The Temple of the Fairy King seldom had use for doors, so Sorem tried to understand how to enter. White branches jutted out of the tower, heavy leaves hanging. Sorem risked touching the wall, feeling around for any marker or secret lever. It was in that moment that he noticed he was alone.

Instead of continuing with his original promise of finding a way in, he scanned the dense forest.

"Love!" he whispered.

Silence greeted him in all directions until a lovely voice called back. "I am here, my prince. Please do not slow. I am simply unworthy. But I'll await you."

And it was true. He caught sight of the blue dress boxing in the wind some distance away. Sorem need only prove himself competent. Everything inside him said he was not in his right mind now.

Not far from him, she stood on that hilltop, staring out at the sparce houses, little huts, green farmland, then finally, the castle in the distance. This would be hers one day. She could feel it, because Sorem could feel it, too.

His fingers creased some grooves on the wall and the griding sound of stone dragged against stone drew his focus. White meshing on white, the door appeared, sunk in, then slid to the side. It revealed a stairway, their way in.

The lack of surprise in her eyes when she stepped out from behind a tree and approached told him she might have known this secret even before him.

Sorem's heart leapt at the sight of her. Today, too, her frock was cut low in the front. It held her supple bosom poorly. So much in fact that, though he knew it rude, he had to tell her. "Darling, you are not really decent. I—I can see pink against your white skin.

Two brown eyes stared at him confused until she looked down at herself and gasped. It felt forced but he minded his manners and waited for her to turn around and fix her dress.

It was not her fault, he reminded himself. Though she was older, her meager means in life had forced so much on her.

Once she stood before him, the top of her frock carried her a bit better, but it still appeared tight.

He hadn't meant to stare—he shouldn't have.

Her hands came up to her bosom as she apologized. "I hadn't money to buy a new one. Surely, it isn't all that bad."

Perhaps not, but he could make out the chill of autumn by the small erect buds held by the blue fabric.

That wasn't the only thing erect.

Sorem cleared his throat and turned to show the entrance. He hesitated but once. "Are you certain it is all right to go in?"

Her blank expression was always so comical until now. Today, it concerned him. He'd have to explain it.

"As a young woman, it is not safe to be with a man in such confined spaces," he warned.

She puzzled over his words for a moment then pushed out her chest and declared, "But you're a prince. There is none safer."

Smitten, he rubbed his neck then nodded toward the steps. As they walked, she gripped his arm. Her narrow shoulders drew up as she ducked under the archway.

If he hadn't known her all his life, he would never had believed she was twenty-two. Such trusting naïvete would surely undo any woman. In an effort to calm her, he held the hand gripping his arm and didn't loosen his hold as they ascended the steps.

The first gasp to leave her concerned Sorem until he took in the walls. Amazing. Painted in gold, the battles of the Fairy King took on the form of songs.

He conquered the trolls, the ogres, the werewolves, the elves, the dwarfs. And then finally, the Jaffo.

"What is a Jaffo," she wondered.

"A Jaffo?" Sorem turned to stare at the wall to answer just that, but she missed the next step and slip, falling against him. "Careful, Mo'el."

Her hands felt warm against his chest. When he touched her fingers, he'd meant to help her to stand but he found her staring up at him.

"You are so strong."

Sorem had never felt strong, not really. There were only two princes in his family. His cousin Orm, and himself. Despite having strong respect for his cousin, their relationship was strained. Sorem never understood why.

"Come. Let's make our way down."

"But...." Mo'el looked toward their path, heartbroken. "But someone of modest means like myself will never get the chance to see this temple again."

She spoke truth but Sorem didn't feel right about taking her up. As he stared upward, he debated how to tell her.

"Ow."

That little word had his heart rushing. "What? What is it?" He guided her to sit.

She held her foot out, insisting, "I think I've hurt it."

Eyes cast down to the path from which they came, Sorem debated leaving her. It would be hard to explain what they were doing here, however. Her reputation would be at an end. He could risk taking her down but if they fell, it would be disastrous.

"Could—could you look? Is it red?"

Look? Sorem met her gaze.

There were those trusting eyes yet again. He hoped she wasn't this careless with anyone else. The very thought had his heart aching.

When he opened his mouth, it was to refuse, and to even give a warning but she'd already hiked up her dress.

For lack of something to say or do, Sorem went a step lower and risked holding her left ankle. "This one?"

"Hm-hm."

Her tattered shoe slipped off without trouble. Everything looked all right but he was sure to prod her foot then ankle a bit like he'd seen some doctors do in the past. He decided to keep his eyes solely on his hands.

"Does it hurt?" he asked but when he thought to look up to her, something else caught his focus. She'd pulled the dress past her knees. She wore nothing underneath. Sorem's breath caught.

He only came back to his senses when she asked him, "Prince Sorem, will I be all right?"

Their eyes met and he needed a moment to realize why she looked so frightened—it was because he was a fright.

"Why do you carry yourself so!" he barked.

"What?"

"Look at you! Why do you carry yourself like this?" He shot to his feet and commanded, "Stand up. We're leaving."

Eyes fixed on the stone steps upon which she sat, she refused to move. "Please explain what I've done."

But how could he? He could barely get the words out to admonish her, he was so angry.

Instead, he looked at her bare knees. It took a moment for her to gasp and yank her dress down.

"Let me explain," she said.

So, he waited. She was lucky to have him as her companion and not anyone else. She'd be ruined for sure.

"I—I'd thought you liked me," was all she said. "I could not come with what I usually wore. Just in case...in case...."

Her words confused him. Finally, he sat at her side. The distress in her voice was why he handed his handkerchief to her in anticipation.

"You must hate me," she insisted. "But I hadn't anything better to wear. And what if you took interest in me and—and saw what I usually had on and—and laughed me to scorn?"

Sorem sighed. "I would not do that. Come. Don't cry."

A mere touch of her back had her leaping into his arms, shivering.

Her ample bosom pressed against him. He was uncomfortable for many reasons, mostly for the inability to gain control of his body—of his senses. She came dangerously close to him when she put a hand on his leg and pleaded, "You won't tell anyone of this, will you?"

Pity burned in her eyes, so he fished into his coin purse for a couple to spare.

"No." Mo'el gasped. "Surely, this is no honest way to come across this."

The truth of her words troubled him. He considered the best course of action.

"I insist you take it," he said.

After a short bout of silence, her pride diminished and she accepted his gift. Face red, she turned from him then faced him once more, nothing in her hands.

"What?" Sorem was amazed. "Is this magic? You have so few layers."

Their eyes met and the shame there was palpable. Hands trembling, she reached into her bosom and fished out the coins yet again. I hadn't known where to put them.

"Well, don't put them there." He paused but risked asking, "Do you do that often?" At her look of confusion, he asked, "Carry coin that way."

The silence was all the answer he needed.

"I shall buy you a proper purse. And a new dress. Come."

She held the money up to him. "What should I do with these? I haven't anywhere else to keep them."

Considering what else she wore, he could agree.

He felt strangely defeated when he took the coins back. This was his kingdom and he'd always seen his uncle, the king, as fair. But what sort of world was this that women were so poor they couldn't afford underwear?

Something had to be done.

But before he could stand, she caught his arm and turned to face him. "Prince Sorem, can I make a confession to you?"

At this rate, he knew her so intimately that there were few secrets left.

"This is my worst nightmare," she said.

His breath caught but she continued.

"I'd studied, squandering my last pay on stories of the Fairy King in hopes of impressing you. And I could not even make it to the top."

Face hot, Sorem stared down at the steps below them. "It's unlike you to be so direct."

She took him by the hand, lacing her fingers with his. That small action put Sorem at ease for some time. It was so strange feeling such a soft palm against his own.

All thoughts of leaving this place faded.

They said nothing for sometime until he finally decided. "I shall carry you down."

"Oh?"

"Come." He sat before her and instructed. "Get on my back."

"But...."

Despite her words, she gave no hesitation. Though she was heavier than he expected, he held true. He was already eighteen, but this was his first time rescuing a woman.

Sorem, usually with his face in a book, had a reputation for being strange. Mo'el was the only one who ever treated him differently. He blamed the book reading instead of taking up sports on why he could barely hold her up now as he took the steps with great care.

He'd started off with her dress pulled down as he gripped her. Somehow it slipped up until he was holding her bare thigh.

"You must put your hands higher, Prince Sorem, or I'll surely fall!"

Letting out a grunt, Sorem did just that. His knees cried out. His body vibrated. When he finally reached, she slipped from him, dragging her frock up.

"Oh!"

He couldn't believe her poor balance as he had to use the last of his strength to grab her lest she tumble.

Mo'el watched him in worry. "Sir, are you able to carry me down the hill like this?"

Sorem regarded her in doubt and anguish.

Her beautiful face creased in an embarrassed frown. "I—I suppose I'm no one of consequence. I'm sorry for saying such foolish things." She stepped past him, limping. "I shall manage."

But he could see it, see her lying on the street, clutching her leg and some blaggard found her, lifted up her dress and—

"No." Sorem caught her arm and insisted, "I will take you. But I need a moment more."

Instead of walking away, she drew near yet again, her body pressed to his. He could barely hold his hands around her; he was so exhausted.

That was why he rested it on her waist, determined to return the embrace. When she stepped forward, however, his grip moved to her backside.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Surprisingly, she caught it, whispering, "If it's you, I do not mind."

Though shorter, she was close enough that their foreheads met. Admittedly, that was a consequence of Sorem's fatigue.

"You're so brave and strong," she continued, hot breath brushing against his lips. "Do you court many ladies? I suppose it was out of charity that you even agreed to show me this temple."

Sorem's body trembled, and he fell against her.

Their lips touched and she let out a gasp. "Oh!"

"Sorry." He used what little strength he had to pull away, but she caught hold of him. "Sorry," he repeated.

But she whispered back, "Sorry about what?"

His body heaved up and down as he tried to answer but she pecked his lips.

"Mo'el!"

"It sounds so lovely when you say my name." She wrapped her arms around him and sighed. "I'd missed you so, Prince Sorem."

It took more energy to pull his hands up to hold her waist, but he managed somehow.

Missed him? She'd missed him? She was a servant girl of fourteen, he was ten, when he was sent away to study. Not once could he visit.

"Surely, you've forgotten me, I'd thought."

She pressed her face in his neck as she shook her head.

He'd only been back a year now. Everything felt so strange. Everyone looked so strange. So, he'd kept to himself and his books.

Mo'el, still toiling in the palace, was the only one who gave him any sort of attention. And now, with her pressed against him, he was hesitant to let go.

His actions went against decency. She was still a fine young woman even at twenty-two.

He forced himself to release his hold.

What he expected with relief in her expression but instead, there was dread.

"What is it?" He was fearful enough to insist, "It was not my intent to bring you insult."

In her fist, she still carried his handkerchief. Back pressed against the stone wall, she fiddled with it. "May I keep this? As a memento when you do not speak to me again."

Eyes wide, Sorem struggled to understand her meaning. Fear fueled his steps back. Had he done something wrong to chase her away?

She looked up at him once then said, "I suppose I was foolish to think you had interest in me. Someone this poor and unrefined. Someone who would—who would steal your token." She held the handkerchief before him with a pout. "Oh, I'm so embarrassed. Everything is wrong with me."

Sorem's frantic heart calmed and he mustered up enough courage to take hold of her entire hand and not just his returned property.

"You do nothing wrong. Being poor is not a crime. And—and I'm sorry I haven't seen it sooner."

Head hung, she looked up at him under her lashes, saying, "And I have not repulsed you?" At his simple head-shake, she forced a smile. "And will you invite me out again?"

The way she spoke was so charming that he smiled in spite of himself.

"Where shall we go?" he entreated her.

"I'll surprise you."