Klia dropped her hand, but kept her gaze locked with his, not letting him look away. “To love me, or to say that you do?”

“Either one,” he whispered. “You’re royalty. I’m an Orëska wizard.”

Her beautiful lips turned up at the corners. “But not a celibate one, from what I’ve heard.”

Thero could well imagine whom she’d heard that from. How could he tell her that he had been exactly that since their time in Aurënen? “You know wizards are barren. I could never give you children.”

“And yet you’ve never asked me if I want children. Quite honestly, Thero, I don’t care much whether I have any or not, and certainly not now. At this point I’d consider it an advantage, really, not having to worry about it. And I’m not the heir, so it doesn’t matter to anyone else, either.” She stopped, and the teasing smile slowly faded. “Or is it that you don’t want to be tied to a lover who will age and die?”

“Illior willing, I’ll be there to see that, regardless of—anything.” This brought them to the nub of the issue. “Could you bear to see me stay young?”

“I’d certainly be getting the better end of the bargain.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I!” Klia sighed and turned away to the window. “I suppose Beka and Nyal had this very conversation.”

“No doubt.”

“But you see how happy they are, even here in the field.”

“But will that same light be in her eyes after two decades, or three?”

“Don’t you mean in his?” Klia asked bitterly. “When he looks at the frail Tírfaie with her grey hair and wrinkled face? Do you think so little of Nyal? Do you imagine I could ever believe that of you? Or is that how you truly feel?”

“No!” Thero groaned.

“Then prove it.”

She was so close he could smell the sweat and blood of battle on her, but also fresh air and horses, and a hint of sweet balm leaves on her breath. That, and the challenge in those blue eyes looking up at him, were a more potent mix than any Flower Lane perfume. Abandoning duty and responsibility, he took her in his arms and kissed her with a passion born of deprivation. Her lips were chapped but sweet, and met his with equal fervor as she buried one hand in his hair. Standing there, pressed together and overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment, Thero took her face between his hands and kissed her eyelids, her nose, chin, brow.

Laughing, she kissed him deeply, then pressed her face against his neck. “Are you going to make me say it first?”

Thero rested his burning cheek against the cool silk of her hair. Suddenly the words came. “I love you, Klia!” he whispered hoarsely. “I have for ages.”