Scandal.  The feelings of a dead man -- her father, his most respected mentor.  Despite the way the words triggered a tightness in his chest, the cold logic in her words was difficult to ignore.  The gown slipped away as the gears in his mind ground through the information he was given.  There was a tremendous amount to consider, precious little time to do so, and the environment was fraught with distraction.<br/><br/>As much time as they spent together, people were likely already talking about them, and had been for some time.  He'd received a few strange glances in his day as he doted over the young princess, more so when she'd reached adolescence.  Surely there were already rumors floating around the castle like dandelion seeds on a gentle breeze.  It was unavoidable, and how much worse would further speculation -- even confirmation -- be?<br/><br/>The princess turned from him, pale skin aglow like spun gold as the flickering flames cast heat and light onto her flesh.  She tactically bent at the hips -- a movement a little too calculated and unnatural to have been purely innocent -- displaying her softly shimmering lips, slick with her eagerness, evidence of her honest interest and motivation.  The mouth could whisper falsehoods, the eyes could bat seductively with deceptive intent, though there was truth in the inviting wetness.<br/><br/>He tore his eyes away, reeling with the implications.  Her father had trusted him to care for his daughter, to protect her and keep her safe!  What would he think if he knew the compromising position he'd just witnessed his daughter, his pride and joy?!  It was true, no parent would appreciate the notion, but the king had often spoken wisdom on the matter of women, of love and lovemaking.  Was he being groomed all along for more than a life of mere service to the crown?<br/><br/>She turned to face him after gathering up her dress, proffering him what seemed a simple choice for any man.  The offer was tantalizing beyond words -- a shapely, robust woman; a friend; a<i>queen</i>, an invitation to sit the throne beside her.  She offered<i>everything</i>.  Why was it so difficult to accept?<br/><br/>He was born from nothing, and she was<i>something</i>.  But nobility, he knew well, was just a bloodline -- there was nothing 'noble' about most of them.  The royals in the neighboring states had lascivious appetites, some too vile to speak of in good company, and he'd watched the statesmen entertain their indulgences while visiting their city.  To see this woman,<i>his Ellie,</i>married off to such filth for land or wealth or allies... the thought was almost too much to bear.<br/><br/>And therein was the crux of it.  He already loved her, just as she professed her love to him.  It was what had kept him so respectful of her boundaries, so fearful to overstep them.  Wouldn't it, in that case, please her father most to have his daughter wed to someone who respected her?  Cherished her?<i>Loved her</i>in return?  And who could learn to love her more than the man who had dedicated his life to hers?<br/><br/>As the decision crystallized in his mind, he realized it must have taken too long.  Fear had filled her eyes, a frustrated huff escaping her lips as she turned on her heel, burying her face in her hands and clutching the dress around her.  She had mistaken his hesitance for rejection.<br/><br/>"Wait!" he called, standing from the couch, emboldened by his distaste at seeing her in such a state.  When she turned again, looking as if her heart was in her throat, waiting to hear those words she craved, his lips faltered, stricken by the alluring pout of her mouth, the roundness of her hopeful eyes, the swell of her breast as her arms folded beneath it.  He shivered, knowing his indecision would likely not be tolerated a second time, and if he were unable to speak, his actions would have to convey it all.<br/><br/>He reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head in one sweeping motion, baring his chest to her.  It slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor where her gown had rested a moment before.  The olive tone of his skin seemed to shine in the firelight, firm creases in his muscular definition flickering in the light that betrayed glimpses of partially healed scars, some she knew of, some she did not.  As sturdily built as they came, his broad shoulders heaved as he parted his thick arms, holding them out in gesture to himself.  His eyes were stoic, his voice unwavering as he invited her.<br/><br/>"Come, Ellie.  You'll have all of me, if you wish it."<br/><br/>A thumb hooked under the waist of his trousers, flipping a button through the loop and releasing it.  The front of the pants fell open, and the source of the firmness was immediately revealed.  The firm mass nearly sprung from its confinement, confirming her suspicion that his build was not his only powerful endowment.  He bore himself to her, just as she had to him, a hand outstretched to takes hers, drawing her back to him.