finger.
“Oh, Septimus,” Isana breathed. “Don’t say it.”
He laughed again. “My love, how could I not?” He reached out and took both of her hands in his. “I cursed my father when he sent the Legion all the way out here,” he said quietly. “But I never thought I would meet someone like you. Someone strong and intelligent and beautiful. Someone… ” He smiled a little, and it made his face look boyish. “Someone I can trust. Someone I want to stand beside me, always. I can’t take the chance that I might lose you if the Legion is ordered elsewhere, my love.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Marry me, Isana. Please.”
The world started spinning in wild circles, but Isana could not take her eyes away from the only stable thing in it-Septimus, his eyes bright and intense in the moonlight.
“Your f-father,” Isana said. “I’m not even a Citizen. He would never allow it.”
Septimus flicked an irritated glance in the general direction of the capital. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll deal with Father. Marry me.”
“But he would never accept it!” Isana breathed.
Septimus shrugged and smiled. “The shock will be good for him, and he’ll get over it. Marry me. “
Isana blinked, shocked. “He’s the First Lord!”
“And I am the Princeps,” Septimus said. “But our titles don’t really come into it. He may be the First Lord, but he is also my father, and great furies know that we’ve locked horns more than once. Marry me.”
“But it could cause you such trouble,” Isana pressed.
“Because Father seeks to preserve the old ways, my love.” He leaned toward her, eyes bright and intent. “He does not see that the time is coming when those ways must change-when they must make Alera a better place for everyone-not just for Citizens. Not just for those who have power enough to take what they want. The Realm must change.” His eyes blazed, conviction and passion suffusing his voice. “When I become First Lord, I’m going to be a part of that change. And I want you with me while I do it.”
Then he moved, pressed Isana gently down to the blanket, and kissed her mouth. Isana s shock was transformed into a sudden hurricane of delight and need, and she felt her body melt and move, pressing sinuously against his as he kissed her, his mouth soft, strong, hungry, searing hot. She had no idea how long the kiss went on, but when their lips finally parted, Isana felt as if she was on fire, burning from the inside out. The need was so great that she could barely focus her eyes.
His mouth slid over her throat, then pressed a slow, tingling kiss against the skin covering her fluttering pulse. He lifted his head slowly, and met her eyes with his own. “Marry me, Isana,” he said quietly.
She felt an answering need in Septimus, the feral call of the flesh, the rising tide of his passion, the warmth and the love he felt for her-and then she saw something else in his eyes. There, just for an instant, was a flutter of uncertainty and fear.
Septimus was afraid. Afraid that she would say no.
It nearly broke Isana s heart, just seeing the potential for his grief. She lifted a hand to touch his face. She would never hurt him, never bring him pain. Never.
And he loved her. He loved her. She could feel it in him, a bedrock of affection that had grown and grown and grown, answered by the same in Isana.
She felt her eyes blur with tears at the same time she let out a breathless burst of laughter. “Yes,”she said. “Yes.”
A surge of Septimus’s joy flowed into her, and she flung herself onto him, rolling him onto his back so that she could kiss him, face and throat and hands, to taste him, to drink in the warmth and beauty of him. Reason disintegrated under the joy, under the need, and Isana’s hands moved as if of their own will, tearing open his tunic so that she could run her hands and nails and mouth over the tight muscle beneath it.
Septimus let out an agonized moan, and she felt his hips surge up against hers, felt the hot hardness of him pressed against her so tightly that she thought they might simply burst into flame together.
He seized her face between his hands and forced her eyes to his. Isana saw everything she’d already felt in them, saw how much he wanted to simply let go, give in to the moment. “Are you sure?” he said, his voice a growling whisper. “You’ve never done this. Are you sure you want this now?”
She couldn’t trust her lips to answer, her tongue to function. They were far too intent upon returning to his skin. So she sat up and stared down at him, panting, mouth open, and dug her fingernails into his chest while arching her back, pushing her hips back and down against him, a slow, torturous motion.
Septimus could feel her, just as she could him. Words were neither needed nor wanted. His eyes glazed over with hunger and need, and he lifted her and pressed her down again, savagely took another kiss from her open, willing lips. His hand slid up one of her legs, brushing skirts aside, and there was suddenly nothing in her entire world hut passion, sensation, pleasure.
And Septimus.
They lay in one another’s arms much later, the moon now settling down, though dawn was nowhere near. Isana could hardly believe what was happening to her. Her arms tightened on Septimus in languorous wonder, feeling the warmth of him, the strength of him, the beauty of him.
He opened his eyes slowly, smiling at her the way he smiled at nothing and no one else, and it made Isana feel deliciously smug, delighted.
She closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into his chest. “My lord, my love.”
“I love you, Isana,” he said.
The truth of it rang in Isana’s heart. She felt it between them, flowing like a river, running endlessly through both. “I love you, “ she whispered, and shivered in pure delight. “This is… this is like a dream. I’m terrified that if I open my eyes, all of this will be gone, and I’ll find myself in my cot.”
“I couldn’t bear it if this wasn’t real,” Septimus murmured into her hair. “Best you stay asleep then. “
Isana opened her eyes and found herself in a strange bedchamber.
Not in the moonlight.
Not young.
Not in love.
Not with him.
Septimus.
She’d had the dream before-memories, really, perfectly preserved, like a flower frozen in a block of ice. They made the dream so real that she could never remember, while it happened, that she was dreaming.
It hurt just as much to awake from the dream as it had all the times before. Slow, slow agony pierced her, taunted her with what might have been and never would be. It was pure torment-but to see him again, to touch him again, was worth the pain.
She didn’t weep. She was long since past the tears. She knew the memories would fade before morning,
