It is clear from the look on his face that I have surprised him, which I considered a fair trade. When Maslakhat had mentioned others of my kind, I had envisioned other desert bred equines, but had not allowed my hopes to soar so high as to expect other Arabians. The relief of being able to speak in my mother tongue, the lilt and cadence of home, is a gift I cannot ever repay him.

My surprise and thankfulness have made me bolder than I have any right to be, and I can feel the disapproving gaze of my alab on my skin. Princess or not, it was unbecoming of me to behave in such a manner with a strange male, even if he was everything I could have imagined a stallion to be. If only my betrothed could have been like this. Handsome and poetic and regal. They had spoken to me on Antares' accomplishments, his breeding, his family. My maidens had told me that he was respectful and valued family highly. They whispered in my ear that he would adore me, cherish me, spoil me. They told me all of the things that they thought might win my heart on his behalf, but the thought of him remained as cold as stone in my head.

Antares represented my responsibility. Thinking of him promised years at his side, handling dry matters of state that would sooner bore me to tears than delight my heart. I would have to censor everything I did, every second of the day. My wild dashes across the moonlit dunes would forever be a part of my past, and I would have to watch myself swell with child over and over until his desire was sated. I would have to stand idly by and watch him take other wives, watch him whisper in their ears how precious they were as my own alab once had with his concubines. I had seen the effect it had had upon my mother in our private moments, and I knew my pride was no less than her own.

It was a life lived on behalf of my family, not myself. And while I adored my family and our legacy, my tie to him had dried my mouth to a husk and left my heart thundering with dread. I knew the shame I had brought upon my family by leaving would haunt me to my grave, but a part of me thinks that if I could only return home with thoughts of this handsome stranger to sustain me, I might be able to stomach my fate.

Like dancers we shift together, side to side, skin to skin, and although I am shocked at my own boldness, I hesitate only a moment before sharing a chaste exchange of breath. His masculine scent is spicy and exotic in my nostrils, and it brings a grin to my lips that I stifle with a swift bite to my tongue. His words leave me lightheaded and I shiver at the exquisite pleasure of listening to him speak the language of my heart.

How many times had lovesick boys shouted such things in passing? Each one desperate for the faintest flutter of my kohl colored lashes. I had never paid them mind before, knowing that my duty lay beyond my own choices, but hearing the honey spill from his lips is otherworldly. I am not sure that I could refuse anything he might ask of me at this moment, no matter how large.

"Oh." The soft exhalation leaves my lips breathless. His praise and my own audacity, leave me shaky but I cannot tear myself away. This feeling was all I had ever chased, only I had not known it until now.

My lashes flutter as I tear my gaze away from him again, attempting to reorient my up from down. After a moment that feels like an eternity to my oversensitive mind, I finally find words to offer back to him in our true language. They feel bland to me, hastily prepared, but I do not want to make him wait any longer for fear that he would disappear like a mirage. "The moon is surely jealous of sharing your attention, for there must be no greater pleasure than to be the focus of your admiration."

Again I lift my eyes to him, and find that rational thought leaves my mind. Who designed a creature so beautiful that I find myself bland in comparison to him?