"Yes," Bellamy agrees, his heart hammering against his ribs.
But even as he says the word, he's surging upward to capture Ivah's mouth again, pouring all his confusion and desire and desperate longing into the contact. Ivah responds eagerly before pulling away with visible effort.
“I’ll never make it back to the border unnoticed,” Bellamy says, rubbing at where his wrists are still sore. “Your soldiers–”
"I will allow you safe passage through my kingdom," Ivah says, his forehead resting against Bellamy's. "Both to enable you to get home... and to enable you to return, if you so choose. I will make it known you are under my protection."
Bellamy's throat goes dry at the implications. "To return? Have you lost your mind?"
"For once in my life," Ivah says, his dark eyes intense and certain, "I feel like the sanest man in the room."
The conviction in his voice sends shivers through Bellamy's body. Slowly, reluctantly, they disentangle themselves from the sheets and each other. Ivah helps him dress with careful, intimate touches—fastening buckles, smoothing fabric, pressing soft kisses to newly covered skin.
The walk to the stables passes in tense silence. Bellamy is acutely aware of every servant and guard they pass, certain that their secret is written across his face for all to see. But no one meets his eyes, no one shows any sign of suspicion or interest.
Tempest whickers softly when she sees him, nuzzling his hand with obvious relief. She's been well cared for—groomed and fed and watered—though Bellamy can see she's eager to be gone from this place.
"This is dangerous," Bellamy says as he checks her tack, not looking at Ivah. "Nothing good can come from it."
"If you say so," Ivah replies, but there's amusement in his voice.
When Bellamy finally turns to face him, Ivah catches his hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. The gesture is tender and possessive all at once.
"You know where I am," Ivah murmurs against his skin, "if you want to find me."
Bellamy mounts Tempest with hands that aren't quite steady, looking down at the man who has turned his world upside down in such a short amount of time.
"Goodbye, Ivah."
"Until we meet again, sweet Bellamy."
Bellamy spurs Tempest forward before he can do something foolish like dismount and kiss Ivah goodbye properly. He doesn't look back as they ride through the gates, though he can feel those dark eyes watching him until he's out of sight.
The journey home passes in a blur of conflicted thoughts and impossible longings. By the time he reaches Mirn's borders, Bellamy has almost convinced himself it was all a dream—the passionate night, the tender morning, the promise of safe passage that hangs around his neck like a secret.
Almost.
It's only when he's safely back in Mirn territory that the full weight of what he's done settles over him. He's just spent the night with his kingdom's greatest enemy. He's accepted a token of protection that could be seen as evidence of collaboration or treason. He's compromised himself and possibly his people for the sake of feelings he can barely name, let alone justify.
The rational part of his mind knows he should throw the seal away, should ride straight to his mother and confess everything, should beg forgiveness and accept whatever punishment awaits him.
Instead, he presses his hand against his chest, feeling the warm metal through the fabric of his shirt, and urges Tempest toward home.
Harwick is waiting in the castle courtyard when Bellamy arrives, his weathered face set in lines of worry and suspicion. The general takes one look at Bellamy's travel-stained clothes and disheveled appearance and his expression darkens further.
"Where have you been?" he demands without preamble.
Bellamy dismounts and hands Tempest's reins to a waiting groom, buying himself a moment to compose his features. "Riding. I needed to think."
"For over a day? Without telling anyone where you were going?"
Has it been that long? Bellamy tries to calculate the time—when he left the castle, the night he spent with Ivah, the journey back—and realizes with a sick feeling that it's well past midday. He's been gone far longer than any casual ride would justify.
"I'm sorry," he says, which is true if inadequate. "I didn't mean to worry anyone."
"The Queen sent search parties to look for you. Half the kingdom is out combing the countryside because their prince disappeared without a trace." Harwick's voice is carefully controlled, but Bellamy can hear the anger underneath. "So I'll ask again—where have you been?"
Before Bellamy can answer, Harwick steps closer, his sharp eyes focusing on something that makes his frown deepen. "What happened to your face?"
