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  With coy, child-like glances over to the east wing, Alexandria watched closely, waiting for Roman’s entrance. When Roman went out to perform, she followed him with piercing eyes, seeing through his nervousness, studying every word and gesture. Roman couldn’t help but glance back whenever given the possibility. She was breathtaking.

  Alexandria waited patiently by her father’s side, hoping that after the play ended, Roman might approach. Just as she was ready to leave, there he was. Dazzling in his velvet costume worn elegantly, his focus was on her. He carefully stepped down from the stage and walked over to her, noticing Morgan had stood up with his back turned away from them.

  Still sitting in her throne, Alexandria gazed with deep emerald eyes into Roman, yearning for his reach. He knelt down in front of her, bowed his head, then took her hand and kissed it gently. He stood up straight again and she acknowledged, her heart pounding in her ears.

  “Very pleased to make your acquaintance—” he stopped, unaware of her name, “—my lady?”

  “Alexandria, sir, and yours?” she asked, tilting her chin downward slightly.

  “Roman,” he replied, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

  She smiled, warmly, as Morgan turned around to claim his daughter. “That was a fine job, Ralph.” He took a protective handful of Alexandria’s brilliant red hair in his hands.

  “Roman, your Majesty, thank you,” he replied, bowing his head while he spoke.

  “I’ll be sure to send for you when I am in desperate need of an understudy,” Morgan said coolly, then cleared his throat.

  “Again, I thank you for your support,” Roman replied. Alexandria’s eyes remained locked on his until Morgan escorted her away. He watched her until she was completely out of sight. He was left in love with the unbelievable creature. So full of love and beauty that it intrigued him and tormented him at the same time.

  Finally, after a long moment of collection, he let out his breath for the first time that evening. He had done well.

  His ride home was filled with retrospect. He reviewed every detail of the night’s events. The honor and gratitude of being accepted on the Grand Stage paled when compared to his brief memory of Alexandria.

  The haunting thought of bearing any separation from her was horrifying, stifling his every attempt at peace. She was all he wanted. She had to be Morgan’s daughter, no doubt, making it even more difficult to get close to her. She would never be allowed to return his love, being a peasant. His lifestyle once again condemned him, this time almost maddening him to the point of lunacy, but he swore to follow her, beyond all constraints of time or geography.

  That night, insomnia was Roman’s uninvited guest. Aimlessly, he rose from bed and dressed. With the beckoning power of attraction, he was lured from further attempts at sleep. He needed to return to the Royal Estate, to her.

  His mare waited in front of his cottage, wild and vocal; her eyes flashed red in the moonlight. Roman shied away from her at first, but she stomped around in a circle, then approached him more calmly. He mechanically mounted her, bareback, and she instinctively led the way. They galloped through the trees; thundering hoof beats echoing along their path. Roman, for an instant, felt as though the mare spoke to him, telling him she would get him there as fast as she could because Alexandria needed him. Fate summoned their union; he must make the connection with her.

  The mare’s gait increased, causing Roman to feel at loss with control.

  “Whoa, Devendra. Easy girl.”

  Devendra responded to his command, but kept her pace at a steady canter. As they reached the gates, she carefully slowed to a trot, then halted, bowing her head for him to dismount.

  He stood before the gates for a moment, building confidence. When he turned to tend to Devendra, she wasn’t there; yet, he heard a faint whinny in the distance and knew she was close by.

  His grasp froze on the bars leading to the courtyard. Wondering about his surge of passion for this strange woman, he began to doubt himself. He suddenly felt foolish for letting his heart ache for a woman who would never be allowed to return his love, let alone be his bride or bear his children.

  Loosening his grip on the bars, his concentration was ruptured by a familiar, resonating voice. “It’s you,” she said. She was showered in moonlight; her ivory skin clashing against dark eyes.

  Her image stood before him, once again radiating awe to his senses. “Good evening, my lady.” He studied her delicate, high cheekbones which cast soft shadows onto her face.

  “Good evening,” she replied with a gracious nod. “What might you be doing here at this time of night?” She eyed him bashfully.

  “Yes, I mean . . . I was just out for a ride on my mare.”

  “Oh, you have a horse?” She brightened, looking around for the animal. “Where is she?”

  He turned around to point, but recalled Devendra’s disappearance. “She is out grazing near those trees over there,” he said pointing blindly in the direction of the forest. “And what might a lady of your blood be doing out here alone at night?”

  Ignoring his question, she turned away from him saying, “Your performance was exquisite.” She turned herself around to face him again, studying his features. His sharp, meaningful nose connected wonderfully with his cheeks, leading down to his strong, hard-edged jaw line. His eyes were set deep in his face, protected by the longest eyelashes she had ever seen on a man. His dark hair was worn long, just past his shoulders, thick and straight.

  Carefully, she moved her eyes down to his chest. He cleared his throat. She looked up into his face again, realizing he was avoiding her eyes. She brushed her hair away from her face; the furious, red-orange curls cascaded over her shoulders, spilling down her back.

  He bowed. “Thank you, my lady. It was an honor to perform for you.”

  He fixed his gaze on her mouth, wanting to kiss her smooth, pouting lips. He imagined they would taste sweet like honey. Moving slowly up, his eyes traced the contour of her high cheekbones again, then over to the tip of her elegant nose.

  “If it was an honor to perform for me, Roman, why won’t you look into my eyes when you speak to me?”

  “Forgive me,” he said quietly.

  “There is no reason for forgiveness.” She moved closer to him. “But I must know why you will not look at me,” she pressed, squinting at him, watching him play with the dirt with his tattered boot.

  After a moment of restlessness, in which she thought he might turn to leave, he finally met her gaze, square and firm. “Fear.” He said this with such confidence she found it hard to believe his sincerity.

  “Fear?” Embarrassment pulsed through her, and dissolved just as quickly. “Are you joking? I am nothing to fear!” Her cheeks glowed with heat. Her emerald eyes lit up in the delicate moonlight, piercing through him.

  “Oh, but you are,” he insisted, quickly looking down again.

  “That is outrageous!” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What exactly is it that you fear?”

  “Blindness,” he admitted.

  “Blindness,” she echoed, slightly annoyed with his vagueness.

  “I fear that if I look into your eyes, my eyes shall lose their meaning. What use are my eyes after they have seen such beauty?” He slowly tilted his head up again to meet her face. A rush of excitement and sickness went through him. “What worldly scene could bring such resonance to my heart than the frame of perfection that is before me now?”

  She faltered, uncrossing her arms, then crossing them again. “You have already proved that you are an actor,” she whispered, biting her lip. His words moved her with such feeling that she was truly afraid for him to go on.

  His infatuation urged him to make her understand. “I would not be an actor in the presence of the Gods, for before me stands their greatest creation. The music of the spheres sings out when I risk that glance into your eyes. It is not the fear of seeing you; it is the fear that I will never again be moved so much by my sight.”

 
Alexandria’s heart bled as she slid her hand carefully from her shawl and extended it toward Roman’s labor-worked hands, still hanging onto the bars of the gate. As her hand cut through their separation, each moment already cherished, they withered, awaiting the rapture of the bond. Roman’s free hand lifted to caress her illuminating expression, to attempt to capture her innocence.

  The noise of shuffling footsteps broke their trance. Over her shoulder, he noticed someone rapidly approaching. His hand remained on her face as a guard tore them apart. Hearing nothing except for her call to him as she was enveloped beyond the walls of Royalty, straining to catch every last glimpse of her, he was flung from the gates and cast away.

  Cast from vision, but vivid and alive in thought, heart, and soul.

  Two

  Over the next several weeks, Roman and Alexandria’s relationship grew stronger. They would attempt any task to elude Morgan and be together.

  Every night just after dusk, Alexandria would claim that she had retired for the evening, when in actuality she was escaping from her guarded stay to be with Roman.

  Waiting just inside the cover of the forest, Roman would stand with his mare, frigid and longing for Alexandria. On those nights, when their deceptions were successful, Devendra would carry them to Roman’s withering cottage. They would ride bareback, holding on to each other, talking of their lives, and sharing experiences and dreams.

  On the last of these glorious nights, as Devendra gracefully weaved the lovers through the trees, a light rain began to fall. Alexandria tightened her grip around Roman’s waist, pressing herself into the form-fit curves of his body.

  Roman’s chest filled to full swell as Alexandria arched her back, moving her grip instinctually to Roman’s inner thighs. Responsive to Roman’s tightened grip around her, Devendra sped up to a slight canter, pulling them through the sweet, earthy smell of the fresh rain.

  Gazing up through branches set against the backdrop of the night sky, drops swimming down her face, Alexandria wept. Devendra collected her stance, slowing to a walk to allow Roman to twist around and pull Alexandria before him. Her legs wrapped firmly around him, cuffing at the low of his back, their necks locked in an embrace. With careful steps, Devendra brought them closer to the cottage.

  There are sounds in the night, quiet chanting rhythms, sounds that are absorbed into the heart, sounds that lovers use to match their heartbeats. Roman and Alexandria did not hear these sounds for they are not audible. These are the voices of the Nereids, the nymphs who rise from the passionflower, the wild clusters of Mums and Sage that cover the forest floor. As they were carried through this fragrant thicket, Roman and Alexandria bonded, their minds joined with each caress. With feline movements, Devendra glided them closer to the doors that beheld the isolation and privacy they yearned for.

  The cottage doors squeaked open as though fighting not to fall off their hinges. Floorboards bowed in response to each of Roman’s steps as he carried Alexandria over to his cot. He delicately laid her beneath him, careful not to crush her. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his weight pinning her down to the mattress.

  Gently, Roman moved his hands down between her legs, rubbing and cupping her privates with his palm. She moaned as excitement crept over her. He pressed himself between her tense legs, lightly pushing at her thigh with his erection. Her garments trembled, waiting to slip off.

  Concentrating on the passion of each button undone, Roman shed the first layer: her ruffled blouse. Alexandria opened her eyes, looking up into Roman’s flushed face. Hesitantly, unsure of what to do, she assisted him. Slowly relinquishing each chaste, protected layer, they breathed chants into each other’s ears.

  Roman cradled her against his chest as he separated her. She writhed, yowling as her hymen burst, trickling blood down her inner thighs. Roman, keeping a slow, ginger probing, wiped the wet hair from her clammy face. He whispered reassurances, removing himself from her warmth to ease the pain.

  He moved down to where her hands clutched herself and gently lifted them free. Her soft down, matted with blood and her own juices, was swollen red and angry. He blew on her, then licked softly at the throbbing flesh. She groaned as confusing sensations flooded over her from tingling to aches. She reached down to his hair, pulling and forcing his mouth over her.

  He slid his tongue inside of her. The sweetness of her juice mixed with the coppery taste of blood sent him into oblivion. Lust blossomed into mania; he wanted to tear her open whatever the cost. He needed her warmth. She rocked her hips spastically, a little embarrassed by her pleasure.

  Roman looked up into her face, sweat-drenched and flushed, then crept on top of her again. She reached down and led him back inside of her like an expert, feeling the bulk of pain subside and pleasure wiggle its way in. Her limbs tensed as he kept a steady rock, bringing his sex in and out of her. An orgasm rushed through her. She moaned with pleasure, biting him on the shoulder.

  He felt himself building; the moment was nearing where he would release his semen into her womb, praying not to create a baby, but to fill her with his essence. She groped his back, rocking with him, legs wrapped firmly, intertwining with his. She felt another orgasm surfacing, stronger than the last. Her moans grew louder, full of more madness. Roman reached his climax, exploding into her.

  For Alexandria, the night spent together symbolized not only her permanent loss of virginity or virtue, but also a division from all that she had ever known: her Royal upbringing.

  Undisturbed by losing something that never meant anything to her, she vowed herself to Roman.

  Three

  In the morning, servants prowl the halls of the Royal Estate, lighting torches and fireplaces so as to try and heat the cold stone structure before their masters awake.

  Morgan’s doorway, set with black steel binderies on heavy oak, lay undisturbed an hour after sunrise. Normally he awoke when the first light broke the horizon; but due to a late intoxicating evening with his Players, he overslept.

  The usual entourage of servants entered Alexandria’s chamber to prepare her for the day. Finding her bed vacant and cold, the five startled maids scurried through the Estate and eventually to the sleeping King’s door, in search of their Princess.

  “Should we dare disturb him?” a frigid, newer maid whispered to anyone listening.

  “Well, his daughter is missing! Of course we should wake him,” insisted Elizabeth, Alexandria’s head maid. Being of such a high rank among the servants, her judgments were trusted. “Imagine the fright he would have if he found his daughter missing at this hour. Why, he would become a lunatic, and we simply cannot have a lunatic King.” He’s bad enough as it is, she muttered under her breath. “Better to have an angry leader than one that’s gone completely mad. Now you go on and wake him while I go and wake his assistant. Surely he will want to know of this, especially if we cannot wake the King. Remember, time is of the essence.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  A maid hesitated before opening the doors, then cautiously entered. Elizabeth made her way down the halls to the King’s assistant, Marcus, and stood in front of his door to listen before making her entrance.

  Standing in front of his enormous bed, she leaned down and whispered softly into his ears. “Marcus, wake up, there is horrible news.” He stirred. “Alexandria is missing!”

  With that he rolled over and grabbed her, pulling her down on top of him.

  “Good morning, my sweet Elizabeth!”

  “Marcus! Marcus—” she was cut off by his smothering affection, “—not now, you old bastard. Alexandria is missing! Get up and dress this instant!!” She sprung herself up from the bed, straightening her clothes and sweeping at her hair.

  She turned and started out of the room, stopping at the door. “You were always a morning person, Marcus, as well as a fool.”

  “You may be a cold hag on the outside, but I know how you are inside, Elizabeth.”

  Startled by commotion down the hallway, Elizabeth e
xited as Marcus hurried to dress himself.

  “Alexandria!” Morgan roared as he threw open every door in sight.

  Four

  A band of sunlight crept through the windows of Roman’s cottage and across Alexandria’s face. She smiled in her sleep as the light caressed her, tickling her eyes and kissing her with warmth. Roman watched her sleep, wanting to pull her closer to him, but afraid to wake her.

  She stirred, struggling to open her exhausted eyes. The feeling of his closeness, secure and soothing, wrapped around her like armor. She smiled, remembering their beautiful night together. She felt the delicious ache in her groin. Looking up at Roman, she reached over to pull him on top of her.

  Her expression changed suddenly as the horror of daybreak jolted her.

  “The time, Roman, what is the time?” she asked, horrified at knowing before he answered that it was late enough for her absence to have been noticed. “The sun is up! My father will not tolerate this! He will not accept my absence; what will I say? What will I—”

  Roman leapt out of the cot searching for the clothes she had lost during the course of the night. Alexandria jumped out of bed and rushed around the room in frenzy, wringing her hands and practicing delicate excuses for her father.

  “Don’t worry, my darling.” He walked over and pulled her to him by the elbows. “Calm down, baby. Shhhhhh,” he cooed. “Just take a deep breath and I’ll go fetch Devendra.”

  He held her for a moment before leaving.

  Alexandria wept. She knew if her father found out about her relations with Roman, he would not hesitate to have him executed. She couldn’t bear losing him. Everything she loved would be taken away from her without remorse.

  Please, father, not this time; I beg of you.