropped to his knees before her. He looked up at her and Iona wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a more beautiful sight than the Prince of Fife kneeling before her. He drew a leg over his shoulder, pressing a lazy kiss to her inner knee. “Do you taste good here too?”

She couldn’t think, static fizzing in her head, lips unable to form words. Angus trailed soft kisses up the inside of her leg, then licked a stripe up her center. Iona’s knees nearly buckled beneath her, but Angus kept her standing, supporting her with her leg over one strong shoulder and a hand pressed firmly to her hip.

Iona’s head dropped back against the stone wall. A loud cheer from beyond the balcony reminded her the Midsummer festivities were still raging beyond the door. That she should stay quiet even as Angus wound her tighter and tighter with each lap of his tongue. Anyone might burst through the door to have some air. Surprisingly, she found she didn’t care. Let them see their prince on his knees in worship.

“My gods,” Angus said, muffled beneath her skirts. “You’re perfect.”

She could barely see him, velvet bunched around his face and his curls obscuring the rest. But she could see the flush of his cheeks, the smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

“You’re always so dramatic,” Iona teased between quiet gasps.

“For you? Always.” Then his tongue was back on her.

It didn’t take long. Iona was desperate, fingers sliding through Angus’s hair in a bid to keep herself from floating away completely. He seemed to be enjoying himself, picking up the pace until she was panting his name. She was coming undone, picked apart stitch by stitch. She drew her palm to her mouth, muffling the shout that crept up her throat as Angus unraveled her fully. 

She went limp, breaths shallow and heart pounding in her ears. The only things keeping her standing were Angus’s strong shoulder and the solid wall behind her back. Iona looked down and was met by Angus’s shining eyes, a wide grin plastered over his face as he pressed a final kiss to her center. His curls were completely ruined beneath her fingers. 

ANGUS

He’d never get the taste of her off his tongue.

Sweet and salty in equal measures and infinitely better than any fantasy he’d ever spun while alone in his rooms back home. He could have died a happy man there, between Iona’s thighs as she melted like butter on his mouth.

Her hands scrabbled at his jaw and neck, urging him up. Angus obliged, falling against her lips. He could hardly believe he was here, with Iona. Kissing Iona. Ducking beneath Iona’s skirts until she convulsed against him. Iona. His Iona. He felt like a teenage boy again for how close he felt to losing control. And she hadn’t even touched him.

“Yo—you, next. I need you—“ Iona was gasping for breath. Angus kissed her, swallowing her words.

“Don’t worry,” he said, sounding much more confident than his shaking knees felt. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Iona’s hands came up to cover her mouth, to stifle the giggles that tumbled from her lips. She was glowing. Neck and cheeks flushed beneath panting breaths, golden hair a halo framing her face. She’d never looked more beautiful. 

“You’re a mess,” she said through giggles, fingers carding through his curls, trying to mold them into a more acceptable shape. It was pointless, unless he wet them again they’d stay a mess. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“I’d be upset had you not.”

That made Iona dissolve into laughter again. Angus joined her, still struck by his incredible luck. The sound bounced off the stone walls to get lost in the gardens below, entirely out of place after what had just happened. Or, perhaps, in exactly the right place. 

They’d spent years circling each other. Years pretending they did not notice lingering glances and hands that always seemed to find one another in crowded rooms. Years convincing themselves friendship was enough. And now Angus had somehow ended up beneath her skirts on a palace balcony. It was absolutely ridiculous and wonderful and incredibly overdue.

“I love you,” Iona said, pressing that laughing mouth against his.

“I love you too,” he replied, kissing her back.

“We should probably return to the festivities.”

Angus straightened Iona’s crumpled skirts. He wondered if the creases from where he held the velvet tight in his fists would ever come out. If they didn’t, maybe he’d get the dress framed. Hang it above the bed he hoped they’d share one day soon.

“We could, or…” Angus rubbed the back of his neck, heat flooding his ears. Iona had been laid bare before him just moment ago, why he felt shy now was baffling. “The chambers I was set up in aren’t too far from the Great Hall. We could…”

He didn’t have time to finish his thought. Iona grabbed his hand and dragged him back through the balcony door and into the noise of the castle.

———

“Your Highness!”

They had taken about five steps into the Great Hall before someone called for Angus’s attention. He almost kept walking, hard as it was with Iona tucked against his side. The sway of her hips beneath the hand pressed to the small of her back was shorting out what remained of his rational thought. The chambers, you idiot. Just get her to your chambers and deal with the fallout of snubbing a lord in the morning. 

It proved an impossible task, not just because all the blood in his body rushed south at the sight of Iona biting her bottom lip, but also because the man summoning him stepped directly in his path. Some Duke or Earl or Laird. Angus wasn’t sure. How could he possibly remember anyone’s name when Iona’s was the only one that mattered?

“Your Highness,” the man said, dipping into a low bow. “I was hoping to catch you this evening. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“More than you know,” Angus replied, not taking his eyes off Iona. Pink stained her dimpled cheeks. “How may I be of service?”

The man proceeded detailing some sort of taxation he wanted to implement. On sheep? On land for sheep? Maybe the sheep were the tax payment? Angus couldn’t be sure. Iona’s fingers tangled with his own, lightly tugging him towards the end of the hall he was trying to reach. He could smell the lilac and honey of her hair. See the flutter of her pulse. He knew what her skin tasted like now. What she sounded like as she came undone. He didn’t care about sheep. Just about seeing if she was louder in the privacy of his borrowed chambers. 

“Sounds wonderful…” Angus heard himself say. The man looked confused, eyebrows drawing together as his eyes darted between Angus and Iona.

“Which… uh, which part, my prince?”

“A-all of it?” Normally Angus would have taken deep interest in the running of kingdoms. But Iona was leaning into him, the curves of her body so enticing and the promise of more laughter beneath his sheets had his head in a whirl. He wondered if he could have pastries sent up this late in the evening. “Why don’t we discuss this in more depth with my father in the morning.”

That seemed to appease the man, who nodded eagerly and gave them a hurried bow before scurrying off to do whatever Dukes or Earls or Lairds did at Midsummer. Apparently talk of sheep.

They were off again. Angus’s boots hit the flagstones so hard in his rush that the sound echoed around him. Or perhaps that was his heart leaping in his throat. A handful of strides to go and they would be around the doors. He wondered if he could chance his luck with another kiss just on the other side. Could he even make it to his chambers without feeling her lips against his again? Another man called his name. Angus waved him off, eyes on the double doors propped open.

“I shall find you in the morning,” he called over his shoulder as Iona giggled, pressing soft kisses to his finger tips. He would have to have her behind the door if they didn’t keep moving.

In fact, he almost did. As soon as they stepped just beyond the Great Hall, he rounded on Iona, hands in her hair to kiss her senseless. He intended to ruck up her skirts and lift her up against the wall behind the door. 

But someone else had gotten there first.

A man with shaggy yellow hair was thoroughly entwined with a woman in pale silver skirts.

“Lady Tilly?” Iona said, her mouth agape.

Lady Tilly shrieked and shoved the blond man away. Her thick braid had come loose around her shoulders, her skirts just as wrinkled as Iona’s. Lady Tilly’s eyes raked over Iona and Angus. Her gaze flicked from Angus’s hair, sticking wildly in all directions, to the flush still staining Iona’s chest, neck, and cheeks. For a moment he wondered if the woman might cry. Then she burst out in laughter, which set Iona off giggling as well. 

“Have a wonderful evening, Your Highnesses,” Lady Tilly said, turning back to the baffled man she’d been groping just moments later.

Iona mouthed a silent “thank-you” while Angus gave a half hearted salute and they were off down the corridor.

Iona pushed Angus against the wall as they rounded the corner to the passage that would lead them to his chambers. Her hands found his hair, pulling him down for a frantic kiss as she rose on her tiptoes. Angus bent to sweep an arm beneath her to lift her in his arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist, skirts bunched uncomfortably between them. He spun and pressed her against the wall instead. He had spent years imagining what it might be like to have Iona choose him. Reality was proving considerably better.

“My chambers are—“ Angus groaned as Iona nipped at his lower lip. “Just down this hall.” Iona pressed a sucking kiss to his collarbone, still exposed from when she’d partially unbuttoned his doublet. “Iona…” He wasn’t going to make it. Not when she kissed him like that.  “Iona, my chambers…” Not when she kept looking up at him through those dark lashes like he was the only person that existed. “You asked for it!”

Iona shrieked with delight as he hauled her over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Her fists lightly pounded his back, obviously not wanting to be put down. She deserved a soft feather mattress and crisp sheets. Not the rough stone wall on her back. Maybe another day, after they’d taken their time and could explore each other freely without fear of interruption.

Angus stomped down the hall, resisting the urge to strike his palm against her backside.

“Prince Angus!”

No. No no no no no. Go away. Angus closed his eyes and prayed to any listening god that this was the last detour. 

“Prince Angus! Princess… Princess Iona?” The squire from earlier was rounding the corner with a group of other squires, arms thrown about each other as they stumbled down the hall. Ale sloshed over the edge of the large tankards each man held.

Angus took a deep breath, but did not put Iona down. In truth, he was uncertain he even could. She felt too right there, even as she hid her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“Are you, ah…” the poor drunken squire’s eyes seemed slightly out of focus as they moved between Angus and the silently laughing Iona slung over his shoulder. “Retiring for the evening?”

Angus tried not to grit his teeth, forcing his face to remain neutral.  As annoyed by the interruption as he was, a ridiculous grin kept threatening to split his face. “Yes.”

“A-and, the.. The princess?”

“Tired as well.” Angus adjusted his doublet for what felt like the hundredth time. Whoever had designed formal court clothing had clearly never anticipated situations such as this. “Did you need something?”

He knew his words were slightly clipped. He’d make it up to the man in the morning, let him best him in the training ring. But he needed to get behind the door of his chamber. He had waited years to have Iona in his arms, he might combust into green confetti if he had to wait a moment longer.

“We were just hoping for some more tales of your exploits, my prince,” another squire said, taking a long swig of his ale.

Iona sat up as best she could then, twisting on Angus’s shoulder. “Another day. Good evening!”

Her palms tapped wildly against his back and Angus set back off down the hall without another glance back. The squires might have whooped loudly as Angus yanked the door to his chambers open, but he had set Iona on her feet and she was already kissing him as he kicked the door closed behind him, so he both didn’t hear and didn’t care.

Iona’s fingers plucked at his doublet, buttons coming undone far faster than he thought they could beneath her clever fingers. She shoved the offending article off his shoulders and fisted the shirt underneath.

“Why are you the one wearing so many layers?!” She cried, tugging at the soft linen.

Angus took her hands and pressed her fingertips to his lips. She looked at him then. All bright blue eyes and dimpled cheeks. It nearly brought him to his knees. They were finally alone, truly alone. He both wanted to rip that heart stopping dress from her body so he might feel her skin fully beneath his hands and also somehow slowly peel it from her so he might worship each inch of her as it was unveiled.

“You are… so beloved to me,” Angus said instead of doing either, trying desperately to catch his breath. Iona smiled, stepping back until her knees hit the edge of his bed, bringing him back with her. She sat, looking up at him, still holding his hands. His heart ached with want. “You.. you are sure this is what you want?” 

That I am what you want.

Iona nodded and Angus fell to his knees for the second time that evening. His head fell into her lap as his arms wrapped around her waist.

“You are all I have ever wanted since I was sixteen,” Iona said, her hands brushing his hair back. “Maybe even longer than that. You are the first person I want to speak with when a good thing happens. Your eyes are the only ones I search for in a crowded room. When you leave, I feel as if you take a piece of me with you. You know me better than anyone. I cannot imagine spending another moment with you not by my side. I want to share my body with you, my life with you. Mornings and evenings and everything in-between.”

Angus surged up to kiss her, hands tangling in her hair. She scooted back across the bed and Angus crawled after, unable to pull himself away a moment longer. Her fingers quickly unlaced the dress as well as she could while Angus tugged his shirt over his head, kicking his boots off in such a rush he nearly tumbled over the side of the bed. Iona paused when the linen fluttered to the floor. She swallowed, one hand reaching out to brush down his chest. Angus inhaled sharply, her touch sending a shiver down his spine. 

His hands found the half undone laces of her dress and tugged gently at them. The dress came loose around her shoulders. She shimmied free of the velvet until it pooled around her waist. Angus’s mouth went dry at the sight of her, bare from the waist up. 

“Angus?” She looked worried. A small crease forming between her brows. “Is everything okay?”

Angus smoothed the crease with his thumb, continuing the movement across her temple to brush a stray hair behind her ear.

“I just can’t believe how lucky I am.”

“Shouldn’t a prince be used to getting everything he wants?” Iona teased, reaching out to tap the tip of his nose.

Angus snapped playfully with his teeth at the offending digit. “Not everything.” His smile softened and he sat back on his knees, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Not when the cost might have been losing you.”

Iona shifted forward to sit in his lap, legs wrapped around his middle, his head cradled gently between her hands. “Angus…”

“I mean it.” His thumb brushed across her ribs. “You’ve always been my favorite person, long before I realized I was in love with you.” He scoffed low in his throat and sighed. “Looking back, it seems everyone else figured it out years before I did.”

Iona nodded, forehead falling to his own. “We were such fools. I am glad we woke up just in time.”

“What if I had been wrong?” Angus asked. It was a question he hadn’t wanted to dwell on, especially not now with her half naked in his arms. But it had leapt to his tongue unbidden and holding it in the back of his mouth tasted bitter. "What if I'd said something and suddenly every ride through the woods felt awkward? What if you stopped reaching for my hand during storms? What if I lost..." He gestured vaguely between them. “All of this. You were already the best thing in my life. I didn’t know how to risk that.”

Iona only looked at him for a moment before pressing a long kiss to his forehead, then another to the corner of his mouth. “But you didn’t. I’m here.”

“Are you hungry?” He realized suddenly that neither of them had eaten. 

Iona tipped her head back to laugh. Angus kissed the exposed skin. 

“You ridiculous man.” Her lids lowered, pink tongue wetting her lower lip. “Only for you.”

The heat that had consumed them on the balcony, had sent them running through the castle, had made Angus toss Iona over his shoulder, returned then. He kissed her like a man starving. Hands brushing across heated skin smooth as silk. She was so soft. Iona’s hands pressed flat against his chest, running up and down the lines of his body. Angus made a strangled sound in the back of his throat that was decidedly un-princely. He didn’t care.

Slowly, he slid the dress from her body until she was completely bare. Angus couldn’t breathe. His skin felt overly hot, too sensitive. Iona was a vision. Perfect, splayed out like a priceless painting against rumpled sheets and a sea of pillows. All porcelain skin lit gold by the flickering candles around the chamber. His hands roved as he kissed her. Up the gentle peaks of her breasts, down the soft flat planes of her stomach, between the heat of her thighs. Iona arched into his touch, whimpering and gasping when he touched somewhere sensitive. 

At some point Iona’s fingers had found the laces of his pants and pushed them down his hips. They lay flush together, skin sliding against skin. Hands danced across twining limbs, exploring softly. This, too, was better than any fantasy. 

When Iona’s hand found the length of him, Angus nearly jerked away. He was too close to coming undone. He felt fifteen again, completely untested and overwrought at the slightest touch. He let his mind drift to the sheep tax, forcing himself to think of anything than just the soft glide of her hand. He had to last just a little longer. She pushed against his chest, flipping them so she could straddle his hips. Gods, she looked an angel above him. She rolled her hips against him and Angus’s eyes rolled in the back of his head at the spark of pleasure. Was it maybe the sheep that payed the taxes? When Iona’s kisses peppered down his neck and chest then dipped to his ribs, he pulled her back up. He knew he was a mess.

“Y-you don’t have to…” he gasped, clinging for life to Iona’s elbows. 

She bent and planted short kisses over his face, tips of her golden hair ticking his cheeks. “I want to.”

“Let me try again,” Angus held Iona’s face, pulling her close. “If you do, I won’t last.”

Iona shrugged, eyes dancing in the candlelight. “I don’t see the problem.”

Angus rolled them back over, taking back a little bit of control. That was a lie he told himself and he knew it. Iona could ask him to jump and he’d ask from which castle tower. So he kissed her instead, not giving her the chance to tell him to lie still and let her have her way with him. Later she could. When he’d wrung as much pleasure from her as he could. He was, after all, a gentleman.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles hooking at the small of his back to draw him closer. He could feel the heat of her against his stomach. She shifted her hips beneath him and he hissed as he almost slid into the warmth of her body.

“I keep feeling like this is a dream,” Angus admitted, nipping at her jaw. “I think I might die from wanting you.”

“Have me,” Iona pleaded, hands threaded in his hair. “I’m yours.” 

“And I’m yours.”

She was so beautiful, so perfect, everything and more he could have ever dreamed. Angus shifted his hips forward, gasping as their bodies combined. Iona’s breath caught, every muscle in her body going taut.

He stilled immediately.

“Are you alright?” Angus asked, brushing tangled hair from her brow. 

“Yes,” she breathed, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping her. “It’s just— good. Too good. I just need a moment.”

“There’s no rush.” He searched her eyes until the last of his worries melted away. Her fingers ran through the curls at the nape of his neck, twisting one around her finger.

He held her close, letting her body adjust. Finally, she tipped her head up and captured his lips in a fierce kiss. She rolled her hips and Angus nearly came unraveled from the single movement. He moaned into her mouth and together they found a rhythm.

Angus was ruined. Iona was it for him. No other woman could ever compare and he didn’t want to even try. He would have her or nobody, lineage be damned. Her hands clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin. She gasped beneath him, meeting him stroke for stroke. He was pleased she was much louder in the confines of his chambers than the muffled pants he’d heard on the balcony. No musician could create music that rivaled the sound of Iona chanting his name in his ear. 

He was close, too close. He needed to feel Iona shatter once more. He adjusted his angle, hand dipping between them to rub circles between her legs. Iona’s eyes went wide, jaw unhinging. She didn’t seem able to make words. She nodded, brow furrowing in concentration. 

“Look how beautiful you are,” the words fell from his lips without him realizing. And she was, legs shaking around his middle, flushed chest and cheeks. Iona cried out and arched beneath him, shattering into a million brilliant shards of mirror, reflecting love back at him. Angus followed with a muffled shout into the crook of her neck.

He collapsed against her, his breath quick and shallow. Iona’s fingers carded through his sweaty curls, she was whispering something he couldn’t quite make out through the pounding of his heart in his ears. Sleep threatened to take him, so warm against the soft velvet of Iona’s body.

Small fingers poked into his ribs. Angus hissed a laugh, jerking away. Of course she knew where he was ticklish. 

“Cruel thing,” he muttered, rolling to his side, collecting Iona in his arms as he went. 

She giggled against his neck. “You were crushing me.”

Angus just shrugged, pressing a long kiss to her shoulder. “You weren’t complaining just moments ago.”

She ducked further into his neck, but he caught the flush staining her dimpled cheeks. “Perhaps not,” she mumbled.

He breathed deep, letting the soft lilac and honey of her scent soothe him.

“We should do that again,” Iona said, suddenly pulling back to prop herself up on her elbow. Her fingers trailed up and down his hip suggestively.

Angus caught her jaw in his hand, pulling her down to press a firm kiss to her lips. “Greedy,” he murmured, smiling against her mouth. He rolled all the way to his back, an arm flung over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. “Give me ten minutes.”

———

A sharp knock yanked Angus from his dreams. His hand went instinctively under his pillow, grasping for something pointy he normally kept nearby, finding nothing but linen.

Iona’s soft laugh pulled him fully awake. 

He turned to see her still beside him, head tucked gently against his chest. Her golden waves had fallen into a tangled mess about her face. Her lids were still heavy with sleep, bare skin kissed with love bites down her neck and shoulders. He’d thought she’d never looked more beautiful than on the balcony last night. He knew that to be a lie now. Iona, hair loosened with sleep and curled up against him was the most beautiful he’d ever seen her.

There was another knock, a voice reminding him of something he was needed for at his father’s side. 

“Go away!” He yelled, turning further to his side to tuck Iona closer to his chest. He’d waited years for Iona and had spent most of the night and part of the morning making it up to her. The realm could wait ten more minutes. 

Iona shifted in his grasp. “I should probably be going…”

He creaked open an eye to see her bite her lip and look at the door. Worry warred with reluctance on her face. He knew what she was thinking. The servants whispering in the halls. Her parents entering her empty bedchamber. The court who had surely noticed them running through the Great Hall like the love struck fools they were, not nearly as inconspicuous as they had thought. The thousands of expectations that always seemed to be waiting for either of them just beyond that door. But none of it mattered, not compared to this. 

“Stay?” He asked. Iona turned back to face him, fingers tucking sleep wild curls behind his ear. “I meant everything I said last night, and more. I waited too long to have you fully by my side. Don’t leave me so quickly.”

“Okay,” Iona whispered with a smile, settling back down beside him. His hand snaked out to pull her close again. Her nose brushed his. Angus opened his eyes, greeted by the sky blue of her own. “I love you, Angus.”

Angus kissed her, soft and slow. They had time now. “I love you too, my beloved.”

She tucked her head under his chin and sighed. He could feel her smile against his chest. Somehow it felt unreal, still slightly out of his grasp. He remembered watching the pale pink fingers of dawn lightening the sky just moments before he had drifted off, worried he would wake to find it all a dream. The dress, now a puddle of sapphire on his floor. The dance, the balcony, the endless expanse of her soft skin and the hours tangled together beneath the coming dawn. Just some figment of his imagination. But Iona was still there. 

“You do realize that I intend to marry you now.”

“Good,” Iona replied. “I want nothing of more than to stand by your side for the rest of my life.”

Eventually they’d leave his bed and face the day. Eventually he’d find that Duke or Earl or Laird and figure out if he was taxing people for sheep or taxing the sheep themselves. Eventually he’d crawl to Iona’s father, beg on his knees if he must, for her hand. 

Eventually.