The next day, the princess rejoined the daily life of the Keep. She appeared in the garden to walk among the flowers; she was dressed in soft green instead of black, but a widow's coif covered her hair. When Warin tried to walk with her, he was thoroughly rebuffed: "I am not inclined to speak so privately with you, your majesty," was the only reason she would give. He left her alone with a bow. But at dinner, she once again sat beside her father and answered Warin's questions. Her smile was a little brighter, and she even met his eyes once or twice.

"Patience," said the Teacher in Warin's study that night as the king paced the floor.

"I am trying, but Fredrik intends to start for Leutefloss in two weeks! I'm running out of time. My nights--Teacher," he said, turning a haggard face to his advisor, "I can think of nothing but her."

"She's nearly ready to hear your suit, your majesty. Be steadfast. What have you sent her lately?"

"Violet silk for a new dress," answered Warin distractedly. "A fan made of aromatic wood from Inchar, I think they call it sandalwood--you have no idea how much that cost. Her favorite sweets, made with a particular kind of plum that only grows on the banks of the Leute. Thank Amma Fredrik brought a bushel of the dried things with him! She hasn't sent anything back, so I suppose she likes what I've given her."

"She wants to like them, your majesty, trust me. And tomorrow?"

"Well--I was running out of ideas, so--"

"A bird?" said the princess to her maidservant in the opposite wing of the Keep the next morning. "He sent me a bird?" She peered into the cage in the maid's hands.

"It's a nightingale, my lady," beamed the maid as she hung it near a window. "They sing, oh, it's so beautiful it'll break your heart, it will! They say they sing because they miss their true loves--perhaps that's why his majesty sent it."

"We have nightingales in Leutefloss, thank you very much," she said angrily. She stomped out of her sitting room, down the stairs to the king's chambers and demanded admittance. She found the king in conference with several lords including her father, Warin's dark head bent over a map. He looked up immediately on her entrance and straightened.

"Explain yourself, sir!" she spat.

"Explain myself how, my lady?" said Warin, all confusion.

"I received your gift this morning. What do you mean, giving me--me!--something in a cage! Something that sings because it can't help itself--crude, unthinking man, explain yourself!"

"My lords, the dowager queen would speak to me on a private matter. Please excuse us." The lords bowed, and Fredrik couldn't resist giving the young king a wink, which Warin returned with a stern look.

He steered the princess into his private sitting room and regarded her calmly. She had run down the stairs so violently her veil was askew on her head, and she was trembling with rage, her lower lip jutting out and her fists clenched at her sides. For all that, she was still the most beautiful woman Warin had ever laid eyes on, and the most spirited. His heart ached for her. He wanted to straighten her veil for her--no, he wanted to take it off, and the widow's coif beneath it, and let down all that rich chestnut hair--

"Well?" she snapped. "Stop staring at me and tell me what you mean by this horrid gift!"

"I bought it from a bird trader in the city," he replied quietly. "I thought you might like to set it free."

The Princess took a sharp, astonished breath and stared at him for a good while. "Yes," she said finally, "I think I would." She extended her hand to him. "Would--would you like to join me in the garden and open the cage with me?"

He took her hand, bowed over it and released her. "I would like nothing more," he smiled. He called for a page to fetch the bird in its cage and meet them in the pleasure gardens, and then he walked her out onto the terrace and into the garden paths, carefully keeping his distance.

"Shouldn't you be back with my father and the other lords?" she asked.

"You are more important," he said softly, with a look that she could not mistake.

The page bearing the elegantly woven little cage soon found them. "Thank you," said Warin, taking the cage and dismissing the boy with a gentle pat. "Whenever you're ready, my lady."

The princess looked into the cage at the tiny bird. He looked at her with one eye, then the other, opened his little beak, and began to trill and sob. "Such a beautiful song," she whispered. "You should go sing it to your ladylove." She fumbled with the latch, and the nightingale stopped singing and hopped back in alarm. "Now, it's all right, just give me a moment--there!"

The cage door sprung open and she stepped back. The bird hung back for a moment, then hopped onto the threshhold and took flight before his captors could change their minds. He flew low over the flowers, gathering speed, until he flitted over the meadows and into the King's Woods.

They looked after him as if they might actually see the flash of his little wings in among the leaves. "Thank you," she finally said, her voice soft and emotional. "That's the best gift you could have given me."

Warin bowed. "I'm very, very pleased that you liked it." He offered his arm. "May I--would you care to walk the gardens with me a while?" She took the proferred arm and they walked slowly among the flowers.

Every day in those last two weeks, Warin would walk with her through the gardens. He always offered his arm and nothing more, letting her set the pace of both the walk and the connection between them. One day she came to the gardens with her Inchari fan; another, in a gown made of the violet silk he'd given her. Still another day, she shyly gave him an elaborately embroidered favor of her intials, a pair of rabbits forming an archway over the letters. He realized it was the embroidery he'd returned to her as a gift turned to a new purpose, and his heart swelled with hope.

Warin's nights were spent yearning to touch her body again, to feel her soft hair slip through his fingers, to trace the curve of her hip. He would close his eyes as he stroked himself, trying to conjure her every taste, smell and sound. if he were very quiet, he could almost hear her urgent cries--Faster, please, love, please, more, yes, please--and he would jerk helplessly as he spurted into his fist.

At the very same time, she lay awake in her bed, shaking with her own honest desire for him--the memory of his beard brushing her neck, the strength of his arms around her, his weight holding her down on the bed as he entered her. Her hand would drift down her body between her legs as she remembered, circling round and round until she came, his name in her heart but not on her lips. Had he known, he would have beaten down her door, and she would not have stopped him.

But in the daylight, she was reserved, and he remained patient.

On a perfect summer morning at the end of the two weeks, they walked until they found a secluded bench, surrounded by climbing roses and honeysuckle. She pulled him down to sit beside her. "My father says he must return to Leutefloss very soon. I must decide what I am to do today."

Warin was silent for a long moment. "Do you wish to go home with him?"

"Do you wish me to stay?"

"I wish you to be happy."

"But do you wish me to stay?" she asked gently.

"Always. Forever. I love you, I love you whether you're Emmae or Edmerka."

She turned to him and smiled. "I really do hate that name. From now on, call me Emmae." She raised her lips to be kissed and closed her eyes.

But Warin's lips never met hers. She opened her eyes again in confusion.

Warin was looking down at her with a mixture of desire and amusement on his handsome face. "You are a grown woman. If you want a kiss," he said, soft and low, "don't sit there. Take one."

Her breath caught, and some barrier inside her broke wide open. Emmae quickly slipped her hand behind his neck and drew his mouth down to hers. The kiss started as it ended, suddenly and passionately. She drew away from him; they were both panting.

"I am asking for nothing from you, no matter how much I might want it," Warin said desperately. "What do you want? You will have to ask for it."

"You," she said, barely restraining herself. "I want you." She put her arms around his neck.

"Then have me," he murmured, his low voice shivering its way from her ear to her center. "Have me, gods, please have me." She laughed aloud and brought his mouth to hers again, his lips soft and unresisting. She opened his mouth with her tongue and he groaned deep in his throat, but his hands remained at his sides.

The kiss deepened. Emmae stood, not leaving his mouth, and sat down again in his lap, drawing his arms around her. Warin pressed her close and she moved her lips to his neck; his head fell back to give her better access. He felt her small hand reach under his tunic, brushing his belly before slipping down to free his painfully hard cock. He gasped, and she bit his shoulder, sucking in skin. He whimpered something that might have been a prayer, or her name.

The taste and smell of his skin mingled with the honeysuckle, and she bit him again as she stroked his cock, pulling a strangled noise from his throat. "Help me with my skirts," she begged. He bunched her skirts up around her waist and she straddled him. Warin put his hands under her naked bottom but made no other move, though his dark eyes were pleading.

Emmae guided him into her and slowly sank down his entire length. "I dreamed of this," he moaned. "Every night I dreamed of being inside you--oh, Emmae, I can't stay still!"

"Then move," she whispered tightly. With a cry he pushed up into her. She breathed convulsively as he helped her rise and fall in his lap, impaling herself on his cock over and over. She was wetter than ever, her juices running down onto the stone bench.

Warin gripped her bottom tight, and Emmae felt her climax begin. It was nothing as it had been under the enchantment. She felt full of some strange power that was entirely her own--as if she were swallowing his every thrust and cry and turning it into something golden inside her that built and built until she locked her legs around him and the melting gold overwhelmed her and she threw her head back and screamed with joy.

"Yes! Yes! Oh, my love! Oh, my Emmae!" he sobbed as she pulsed around him. He buried his head in her breasts, pulled her down hard onto him and nearly shook himself apart with the force of his orgasm.

When he came to himself again, she was still wrapped around him, and they were both breathing hard. She untangled her arms from his neck and pulled back to look down into his face. His gaze was open, completely unguarded, full of wonder and full of love. She smiled down at him and kissed him tenderly.

"Marry me," she said.

"As soon as my legs can hold me up," he laughed, and she joined him, touching her forehead to his. "I mean it. When we are recovered, we are returning to the palace and I am summoning the high priest to perform the vows this very instant. Are we in accord, my lady?"

"Very much, my lord," she whispered. She kissed him again, then slipped from his lap and stood, brushing ineffectually at her wrinkled skirts. "Everyone will know what we've been about."

He rose from the bench, studying its damp condition with satisfaction while he fastened up his hose. "Do you care?"

She considered, then smiled. "No."

"Then let's be married," said Warin. He caught up her hand and they ran, laughing, into the palace.