“What did you have in mind?” he asked.

  Herewyn smiled, and leaned in and kissed him. Oh, but it was a good kiss. Slow and lingering and inviting in ways that he could enjoy in the moment even while it made him look forward to other activities.

  She came up from the kiss, and he said, softly, “That’s not an answer.”

  “Isn’t it, your grace?” she asked, kissing him next on the collarbone, and flicking her tongue over a bit of scar.

  As she continued to kiss her way down his chest, it became quite clear what answer she had in mind.

  Aefric found himself looking forward to that a great deal. Though she seemed in no hurry to begin…

  When his turn came, Aefric tried to spend even more time pleasing Herewyn than she’d spent on him. Partially just for her, but also to help ensure that he never confused her with her younger cousin, Sighild.

  It helped, initially, that Herewyn wore the scent of hyacinth, while Sighild preferred lilac. Even when his face was buried in all that shimmering red hair as he nibbled along her smooth, pale throat, one whiff was enough to ensure he didn’t mistake the woman he’d begun exploring.

  And once things began in earnest, all possibility of error fell quickly by the wayside.

  Herewyn and Sighild may have shared a certain amount of physical resemblance, but they were nothing alike as lovers.

  Sighild was always a little timid until drawn out, when she became wild and expressive. Like a fire that had to be coaxed to life, but then flared, and burned bright and roaring. And maybe a little dangerous.

  Herewyn was passionate, but deliberate. Controlled. She never left any doubt about what she liked and what she didn’t, but always in a way that simply encouraged more of what she enjoyed.

  This was the reason he left her with several bite marks on the insides of her thighs. She seemed quite happy about each of them.

  In much the same way, she seemed to study Aefric’s reactions to everything she did, as though determined to know all the best ways to please him before even half the night was gone.

  Aefric and Herewyn came together as lovers twice that night before pausing for rest. But at their first rest, they sat side by side, pillows propped behind them, and sipped a sweet white wine that she must’ve sent for at some point.

  Or maybe the bottle had already been in the room, and Aefric hadn’t noticed it? He certainly hadn’t gone through the bedroom’s contents thoroughly before dinner. And after, well, he’d been a little distracted…

  “There is something I should make clear to your grace,” Herewyn said, playing her toes along his shin.

  “And what is that?” Aefric asked, letting his eyes track over her delightfully naked and glistening body.

  “Your grace,” she said softly.

  “Pardon me,” he said, meeting her eyes with a smile. “I was considering how the wine would go with the taste of your breasts.”

  “Well,” Herewyn said with a smile, “I certainly encourage your grace to find out. But first…”

  “I am listening,” he said.

  “I want to be clear about something. A great many of the noblewomen who seek out your grace’s bed hold, within their hearts, some degree of hope that they might one day become your duchess.”

  “I assure you. I figured that out some time ago.”

  “I never doubted it.” She leaned forward slightly. “But I wish to make clear that I, myself, do not.”

  “No?” Aefric asked, a little surprised. He’d been sure that, come morning, Beornric would be adding Herewyn’s name to the list of women trying to marry him.

  “Not as a slight against your grace in any way,” she said quickly. “If anything, I find your grace almost too appealing, on a personal level.”

  She smiled wistfully.

  Aefric gave her time to continue, if she wanted to.

  “Your grace reminds me somewhat of my dearest Garriston, may the gods hold him close.” She played her fingers over Aefric’s chest, circling a scar left by a tarok’s spear. “He too was tall, and leanly muscled. Though he had fewer scars. While he lived.”

  “He died in the wars, I believe,” Aefric said, voice hushed out of respect.

  “Two days before the Battle of Deepwater,” she said. “The borog armies were on the march across Goldenfall, and Garriston led a company that gave their lives buying time for hundreds of farmers and townsfolk to flee to safety within the city walls at Vabarett.”

  “He died a hero,” Aefric said.

  “He did,” Herewyn said. Her fingers withdrew. She sipped her wine, then shook her head. “But dead is dead. And the shameful truth is that I would trade all those farmers and townsfolk to have my husband back.”

  “I don’t think anyone would blame you for feeling that way,” Aefric said.

  “Ah,” Herewyn said, smiling through unshed tears, “but a noble isn’t supposed to feel that way, your grace, even in private. A noble must be ready to lay down her life for her people, as we ask our people to lay down their lives for us.”

  “Laying down one’s own life for others is easy,” Aefric said. “Laying down the life of a loved one for others is another matter altogether.”

  Herewyn’s perfect posture slumped as she stared, slack-jawed at Aefric.

  “Your grace does understand,” she said.

  “I … have known loss,” Aefric said, and had to check himself from telling her about Andi, the wife he’d loved a world away. “I think sometimes that I so willingly risk myself for others because part of me hopes to be rejoined with her.”

  “She will be waiting, your grace,” Herewyn said, softly. “Whether your grace meets her again tomorrow, or a thousand years from now, she will be waiting. As Garriston waits for me.”

  Herewyn reached out and stroked Aefric’s face. “And on behalf of all those who remain in this world, I ask that your grace resist the urge to fly too soon to her side. Your grace is needed here.”

  “I have no wish to die,” Aefric said, and it was his turn for a wistful smile. “Too many responsibilities.”

  “Just so,” she said, with a half-hearted smile, that grew teasing only a moment later. “Besides, your grace, here you have the prospect of finding love again. And a great many candidates to choose from.”

  “But not you?”

  “No, your grace,” Herewyn said, not rising to Aefric’s return teasing. “I love Norra, and I love being its baroness. I look forward to training my son Gariss for the day he takes over.”

  She shook her head. “I want neither the power nor the responsibility of being your duchess. Neither do I wish to be the secondary title holder in a relationship. If I marry again, my husband will answer to me, not the other way around.”

  “And you might marry again?”

  “I won’t rule out the possibility,” Herewyn said with a slight shrug, and her posture resumed its normal perfection. “But I’m in no hurry, either. One advantage of the noble privilege, I need not be lonely while I consider my options.”

  She set her half-full glass on the nightstand.

  “Speaking of the noble privilege,” she said, lying back at an angle and giving Aefric a come-hither look. “I believe your grace said something about my skin and his wine?”

  “I did indeed,” Aefric said, leaning in for a kiss on her soft, welcoming lips. And as they kissed, he slowly, carefully poured the rest of his wine down into the hollow of her throat, from where it spread down across her shivering breasts and belly.

  He smiled at the sight. “This may take some time.”

  “By all means, your grace,” she answered, “be thorough.”

  Later, when they once more rested after satisfaction, Herewyn lay pillowing her head on Aefric’s chest when she spoke.

  “As your grace now knows that I have no aspirations of being his duchess,” she said, idly playing with his chest hair, “he should know that I am most willing to discuss my views of his candidates, if he has a mind to hear them.”

  “I find myself quite curious,” Aefric said, and Herewyn seemed to enjoy the way his chest rumbled when he spoke. He ran one hand down her side in a gentle caress. “Though I suspect those views will direct me to marry your cousin.”

  “Sighild has a great deal to offer as a candidate,” Herewyn said. “But she’s not where I’d begin the discussion.”

  “Where then?”

  “Princess Maev, of course,” Herewyn said, smiling. “Surely your grace must realize that all of Armyr talks of how she favors him. Of how your grace might have won her heart — were it hers to give.”

  “Varondam,” Aefric said with a sigh.

  “Varondam,” Herewyn agreed, patting his hip sympathetically. “After Malimfar’s treachery this past spring, Armyr needs alliance with Varondam, to surround their enemy along the coast. Those facts are indisputable.”

  “They are,” Aefric said with another sigh.

  She shook her head. “And Varondam has a prince, but not a princess. So it is Princess Maev who must … cement this alliance through marriage. Prince Killian cannot.”

  “She might be able to arrange the alliance without marriage,” Aefric said, hopefully.

  “Possible,” Herewyn said, considering. “If anyone is devious enough to find a way, it’s her highness.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Aefric said, one eyebrow arched.

  “Oh, I assure your grace that I hold Princess Maev in the highest esteem. Had I a sister, I would want her to be like her highness.” She patted his chest. “But for purposes of this conversation, we must assume that news of her impending wedding will reach your grace before year’s end.”

  “Very well,” Aefric said. “Who next?”

  “Princess Astrid of Malimfar might wish the position,” Herewyn said, and the distasteful way she wrinkled her nose was adorable, and the same mannerism that Sighild had. “But obviously no such marriage alliance with Malimfar would be permitted your grace, even should he evince interest in the possibility.”

  “The king has been quite clear about that,” Aefric said. “And I wasn’t interested anyway.”

  “Which brings us to Princess Xenia of Caiperas.”

  “No,” Aefric said. “Current evidence suggests that Caiperas was behind the attempts on the royal family a few aetts back.”

  “I had not heard this.”

  “I believe his majesty wishes confirmation before making this information public.”

  Herewyn worried at her lip. “Perhaps your grace should not have mentioned it then?”

  “I was given no instructions to withhold this information from a trusted vassal.”

  The smile that spread across Herewyn’s face then was one of the most beautiful he’d ever seen.

  “Then I swear to hold this information close until your grace tells me otherwise.”

  “Thank you, Herewyn.”

  She reached up and gave Aefric a brief, but intense kiss.

  “There’s Rethneryl next,” she said, settling on his chest again, but still smiling. “A solid ally of Armyr for centuries, and more princesses than they know what to do with.”

  “Let’s discuss princesses another time,” Aefric said. “Rethneryl, Hatay and Shachan have all sent word that they’ll be sending princesses to meet me in the fall. Until I meet them, I see no point in discussing them.”

  “Very well, your grace,” Herewyn said hesitantly. “But I trust your grace will not disregard the possibility of a princess. Marriage into a royal family will … raise your grace’s social standing more than anything else would.”

  “I’m already a duke.”

  “True,” Herewyn said, leaning forward to lick his nipple. “But your grace is an ennobled former adventurer. Named for a deed and an item of power, rather than carrying the name of an old, established noble family.”

  “An argument I’ve heard most often from the Fyrenn family.”

  “A family even older than mine,” Herewyn said through a sigh. “The oldest family line in Armyr, and they never let anyone forget it.”

  She grimaced slightly. “Which means we must next discuss your grace’s Fyrenn prospects.”

  “Duchess Ashling has expressed interest,” Aefric said. “And puts forth her sister Zoleen as a nearly equal prospect.”

  “If your grace would marry either,” Herewyn said, thoughtfully, “I would think the better choice for him would be Zoleen. Duchess Ashling has an acknowledged bastard to inherit, so your grace’s blood would never take root in Merrek.”

  She tilted her head back and forth on Aefric’s ribcage. “Besides. Zoleen is younger. Ashling is about my own age, but Zoleen is hardly a season older than Sighild. She hasn’t had the time or the title to help her develop the deep mastery of politics and manipulation that her older sisters command.”

  “I’m not sure I could trust her.”

  “A solid point,” Herewyn said. “And honestly, a truth about any member of the Fyrenn family. They are well known for putting their blood before any other consideration.”

  “But you think Zoleen would be the most trustworthy of the lot?”

  “She has many of the instincts and reflexes of her line,” Herewyn said, frowning in thought, “but I’ve always had the impression that she chafes against the family reputation. That she would wish to distinguish herself as the honest Fyrenn.”

  “Then she’s off to a bad start with me,” Aefric said.

  “As I said, the family reflexes are there,” Herewyn said with a sigh. “Has she tried to … repair whatever damage she caused between you?”

  “She’s done nothing but. Even though I asked first for space.”

  “I would be willing to speak with her, if your grace thinks that might help.”

  “Thank you,” Aefric said, and kissed her. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Happy to help, your grace,” she said with a smile. “From there, of course, we could discuss the countless minor noblewomen who long for your grace’s hand, but only two of them truly merit consideration.”

  “Byrhta Ol’Caran and Sighild Ol’Masarkor?” Aefric asked.

  “Precisely,” Herewyn said with a smile.

  “Now you’re going to tell me why I shouldn’t consider Byrhta?”

  “On the contrary,” Herewyn said, smiling even wider. “Of all those we’ve discussed so far, I consider her the best candidate without royal blood.”

  “Who do you consider the best candidate with royal blood?”

  Herewyn blinked at him, amused. “I thought your grace did not wish to discuss princesses, as he had yet to meet most of his royal candidates.”

  “Fair enough,” Aefric said with a chuckle.

  “Now. Byrhta Ol’Caran.” Herewyn held up one finger. “First, she’s of an old family. True, the Ol’Carans are not the oldest nor most respected of Armyr’s noble families, but old enough and respected enough, I should think.”

  She held up a second finger. “Second, her charm and beauty are quite literally beyond compare. If she has an equal in either, I’ve never met the woman. And those qualities would stand your grace well, in a duchess.”

  She held up a third finger. “Third, and perhaps most important, I am given to understand that she has done quite well as Baroness Regent in Riverbreak.” Herewyn gave Aefric an impressed look. “Giving her the position was a wise choice, your grace.”

  “Not everyone agrees,” Aefric said, recalling the furious lers who’d thought they should have been given the position. Even some of Aefric’s own advisers hadn’t been thrilled with his decision.

  “Many might have questioned the decision before it was made,” Herewyn said. “But all evidence since then makes clear that your grace chose wisely.

  “She manages the barony admirably,” she continued. “Riverbreak is prospering. An impressive feat, considering that its baron was banished hardly a season ago.”

  “A season and a couple of aetts, I think,” Aefric said.

  “Your grace splits hairs,” Herewyn said, flicking his chest playfully. “My point is that most baronies suffering such a void of leadership would fall to squabbling and power plays. She seems to have avoided that.”

  “True,” Aefric said, smiling. “I get the impression that the lers initially underestimated Byrhta, to their detriment.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Herewyn said, rubbing the spot she flicked, and then playing her fingers over Aefric’s chest. “Which brings me to my next point. Preparing Vercy Ol’Karmak to take up the barony when she comes of age. From everything I’ve heard — and my connections in Riverbreak are considerable — Byrhta is setting an excellent example for Vercy to follow.”

  Herewyn frowned. “Oh. I suppose Vercy must be listed among those who wish to become your grace’s wife. She’s made her intentions there quite clear. But am I right in thinking your grace considers her too young?”

  “You are.”

  “Then I was right to leave her off the list.” She gave Aefric’s hip a squeeze. “And third, through her work as baroness regent, Byrhta has proven beyond doubt that she has an able mind for ruling, which would also serve your grace well in a duchess.”

  “So even though she has no title of her own, nor any dowry of note, you still recommend her?”

  “Your grace has land and wealth aplenty,” Herewyn said with a small shrug. “In my opinion, all he truly needs is the right wife.”

  “You’ve given me much to think about,” Aefric said, tilting her chin up so he could kiss her.

  “Ah,” Herewyn said, smiling, and keeping her lips just outside kissing range. “But now we come to Sighild.”

  Aefric growled impatiently. “I trust you will not need long to make the case for her?”

  “Of course not,” Herewyn said, smiling wider. “Everything I said of Byrhta Ol’Caran is equally true of Sighild, save two minor details. Though my cousin is, of course, both beautiful and charming, she could not begin to compare to Byrhta at either quality. Thus, Byrhta has an edge over her.”

  Herewyn raised an index finger. “However, Sighild would bring to the marriage a much older and more respected family line. A value not to be ignored, and Sighild’s edge over Byrhta.”