The Acceptance of Attraction

by ghostily (tinybugs62)

Summary:

While waiting for the Tarman to arrive in Kelsingra, Fitz is forced to confront his attraction to Amber.

Notes:

I'm kinda nervous to post this because this fic is like my baby (i've been working on it on/off for over four months now) but here we finally are!! Anyway, I really wanted to explore Amber and Fitz's relationship in Kelsingra. This fic touches on that, focusing on how Fitz felt like she was a stranger to him, his comparisons to her actions w/ Molly's, and how that would have played into his grief.

In traditional, hair-pulling Fitzchivalry style, there is a lot of the "I can be attracted to Amber because she's a woman" mindset here along with him blaming Beloved for things that are entirely his own fault. Eventually, he has to realize that things don't work that way but it takes some time. They bicker.

There is something defeating yet peaceful about coming to terms with a problem that can no longer be ignored. At first it is distressing; hackles rise as a threat is perceived and lips curl back to bare teeth in a vicious snarl. The body might instinctively react in a way to ward off predators, giving various warnings that might keep the danger from drawing near. Yet, it still attacks. Canines dig into hamstrings. Tendons are lacerated. Unable to run, unable to hide, there is no choice but to face the inevitable. The problem intends to devour and will eat you alive.  

Perhaps that is a bit too macabre of a comparison, or perhaps it is simply the wolf in me striving to put my very human feelings into something more animalistically comprehensible, but confronting my attraction to Amber felt a lot like that. I was the prey at the end of a hunt. The rabbit trapped in a snare. I met my end as any man or creature might, with fear and then acceptance. 

It’s not to say that I was entirely ignorant of my problem. Afterall, a problem can only be ignored if one is already privy to it. Somewhere in both mind and body I knew upon first glance that some level of attraction was there. It was in the way I noticed how Lady Thyme's clothing fit my friend’s lithe frame, not flushed tight against her body yet still accentuating the figure underneath. It was in the way my eyes strayed towards her neck whenever she tilted her head to the side with a smile, crafted jewelry and dragon-blooded skin on display for me to see. It was in the way I wanted to shiver whenever her lips breathed out Fitz, prettily and light; entirely familiar to her, a completely new sound to me. 

There were an infinite number of small signs. Little moments that turned both my soul and my gaze piled up. But I had always been a man who could appreciate beauty. I found it often in my friends, especially so for Kettricken. Patience’s eccentricity had never stopped me from noticing her loveliness. I had long admired even the Fool’s elegance. His slender, long fingers. His natural grace. The taunting lilt of his speech accompanied by batted eyelashes and a smile that set my heart aflame. This, I surely thought, must be no different. 

Macabre comparisons and poetic descriptions cannot explain how wrong that thought was or my discovery of its falsity. And, the same as caught prey, I fought before succumbing. 

//

Like most of the evenings the Fool and I shared, it started with a glass of brandy. However, unlike most of the evenings the Fool and I had shared, I was utterly alone in my consumption. 

I watched Amber from the bed in our shared room. Cosmetics and clothes strewn around the space beside her, creating a mess all over the floor that encased her within. It was a sight I was becoming increasingly and unnervingly accustomed to, another routine that reminded me so much of the life I had once shared with Molly. With each passing day in Kelsingra the room grew more cluttered with our shared belongings, mixing together and creating a space one might stumble upon and mistakenly assume to be a husband and wife’s. 

It bothered me greatly, though I knew it would be unfair to voice such a thing. Grief came in many forms and it had been long since I spent time with another woman like this. Yet I could not help the way my mind grasped these similarities and held onto them. They found purchase there, grating on my nerves and bringing memories I was not ready to recall to the surface. And disgruntled as I was by every comparison I made between my late wife and Amber, I grimaced at the thought and took a slow, deep sip from the glass in my hand in an attempt to banish such a line of thinking. 

The brandy was rich in flavor, not imported but something found in the depths of an abandoned Elderling cellar with no telling of its age. I gladly welcomed the strength of it. The taste balanced out the bitterness I held on my tongue. The smell almost overrode the lingering scent of Amber’s rose perfume on the bed.  

“Which colour is this?” 

Amber’s question broke through my musings. She held up one of the small containers that had been on the floor by her feet for me to see, giving me a task that was usually set aside for Spark but had been passed onto me for the evening. Despite my dismay towards our arrangement, I did so without complaint. If I was not willing to risk my own eyes the least I could do was be hers when needed. 

“Red,” I answered.

“Fitz,” she groaned, and even after being married for several decades I did not at first understand her exasperation. “Most of these are red. Which shade of red is it?”

I sat up straighter on the bed with a grunt of my own and squinted. Years of training as a scribe and studying different herbs for poisons had given me a knack for telling the barest of discrepancies apart but I struggled to see how it mattered here. Surely, she’d know any colour would look good on her face. Still, I tried my best to find a proper description. “It’s red like…the Begonia flowers in the Queen’s Garden.” 

“Ah. Too bright, then.” She tossed the container aside and reached for another.

It was impressive how smoothly she was still able to apply cosmetics to her face. If I hadn’t known better I would have thought her to be exaggerating her lack of sight. But all the practice from the Fool to Amber to Lord Golden had given her a knack of the art. Just as the Fool’s hands worked deftly to carve a toy, Amber was able to paint her face just by touch and rote memory alone. I knew that Spark helped her apply it most days, but she had been determined to do it with minimal assistance that evening, most likely because I’d not be any good at helping. Still, I watched her brush powder across her cheekbones and darken the area surrounding her eyes, ready to lend a hand if necessary. I described every shade of red she picked up. 

“You needn’t wait up on me,” Amber told me as she put the finishing touches on her face, then reached for the brush on the vanity. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. It seems that whenever we think we have finally managed to tell all that has been needing to be told, one of us remembers a new piece of information to catch the other up on. I forgot how much one could miss in the span of thirty years.” 

I did nothing to stop the scowl that darkened my face and truth be told, in that moment I did wish Amber could have seen it. I wanted her to know I was displeased. This would not be the first time since arriving in Kelsingra that she’d venture off to go be with her Rainwildling friends. I had been surprised when Queen Malta and King Reyn had discarded their grievances with her so readily, and disgruntled when she did not extend the same courtesy to me. They were being told far more about the Fool’s life than I had ever gotten to learn of Amber. My knowledge on her was choppy, a collection of tidbits I had picked up from overhearing what others said to her. 

Amber remained a mystery to me even when she was sitting on the floor of our room with her paints and jewelry and everything else that separated her from the Fool. 

“You’re always with them,” I complained. 

"Yes." Amber cast me a look of befuddlement, freshly touched up lips downcast in a small frown. "They are my friends. Friends who I have missed dearly and have not seen in many years."

I do not know what pushed me to say it, only that the combination of brandy and weariness must have been breaking down the carefully constructed barriers I had built for these sort of fragile moments, the moments when a sore spot in our friendship had been prodded. I could not help myself from blurting out, "I am also your friend you have not seen in many years. Did you not miss me dearly?”

It sounded petulant even to my own ears and I regretted the words the second they came out. Yet, there was some truth to them, poorly concealed in the bitterness of my tone. For longer than a decade I had wondered if the Fool had truly cared for me or if he had cast me aside for good. Years of never hearing from him had left me waiting, wanting. It was only recently that I learned that he could never have come to me even if he so wished. And now, here we were back together, only to still be apart. In Buckkeep, it had been the newly acquired duties of a re-emerged prince that kept me busy. Now, it was others taking up his time. Her time. 

For who was I in Amber’s life? Certainly not hers. And not worth enough for her to allow me to be a part of the Fool’s. 

Amber heaved a sigh and set down the brush in her hand before making her way towards me. She padded across the room carefully but briskly, having memorized the distance between every piece of furniture in our space. Twelve steps to the bedroom from the sitting room, five steps to the bed from there, and another twenty to the hot pool in the smaller room behind it. Each step was precise and she reached me on the bed with practiced ease. 

I nearly flinched when she put a gloved hand to my cheek, but it was the Fool who replied, “Fitz, my friend, I missed you more than any of them.”

My heart clenched in my chest and mouth running dry, swallowing the rising lump in my throat, came along a feeling I could not nor dare to name. Abruptly, I rued my childishness. I did not want to hear such sentimental words coming from Amber’s guise.

I still had not grown accustomed to how my friend could become such a completely different person. Every gesture made the two apparent. From the way Amber folded her hands in her lap when sitting to how the Fool splayed his legs, the differences in their behavior were so stark that aligning the two together had not gotten any less difficult to conceive. Like water slipping through my fingers, their fluidity was not something I could grasp.

Yet, I tried to, and I think I deserved credit for that. My own hand lifted up to cup the back of the Fool’s and keep it there. It was he who I beseeched when I said, “Then spend the evening with me instead. Come have a drink.”

To my chagrin Amber responded, her voice teasing and not entirely unlike my Fool’s but distinctively not his. Hers was a purr that set the hair on the back of my neck rising. “Ah, Fitzchivalry, when you proposition me like that…” 

It was a jest. An innocuous comment that could have just easily come from the Fool but did not. Instead it fell from red lips that spoke an octave too high. The Fool would have said it and laughed. I would have rolled my eyes and thought it to be nothing more than his typical humor. But Amber’s mannerisms were not the same. She tapped the stubble on my jaw lightly as she spoke, the tips of her fingers catching the underside of my chin. Involuntarily, I shuddered.

She stilled, a strange look crossing over her face. I batted her hand away and rolled over onto my side so that I did not have to brave it. Instead, I stared at one of the paintings that graced the wall, a slosh of lines and colours that might have represented a forest to match the theme of our chambers. She did not say anything for a beat. Then, the Fool pulled away with another jest less friendly, blessedly letting the awkwardness pass while calling me out on something else. “Last time I joined you for a drink you tricked me into getting drunk and spilling secrets.”

“I did not have a choice,” I defended myself. It was a poor excuse if any. I clung to it regardless. “We cannot seek revenge together if you do not open up. I have to know who and what I am dealing with before we get there.”

“And what right did you have to seek it that way, Fitzchivalry?” 

The Fool’s lack of understanding was grating. He did not leave me with very many options. Nor did Amber make things any easier for me. I glared at the forest painting. “You know that I am sorry.” 

“And what right do you have for me to owe you my pardon?” Amber’s words were more brusque. She got up and walked back towards the other side of the room before I could pull out another line of defense. As I listened to the sounds of her attempting to clean up her clutter and strained to hear the peeved muttering underneath her breath, I wondered if this was a punishment. If she left me as forced atonement for hurting the Fool. 

It was only when she announced that she was about to head out that I turned to look at her again. She stood in front of the mirror, pulling on one of the scarves she liked to wear over her hair. I waited a moment. Then, two. Three. When it was clear that she would not be able to properly tie the knot under her chin anytime soon, I forced myself to get up to help her. 

Slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal, I reached over to fix it, giving her plenty of opportunity to sense me first. I gently tilted her head back, retied the scarf correctly, and adjusted it to fit better over her hair.

“There,” I said, making sure it framed her face the way I knew she liked best. The colour of it complimented her eyes. And her lips. With that observation, I noticed some of the rogue she had applied smudged above her Cupid’s bow. Without thinking much of it, I swiped a thumb with my tongue and moved to fix that, too. 

The noise Amber made as my wet thumb rubbed over her top lip sounded pained. Immediately, I withdrew, then chastised myself for not calling out my intentions beforehand. Awkwardly, I told her, “I was only trying to fix your rogue.”

She nodded stiffly. Then, softly, “Thank you.” 

I could only assume I had accidentally humiliated her or worse, hurt her. I took a step back to give her space but as she turned to leave I found myself asking, either from guilt or finding that my earlier annoyance had receded, “Do you want me to guide you there?” 

Amber froze and I could tell my offer bothered her by the tense, rigid line of her shoulders. But just as quickly, they deflated and she tilted her head towards me. 

“No,” she answered quietly. “I can find my way. Malta is meeting me downstairs.”

Then she left, leaving me alone with my frustration and woes and half-drunken bottle of brandy. My annoyance returned. 

I poured myself another glass. 

//

The following days passed in similar fashion. Since the timing of the arrival of the Tarman could not be predicted with the inconsistent weather, we were left with no choice but to occupy ourselves in the meantime. Amber continued to spend her days wandering around Kelsingra, meeting with her friends or making new ones, sometimes with Per or Lant and almost always with Spark. I favoured doing the opposite, keeping mostly to myself and only leaving our chambers when necessary. The effort it took to wall out the memories of the city was demanding and exhausting, and so I found it better to avoid going out altogether. 

Each day my mood grew more and more sour. We were caught in a standstill, unable to do anything productive until the Liveship arrived. It hurt to think that while the Fool and I kept up our charade in Kelsingra, Bee’s killers and his tormentors were still lurking about. It was hard to fathom that at one point I had wanted this revenge to be pushed back. Now, every second not active in pursuit felt like time wasted. 

Nothing else mattered to me. I did not care about the wondrous inventions of the Elderlings or the carved stones that held stories of past lives. I cared about vengeance and finding an end to this, wishing that it’d soon be all over. 

I was tired, so tired, and had only a few scented candles to comfort me. And even those did not always soothe me. Sometimes all they brought was pain. So naturally, at some point all my anger and bitterness had to pour out. 

It was another late night when the Fool stumbled through our room in the dark. He did so near silently, creeping about with cautious feet and hands so as not to wake me. I had not fallen asleep, however. Just like every other night besides the first few, I could not bring myself to relax enough to get any true rest.

I caught him unaware as he was making his way to the water basin to wash Amber’s paints off. I startled him by clearing my throat and the little jump he gave only left me feeling half-guilty. My horrid temper outweighed it. 

“Why do they get to be around Amber and I do not?” The ridiculousness of my complaint was not lost on me, as I had made it extremely clear I preferred the Fool’s company over Amber’s. 

Most likely thinking of that very fact, the Fool turned to me after collecting himself, incredulous. "I can hardly see why you would care about that. You show little interest in Amber.”

I frowned. “That’s not true. I like Amber enough.”

The Fool scoffed. It was a hollow sound that echoed across the distance between us. It bounced off the walls of our room and slid into the crack that had started to form in our bond by his absence. “No, I do not think you do. You made it very clear to me that she makes you uncomfortable years ago.”

This again. I took in a deep breath through my nose, trying to reign in my irritation as I reminded him, “I told you hardly a few weeks ago. You are you. Fool, Lord Golden, Amber, and Beloved. You being Amber does not bother me no matter how strange it may be.”

The Fool was silent for a moment. When he spoke I could not place his tone. “On the contrary, I think me being Amber bothers you more than anything else about me that you’ve seen before.”

His adamance incensed me. Frustration growing, I sat up in our bed. I was thankful I still remained clothed that night, for the words that left my mouth next metaphorically laid me bare. 

“It’s true,” I insisted, though my assertion came out as more of a growl that bordered unkind. “In fact, I find Amber to be rather intriguing. If she at times makes me uncomfortable it does not have anything to do with me finding her distasteful." 

The Fool went quiet again. Not even the sound of a towel being dipped into water rang out. I had started an argument before he even had the chance to rid himself of Amber’s guise. 

Perhaps thinking better of it, he made no move to remove himself from her either. He spun on heel to face me. In the dark, I could barely make the usual shade around Amber’s eyes out.

“Pray tell, then, why she makes you uncomfortable,” the Fool demanded. With each step he took towards me his demeanor slightly changed, until it was obviously Amber who set herself down on the mattress beside me. I tensed, then shifted towards the other side of the bed as she came near. At night, it was the Fool who always joined me there, not Amber. 

Amber noticed, just as the Fool noticed everything. She pursed her lips and leaned closer to me until our shoulders were touching, her blouse against my shift. It took everything in me not to retreat further. She noticed that, too.

“If you do not find me distasteful then why do you shy away from me like a sparrow trying to outfly a hawk?” Her blind gaze trapped me within the directness of her hounding. I gritted my teeth, jaw clenching. 

There were many things I could have said then. I could have confessed that everything she did reminded me of Molly. That every touch was reminiscent of the love I received from the only woman I had ever given the whole of my heart to. I could have told her that being around her filled me with a dozen emotions I could only name half of: guilt, betrayal, longing. I yearned to admit that Amber was hard to face in a way the Fool was not, though that was not something I could even explain to myself. She was unlike anything I had expected her to be. Nothing close to what I had envisioned when I first discovered her existence, nothing at all like my fantastical boyhood daydreams that imagined him a woman, courtesy of Starling. 

None of those true feelings I shared. Instead, compulsively, I counterargued. “It is not I who shies away from her but she who shies away from me.” 

I did not realize the truth of that statement until I said it aloud. The Fool retreated from me when he became Amber, and Amber was elusive to me. She was an existence I still struggled to fathom, a being of her own entirely apart from me. I hated that. Despised it, even. 

“She shies away from me so easily that I feel as if I do not even know her,” I added. 

“And have you ever tried to, Fitz? To know me?” She pushed herself up onto her knees and planted a fist into the mattress. I struggled to breathe. She took the air with her, the smell of her perfume replacing it. It was intoxicating and terrifying.

There were no windows in our room but somehow moonlight showcased her fine features. No, not moonlight, but starlight. The twinkling illusion of a starry sky above our bed highlighted the sharp planes of her face, hovering in front of mine. The dragon scaling had smoothed and replaced much of the scarring on the Fool’s face. Some of it would be permanent, but what was covered by scales danced and reflected in that magical light. If the Fool could have seen himself, he would have been proud to have such a majestic appearance. 

Amber licked her lips, that night coloured a cherry red. My eyes followed the movement. 

“Or is that the excuse you give yourself as to why there is distance placed between us?” She continued. “You know me just as well as you do any other facet of me. Perhaps not how I have spent all my years, or everything I have faced in the time we spent separated, but it is as you said yourself. I am me no matter which form I take.”

It was too much. I did not want to think that it was the Fool’s breath that ghosted over my lips as she spoke. The Fool leaning into my space so intimately. I did not push him aside, but turned my face away. I could not force myself to confront either of them or the rising panic I felt the closer she came. 

I thought he might do the unspeakable. But then he sighed, slipping away from me as he always did as of late. Amber clicked her tongue. “But I suppose that this is how you’re forever going to see me.”   

I did not know what she meant nor did I ask. I let her slide off the bed to wash her face and laid down for the night. I was asleep before the Fool joined me.

//

The Tarman arrived two days later. It first docked at the village across the river, then made its way to Kelsingra in all its splendor and glory. It was not as large as the Liveships spoken of in tales but it was a Liveship all the same. I could feel some tremor of life in it as it came close to the shore, an odd mix to my Wit and the Skill that was incredibly unnerving to sense. The crew of it unboarded hurriedly, eager to spend a night on land before we headed out on the morrow. 

As it was our last night, King Reyn and Queen Malta called for a farewell dinner in the Greeting Hall, inviting all those in Kelsingra to it along with the crewmen. It seemed as though the two groups were well acquainted, regularly encountering the other as the ship made routine trades in the city. There was a jovial atmosphere surrounding them all that I could not help but begrudge. It was difficult to watch them continue to go on as if nothing was amiss while I suffered a tragedy. They mingled amongst each other, passing food and laughing merrily. It was not their world that was ending.

I sat at one of the banquet tables alone. Most of its occupants had long since gotten up to wander around and converse with those at other tables, leaving me to be the solitary figure guarding the plates of leftovers and abandoned dishes. I did not entirely mind, though I much would have preferred the quiet solitude of my chambers over being trapped there. Too much reminded me of the tedious dinners I had attended in Buckkeep as both a boy and Tom Badgerlock. 

From the corner of my eye, I could see Lant speaking to Prince Ephron. Spark and Per had been lost to the crowd the second they had finished eating. And despite my wariness of General Rapskal, something I would never let go of even if he did me a favor, I contemplated the ramifications of leaving early, sure that they’d be fine left to their own devices. Formal events in Kelsingra seemed a lot less grandeur than those in Buckkeep, but I could not be certain dinner manners were different outside the Six Duchies. 

My mind had been mostly made up when a deep voice spoke close to my ear, ruining my planned escape. “She is very fond of you.”

I jolted upright, a reaction that shamed me. I had not sensed anyone approaching, neither with the Wit nor an assassin’s awareness. I was too old, too out of touch, to be as competent as I once was. I did not turn my head but kept my face forward as Reyn Khurpus settled into the seat on my right. I cleared my throat. “Pardon?”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the Elderling King said without a trace of regret on his features but plenty of wry amusement. There was no point in trying to say he hadn’t. I grunted in response.

Reyn nodded his head towards the other side of the hall where Amber stood between two women. Reyn’s wife, the Elderling Queen Malta, and the newly-acquainted Alise Kincarron whose husband captained the Tarman. I had only briefly introduced myself to them earlier that day but the latter woman’s bright red hair and sun–kissed freckles were as distinct from any woman I was used to seeing in Buckkeep as they were to those of the Rain Wilds. The three of them made a sight that could not be missed, standing out against all the others in the hall. Together they created a picture of elegance, though I found Amber to be the most fetching of the triad. 

That evening she donned a lovely dark forest green skirt, a white linen shirt, and a plain brown bodice over it that emphasized the figure underneath. I do not know where she got the attire, it certainly wasn’t Lady Thyme’s. Yet, it fit her just as well. The laced gloves she wore matched her outfit; they clasped at Amber’s chest as she said something animatedly and laughed, a very feminine gesture.

Beside me, Reyn continued, entirely unaware of my musings, “Your wife–”

And just like that my attention was on him again. My blood ran cold. I froze in my seat, every muscle in my body clenching at the word and holding me captive.

“She is not my wife.” The denial tumbled out of me before I could catch it. As if my body could not bear the weight of that lie or the title, I dismissed his misguided belief of Amber and I’s relationship without any thought for the repercussions. Had she been telling others that we were married? For some reason, that hurt worse than anything she had done before, including hiding her existence from me. 

“What?” It was evidently my turn to catch Reyn Khurpus off-guard. He was not very good at keeping his emotions off his face. His lips parted in surprise. “She is not? But we were all sure…with how she speaks of you…”

As assumption. That’s all it was, an assumption. I took a deep breath and thrummed my fingers on the table. Oh, Fool, why did we have to maintain such a farce? I was tired of pretending. Guises were not something I was fond of no matter how deeply Chade trained me in them. To pretend to be a duke for an evening was one thing, to be Prince Fitzchivalry Farseer, Amber’s paramour, was another. What would happen if that story spread? What if people connected it to Tom Badgerlock? How could I possibly explain Amber to Nettle? 

Trying to juggle my grief and Amber’s closeness to me was near impossible. It was rare that I felt resentful towards the Fool, but in that moment I was angry he had put us in this situation.  

I would not erase Molly for the sake of his shenanigans, but I knew I risked Amber’s trustworthiness with my blunder. I grappled for an explanation that was true but still fit her narrative.

“No, she is not. I married once already and will never again. She’s…” I searched for the right word and stumbled on my tongue several times. This man could never understand what we were to each other. “She is someone very precious to me. Someone irreplaceable. But we are not wedded.”

I looked across the room to where Amber stood. Amber, who presented herself like a doll on display, skirt twirling as she moved and earrings gleaming under the chandelier. Amber, whose skin had started taking on the slightest bit of golden tint again, a much more pleasing shade than grey. Amber, who charmed all that stood beside her and could have easily been the life of the party.  

“She is simply my Beloved.”  

The confused, slack-jawed expression did not slide from Reyn’s face, but I could see him trying to piece together the nature of our relationship, reworking the frame he had assembled in his mind. His eyes followed my gaze. I did not know if he studied Amber or if he was admiring his own wife next to her. “Well, perhaps you should remind her of that. She speaks so highly of you to Malta and I. And Malta knows her better than I, but we can both tell there is something underneath her behavior seeking reassurance. I am sorry about the loss of your child. It pains me to hear of it, especially when the father in question has saved my own. Perhaps it is that devastation that I’m sensing. The two of you need each other now more than ever.” 

The mention of Bee was like another knife to the gut. His sympathy was kind but it did not make me feel any better. Only worse. I wondered what he assumed regarding Amber's relationship to Bee. 

“It’s important that you do not shut each other out during these times,” he went on. “I promise you that if you do so regret will soon follow.”

There was irony there. I wanted to tell him that I was not the one shutting Amber out. That it was she who cast me aside. But really, it was the Fool who had abandoned me. 

I stood from my seat. The chair scraped loudly against the floor. I was finished speaking of this. 

“Well. We have an early start tomorrow.” It was a terrible withdrawal. Not at all princely and hardly diplomatic. Reyn was gracious enough that he met my fleeing with understanding. He pushed his own chair back and rose. 

“I should be getting back to Malta as well,” he said.

I followed him across the room to where his wife stood with Amber and the woman called Alise. They stood in a semi-circle, speaking closely together in hushed but excited voices that suspiciously died down at our arrival.

“Fitz.” Amber greeted me courteously. I nodded at her but my focus was drawn elsewhere when I noticed Alise scrutinizing me at her side, face contemplative. I shifted uncomfortably on my feet as her eyes roamed freely from my darkened gaze to the unnatural crook of my nose. Luckily, her intense examination of me did not last long, but the lopsided grin and knowing look she gave me left me baffled. “It’s good to see you again.”

Her tone suggested that she was teasing but I struggled to find what was humorous. I guessed she had been referring to our earlier introduction, but the quirk of Malta’s lips and Amber’s sudden shifty gaze told me I was missing something.  

“You as well,” I said clumsily, and was thankfully saved by Reyn wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders, breaking the group apart. However, I did not miss Alise’s second, wider grin at my stumble. 

“I’m afraid that I must remind Malta that the evening grows late and we still have more guests to entertain before the night ends,” Reyn said, bringing our party’s attention back to him. He rubbed his queen’s shoulder in consolation, as if making sure that he socialized with everyone there was the last thing he wanted to do. I understood the feeling.

I thought that Amber would want to stay as well, but she surprised me by nodding solemnly, “We should be retiring for the night, too. We have a very early morning ahead of us and only the beginning of a very long journey.” 

Her desire for an early departure did not seem to surprise our company, though, only me. Malta took Amber’s hands in hers, laced gloves against satin. 

“It truly was wonderful to see you again,” she told Amber earnestly, as if all the tension between them regarding the silver had never happened. “I know this isn’t quite farewell yet but you must promise me to be safe. And to send my best regards to my aunt.”

“You and I both know I cannot promise the former,” Amber grinned and I sensed there was another story I was not privy to there, “but I will definitely carry your words to Althea.” 

Amber squeezed their clasped fingers once more before letting the other woman’s grip go, then turned back towards me. I held my arm out for her to take, now something out of habit. 

Habit had not ceased my unease each time she clung to me so intimately, though, especially with Reyn’s judging gaze on me as we walked away. 

Amber and I did not speak to one another until we were well out of the hall and away from all the crowded and boisterous noises of the dinner party. Amber specifically was unusually reticent. Something about that rattled me. In our mutual silence, the rift growing between us became even greater. It left me conflicted and torn. Part of me sought to mend things while another part of me—a bigger part of me, I admit—wanted to let my bitterness towards her fester. 

I think she sensed it. A moment later she asked, voice quiet, “Fitz, is something the matter?”

It was hardly a question worth answering. Amber above all knew that, yes, something was the matter. Everything was the matter. But it was not Amber I wanted to discuss my troubles with. 

“No,” I lied.

“Well, that means yes,” she quipped. 

I did not care to respond to that. When it became apparent I was not going to tell her what was bothering me, she opened her mouth, perhaps to ask a second question, but I quickly interrupted her before she could get the chance. “Let’s just hurry back. I want to get what little rest that I can before we leave.”

The walk back to our shared chambers was far too long for my liking. With each step we took, I became more and more aware of Amber’s fingers curled around me. I could not truly feel them through her glove and the fabric of my shirt but the weight they pressed against my arm felt steady and solid. Possessive. She gripped my bicep as if she belonged there, an action I had ever only allowed Molly. And there I was again, going right back to the comparisons. The Fool held onto me as a friend that helped guide him; Amber held onto me like I was her man. 

I dared a glance at her, sickeningly and selfishly grateful for a split second that she could not see me studying her. Her face paints still held up well, blending in with her scaling but not quite covering it. The jewelry she wore was simple but dazzling, complimenting her outfit rather than drawing attention from it. What Lord Golden had donned was often eye-catching, but the accessories Amber equipped fit her more subtle but still eccentric personality. I wondered who had helped her choose them, then figured it had been Spark. Spark seemed to have an eye for that sort of thing, too. Ash had been very observant of current fashion trends. 

Thinking of that, I recalled what Perseverance had asked me about Spark and Ash, about them being the same person. When Per told me he thought that Spark was pretty but that he felt more comfortable talking to Ash, I did not think much of it at the time. Now, I felt like I could sympathize. 

Suddenly, the leather of my shoes became very interesting. The toe of my right boot was scuffed. I would need to get them polished soon as I made my appearance gradually shift from the rugged Witted bastard to a recognized prince of the Six Duchies. That is, if I made it out of Clerres alive and returned to Buckkeep, which I did not think I would. 

Yes. I had to see Amber as a guise, for I did not want to confront the truth of the alternative. 

Despite that, I found myself complimenting her because I believe it was what would have made the Fool happy. I did not look up from my feet as I did so. “You look very pretty tonight.”

Amber halted. I was not prepared for her to abruptly stop in the middle of the hallway. I stumbled awkwardly as her hand, still linked through my arm, forced me to fall back with her. 

“Fitz.” My name sounded like a warning in her mouth. It was the opposite reaction I had intended to receive, and it baffled me as well as reminded me that I did not understand Amber as I did the Fool. She pursed her lips. Her fingers curled tighter around me. 

However, whatever admonition she had for me did not make it off her tongue. She stood there for a moment, then shook her head with a sigh. “Forget it. You’re right, it’s been a tiring day. Let’s hurry back.” 

The rift became a canyon.

Amber surprised me for the third time that night when she did not ready herself for bed once we reached our chambers but quietly asked me to pour her a drink. It struck me as odd, but I did not deny her request. She took measured steps to find her way into one of the cushioned chairs in the sitting room and when I was sure she would not miscalculate or risk tripping I left her there to go find what alcohol remained in our room. 

All I could find was the last dregs of a bottle of wine imported from Chalced. I poured what was left into a glass, then returned to find Amber curled up in her chair, face pressed into the backrest and eyes closed. I was afraid she had fallen asleep, but when I came close her eyes opened and tracked my form. 

She reached out and I passed the glass to her, then frowned as I noticed the faint tremor in her hand. I was well aware of the Fool’s proclivity for pretending he was doing better than he truly was but nothing about Amber recently had suggested to me that she had been feeling unwell. If not for that brief moment of my fingers brushing hers, I would have still been unaware. She gripped the glass as steady as she had my arm. 

Beyond that, there was an odd, restless energy about her that I did not know what to make of. She crossed a leg over her thigh, only to uncross them a moment later and bring her knees up to her chest instead. The hand that was not holding the glass of wine picked at the threads of the cushion she sat on, a gesture I recognized as one of self-soothing. The behavior put me ill at ease and with great regret I wish I had saved some wine for myself.   

Meanwhile, I kept waiting for the Fool to show up like he usually did. I hovered by Amber’s chair, uncertain and wary, slowly losing hope that I’d get to spend any quality time with my friend that evening. When Amber drained the rest of her cup, rogue staining the glass’ rim, I knew that it would just be her and me. 

She set the empty glass on the small table next to her chair, her fingers walking across its surface to find space to place it down first. I watched her sit it too close to the edge but did not say anything. Then, she attacked.  

“You’re uncomfortable,” Amber accused me dourly. 

I could not deny it. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“No,” she asserted, crossing one leg over the other again, her skirt riding up a bit as she did so, “You’re uncomfortable with me.” 

“I do not know what you are talking about.” The lie that slipped from my tongue was instinctual. I had admitted the opposite to her not that long ago. Amber knew it for what it was and sighed. The sound made me bristle, her peculiar mood had already put me on edge. 

She stared at me, or rather, she stared in the direction of the shape of me, eyes more golden than clouded. I felt a strange foreboding. 

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said quietly. “The problem is that I am the one struggling to understand where the issue lies.”

“There is no issue,” I insisted, but already I had begun to walk away from her. I stomped on heavy feet, shoes leaving imprints on the expensive rugs in the sitting room. It was an action entirely unbecoming of a former assassin, but if Amber could not see my irritation I wanted her to hear it. I wanted her to know that she was venturing into dangerous territory. 

I could tell it agitated her. Her shoulders pulled taut. Worry lines creased her face as she frowned at me. I did not care. I had no desire to have this conversation then and there, or ever. 

“We need to have this conversation here,” Amber huffed with a wave of her hand, speaking as if she had heard the thought aloud. “I highly doubt you would appreciate discussing this on a Liveship instead of the privacy of our own rooms. So, let us be done with it now, before we board the Tarman.” Then, in a smaller voice. “Before we board the Paragon.”    

I was a wolf locked in a cage. I paced the length of the room with rising dread. 

“You are my dearest friend,” I said, a reiteration I had uttered countless times in hopes of extending that statement to Amber. Unfortunately for me, it was then that the Fool decided to forsake me for good. 

“We are not talking about your Fool.” The acidity in Amber’s tone was venomous. I staggered, the words coming from her so unexpectedly that I stopped dead in my tracks. Always had the Fool insisted he and Amber were one. It jarred me to hear Amber treat it otherwise. Her hands came to rest in her lap as she spoke, chin up and defiant. She was issuing a challenge but I was in no mood to give her the triumph of disagreement. 

“Fine, then,” I spat. And then, speaking just as spiteful, childishly, I threw a card I had not dared to play since my last argument with Starling. “You remind me of Molly.”

I believe she took my words to mean something else than what I had meant. Her face shuttered, closing off in a way the Fool’s did when he was most upset. Her voice dropped flat, emotionless and unreadable as her expression when she repeated back, slowly, “I remind you of your Molly."

Hearing the statement thrown back at me was worse than giving it. I flinched uncontrollably, my hands balling into fists at my sides. I should not have said her name. I did not want to hear this woman speak of her. I spun on my heel, ready to toss the next dagger. 

“You do things as a wife would.” I listed off, “You leave your skirts and blouses about and the bed reeks of your perfume. There is no trace of my boyhood friend when you’re around. Yet, you expect me to be okay with you behaving–” 

“So, it’s this again, is it?” Amber hissed, more icy than flat at that. “You’re uncomfortable with me because I act like a woman? Because I am a woman? I thought we were over this, Fitz.”

“I do not care if you are a woman, Fool!” It was another falsehood, equipped with a shield to protect the truth underneath it. It was not Amber’s gender that bothered me but the behavior that changed with it. If Amber were a man things would not be so different. She would be like the Fool, like Grey. Our relationship would not have been so catastrophically altered. 

But that was also a matter not entirely true.  

Lord Golden’s relationship with me had spread rumors like wildfire, too.   

My plea for my friend silenced her. Amber said nothing for a moment, then leaned forward in her chair. “You say so, yet behave contradictorily. You do not want to face me as a woman. You do not want to deal with this part of me at all, I think.”

We were going round and round in circles, unable to draw an endpoint to this long-standing disagreement between us. Both anxiety and anger clashed within me, building up until I felt as if everything inside me was about to boil over or burst. Our argument was starting to shape into a form much like our worst quarrel, a fight I thought we had lain to rest. But this felt raw. I was picking at a scab that was meant to stay closed, poking at a wound that had never fully healed.  

The two of us were masochistic in our refusal to let it mend. Except this time, it was Amber who was determined to not let me escape confrontation.

“You must truly want me to be the Fool if you find me so daft. Pretending to want to know Amber, to know me, then running with your tail between your legs when I’m around. You cannot wish for what you condemn. Pick one or the other, for I do not have the heart anymore to be tugged around.”

Her words were merciless and cutting, stabbing at points that would bring the most harm. Abruptly, Amber stood up, and blind was her movement, her shoe knocked into one of legs of the table next to her. The glass she had set too close to the edge came crashing down. 

The sound of it hitting the floor was ear-piercing. Like my own emotions, fragile feelings that fractured and split, it broke apart into pieces that scattered in all directions.

My ire did not stop me from feeling alarmed when Amber took a step forward, the sole of her boot crunching on a shard of glass without care. She did not shout—like the Fool, Amber rarely shouted—but her voice was just as cruel, low and viscous as she stalked towards me. She harbored the wrath of a dragon in her blood.

“Do you think I enjoy being the object of your distaste? That I find comfort in having to fear how you might react to every move I make? I ‘remind you of Molly,’ really, Fitz? At least with her there was desire.”

It was a low blow. Perhaps one lower than my own comparison of them in the first place. The rage I felt was all-consuming. But there was something else there, too. She was coming too close to the crux of my problem. Too close to me. 

Amber stopped just shy of our chests touching. Her face flushed with anger, each breath she took heavy. I could feel everything she did tumbling off her in waves. It poured into the space between our bodies and I felt the strength of my own emotions continue to rise to meet hers. 

It was unfair, tantalizing. She was the one who hid herself from me; I never even had the chance to know her before whatever bond we could have formed had been damned. And now she was standing in front of me, chest heaving and aggrieved as if she were not the culprit of this estranged relationship. What would have been different if I had met Amber from the beginning?

Everything, I thought. It would have made all the difference.

I pictured Amber as a child, following me around the keep with the Fool’s taunts and good-natured teasing. Amber, sneaking into my room late at night and being there for me when I most needed her. Amber comforting me after Verity. 

Amber was not someone I confided in now, no boyhood friend of mine. But if the Fool had been Amber from the start, we could have—

We would have—

I was always both my weakest and strongest when I was overcome. And, like most of the actions I took while engulfed in a sense of helplessness, I struck on impulse. 

I did not think before I kissed her. I did not at all consider the consequences of such a thing, or how she would have felt about me doing it. I simply did it, so quickly, with my face hardly any distance from hers. There was absolutely no grace in the way I smashed our lips together. It was much too forceful and far from chaste. 

I received a surprised squeak in response to my impetuous stunt. Amber seized up against my mouth, her fingers flying to my chest to grab hold of my jerkin. There was such strength in her grip that I thought she was going to shove me away. I would not have blamed her if she had. Yet, I think in that stillness she was having her own battle amongst herself. Her nails dug into the leather they clutched like it was a crutch, and I felt the moment a side of her had given up.

There was no romantic melting into the kiss. The tension in Amber’s shoulders did not relax, nor did she instantly succumb to my demanding passion. She held herself stiffly as she moved her lips in tandem with mine and when she took her hands from my jerkin to cup my face, cradling my jaw and running her thumbs along my cheeks, it was not exactly a softly done action. 

The stubble on my chin scratched against the fabric of her gloves. Our teeth clacked when she tilted my head in the angle she wished it to be in. Her manhandling of me was rough but I think that was what was needed between the two of us just then, for it inspired me to give into an urge I had had since first laying eyes on her. 

I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her towards me, feeling the curve of her hip with my palm. Albeit her woodenness, she followed easily and leant into my grip.

Neither of us seemed to want to break away. I found myself growing dizzy as she became just as zealous in her actions, and the gasp I let out when she ran her tongue along my lips was as much for air as it was an instinctual reaction to her deepening the kiss. Whereas my kiss was demanding, hers was greedy, and any pause she allowed for us to catch our breath was fleeting. 

I had no complaints about that. I did not want to separate myself from her either. And when she did pull back next my name fell from her tongue half-finished, because then it was my teeth cutting her off, nipping at her bottom lip and pulling it gently but firmly in a manner that left her shuddering. 

It did not take long before we moved elsewhere, stumbling towards the bed in a rush. And I will confess, not proudly, that this time I did not allow Amber to find her own way there. Impatient, I picked her up and ignored the weak sound of protest she made at my unforeseen hold. However, I think all was forgiven when I dropped her onto our bed with record-breaking speed that she would not have been able to achieve on her own.

As soon as I had done so, I crouched down to unfasten the laces of her boots. “I’m going to take off your shoes.”

It was, perhaps, ridiculous that out of all the touches I had given her it was my hands on her boots that came with a warning.   

Amber laid there quietly while I worked them off her feet. I frowned when I found a shard of glass wedged into the sole of one and picked it out with calloused fingers. That would be a mess to deal with at a later time. Now was her shoes, then her stockings. 

I slipped those off and let her legs fall back against the foot of the bed, then kicked off my own boots before climbing onto the mattress to join her. I crawled over her, supporting myself with my arms bracketing her head and a knee beside each thigh. For a while, I simply looked down at her and took in the entirety of her appearance underneath me. Amber’s short hair fanned across the bed and her eyes remained wide open as they gazed up at me, desperately trying to search my face without sight.

She looked dazzling. Her lips blossomed red from my ministrations rather than her paints and what little rogue remained was smeared. Her cheeks were flushed almost the same colour. I settled most of my weight onto my knees so that I could run a hand through her hair, which was still coarse but thickening and growing more healthily each passing day. It was a wonder how despite all her body had been put through, she remained blazingly radiant and alluring. 

This is what she had been keeping from me, I thought bitterly, and leaned down to press a kiss to her brow. 

“Fitz.” Amber called my name, a plea and a gasp. Her hands returned to their tight grip on my jerkin. “Fitz, I want to see you. I need to see you.”

I did not know what else to do. I moved her hands back up to my face and let them canvas and map what her eyes could not. 

Then, I closed the distance between us once again, mending the bridge, the rift, in another way.

I kissed Amber slower this time around, my lips brushing hers more sensually. Any sense of urgency had fled me now that I had her pinned beneath me but my lips were not any less fervent. I focused on how they felt pressed against mine, how she felt pressed against me. Her soft lips, our hot breath mingling, the coolness of her skin as she shifted her head, causing my mouth to sweep across her neck instead. For once, I immersed myself in what was in front of me in the present.    

As I kissed her, Amber’s hands seemed to be unable to decide where they wanted to land. They roamed with incessant caresses, her fingers undoing my signature warrior’s tail and sliding through the short curls that fell when she did so. They passed over the old break in my nose, the scar on my face, and my eyelashes unwillingly fluttered under the tickling of lace. My own grew hesitant as I started to doubt which areas of her body were open to me and which were off limits. There was a sort of reverence to it; we were coming together in the sole way we hadn’t before. 

But eventually, as expected, our cautious gropes became insufficient for what we both craved. I longed to break previously set boundaries, both ones I had set myself and ones I wasn’t entirely sure extended to Amber. Either boldly or unwisely, I placed a palm on her chest and marveled at how her body quivered when my thumb grazed a nipple through her upper garments. 

I did it again, experimental, with a tad bit more pressure. It had the same effect. 

“Can I take this off?” I hardly recognized my own voice, thick and scratchy from the heat of our argument and rough with lust. I tapped her bodice with the tip of my pointer finger to indicate what I was referring to. 

She nodded. Then, nearly inaudible, “Yes. Yes, of course.”

Truth be told, I was not expecting her to let me. There was another moment to add to the list of times I could not predict Amber’s behavior. Unlacing it felt oddly intimate; the Fool’s chest was a body part he had always heavily guarded. Amber sat up to help me take it off her body, raising her arms so I could pull it from her back and saying nothing when I discarded it on the ground by the bed. I fidgeted with the hem of her shirt next, carefully untucking it from her skirt. 

“And this?” I asked. 

She tilted her head to the side, thoughtful. “You can touch, but leave it on.”

It was enough for me and more than I ever had been permitted to. Amber’s stomach flexed against my fingers as I slipped them underneath her shirt and stroked the flat planes of her abdomen. In my opinion, she was still too thin, though more filled out than she had been weeks prior. Nonetheless, I made a commitment to myself to make sure she was getting better fed in the future.

The skin on her chest was not unmarred. I could feel the small and puffy raised white lines that covered her torso in no particular pattern, poorly healed scars that could have only come from a deep blade. White, hot anger flashed through me and I ran my thumb along one of them in mourning. Amber sucked in a harsh breath through her teeth. I quickly redirected my attention to another part of her body. 

If Amber’s reaction to me touching her through her clothes was satisfying, her reaction to me touching her skin to skin was of the highest order. She whimpered as I trapped one of her nipples between two of my fingers and arched her back when I pinched it. Pleased with that particular reaction, I placed one hand between her shoulder blades and left the other on her chest, keeping her body trapped in my hold no matter how much she spasmed. 

At some point, Amber’s arms went up to wrap around my neck and she pulled me down to kiss her, but that was not where I wanted to put my mouth. She did not question me when I broke apart from her but scratched her fingers through the hair on the back of my neck, waiting. 

I spent a minute debating on what I’d do but ultimately decided to play it safe and bowed my head to put my mouth on her chest through her shirt. The sensation of linen on my tongue was not a pleasant one, but there was something erotic about the material dampening as I swirled my tongue around a nipple over it. 

Amber moaned, a very nice sound I decided, and chasing that high, I adjusted my body so that I had better access to hers. My knee settled in between her legs and, without thinking much of it, I pressed it against her groin. 

Two things happened simultaneously. Amber grinded down, body instinctively seeking the friction I provided, and I froze. It was, I think, a completely natural response for a man encountering someone else hard in bed with him for the first time. Amber’s arousal was evident, pressed heavy against my knee and straining in her skirt. I swallowed, my throat swollen with anxiety. Noticing my reaction, she tensed underneath me. But if I was anything it was determined. 

Slowly, nervously, I nudged my knee back a bit and replaced it with my hand. I watched Amber’s eyes go wide with my forwardness and it pleased me to know that I was able to surprise her, too. Emboldened by it, I palmed the front of her skirt, and only faltered once when she pushed into my hand. 

“It’s just plumbing.” I mumbled the words more to myself than anything else, a sort of encouragement that I had not meant for her to hear. But Amber caught them regardless. A flicker of incredulity crossed her face and, thinking I had terribly upset her, my stomach dropped. However, she was quick to smooth her features back over. Voice strangled, she affirmed, “Yes. It’s just plumbing.” 

There were differences between our bodies that immediately became apparent to me. When I reached underneath her skirt to wrap my hand around her, she felt smaller, slender where I had more girth, but no less gifted in length. The patch of hair that traveled past her navel was much thinner than my own and I allowed the pads of my fingers to sweep across the trail there almost leisurely before enclosing my fist around the head of her cock. I thumbed the slit of it, rubbing the beads of pre-cum that had gathered there around, and savored Amber’s shiver. 

My movements were awkward and unsure, clumsy as a boy’s first time, although I tried my best to treat it the same as touching myself. I spat into my palm, then wrapped my hand completely around her and paid rapt attention to how she responded to what I did. I was quick to notice that she liked it when I twisted my wrist a certain way and preferred my motions slow. I changed whatever I did in tune to her body language, only increasing my pace and tightening my grip when her breathing grew ragged.   

I was entranced. Seeing her in the throes of pleasure only reinforced my want for her. I was uncomfortably hard in my own leggings and wondered if I should have been doing something about it, but then I felt the muscle of her thighs tense around me and instantly I only had focus for her needs.    

But her needs were also my needs. I needed her to reach completion. I needed to have her writhing on the bed and for it to be entirely my doing. I needed her to be satisfied and spent, and take back everything she had said to me. And I felt to be on the cusp of having that, sensing Amber tightening underneath me, but then abruptly, forcefully, her hand flew to my wrist to yank it away. I stared at her, confused.     

“Not yet,” she said, her words strained from denying herself. “I don’t want to…not yet.”

I withdrew my hand, albeit reluctantly, and she took hers back only to slide off one of the gloves she wore. It was her unsilvered hand, of course, but I was still stunned when she removed it and, incredibly delicately, lifted her fingers to my mouth. I blinked.

“Open, Fitzchivalry.”

I did, parting my lips without knowing exactly what it was that she sought from me. Her knuckles dragged against my teeth as she pushed her fingers past them and I opened my mouth wider. 

“Oh,” Amber breathed as I relaxed my jaw, slackening my tongue for her to press two digits down on it. They were lumpish, not at all slender and long like the Fool’s had been before and anguish consumed me at that intrusive connection. I did not have the opportunity for that thought to fester, however, because then Amber slid her fingers further and I had to fight not to gag. 

Saliva collected in my mouth as she held it open. My head swam, effectively saving me from considering how this could have felt if we had decided to do this when we were both younger and our bodies not as damaged, or from making any other comparisons I did not want to face. My pride swelled when she looked up at me, sultry, and murmured, “Good, Fitz. That’s very good.” 

It wasn’t until Amber pulled her fingers from my mouth and reached behind herself that I realized her intentions. They became rather obvious to me when she hiked up the back of her skirt and shifted her hips.

“Go find some oil,” she bid me, and I knew from the sharp intake of air between her gritted teeth that she had inserted a finger into herself. I froze, a deer caught in light, and she huffed again. “Fitz, if you’re going to fuck me, you cannot do it dry.”

Her crassness stunned me and I spent another moment still and dumbstruck, but then she made another noise of impatience and my desire won over swiftly. I pushed myself off the bed, red-faced and admonishing myself for not considering how there’d be a need for such a thing. Of course, Amber did not self-lubricate. Of course.

I fumbled around the dresser-drawers of our room. There had been plenty of small jars and pots I had noticed over the course of us residing there, especially by the bath. I found one vial of oil and unstopped the lid to sniff at it. The fragrance was mellow, and I deemed that it would suffice. 

When I came back to the bed, Amber was exactly as I had left her, trying to prepare herself with nothing more than my dried spit on her fingers. I grimaced. Surely, it could not have been comfortable. With that thought, I knelt beside her. Immediately, she made to take the oil from me but I held the vial out of reach of her searching hands. 

“No. I’ll do it.” 

She groped blindly. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to.” And it was the truth. 

I coated several of my fingers with the oil and cursed as some of the liquid dripped onto the mattress, unsure if it’d stain. The texture of it was thinner than what was naturally produced by most women and more greasy than sticky. Still, once I bunched up her skirt to get it out of the way and put my hands between her legs once more I found it worked all the same. 

The face Amber made when I first pushed a finger into her was worth overcoming my anxiety. I do not think she truly believed I was up to the task until I actually did it. Her doubt had been more than slightly evident, so I took great gratification in her gradual acceptance that this was something I wanted to do for her. She was tentative at first, but with acceptance came confidence, and when I began pumping my finger she rocked back against it with surety.

Even with the oil she was tight around me but surprisingly, there was little resistance. Her body took my finger as if it were a natural thing to do, as if she had been waiting most of her life for me to fill her this way. I was not so ignorant that I did not notice the effort she took to make herself relax, but her openness to me stirred something within me. I didn’t just want her, I needed her, and with that thought, I pressed a second finger to her rim. 

Still, I struggled to tell if she was ready for it. She decided for me.      

“Another.” 

Heeding to her, I slowly pushed two into her this time. It was a much tighter fit. Amber tossed her head back, exposing her pale throat to me, and the need within me became stronger. My movements became a little more urgent, less careful.   

“You need to spread them.” So hypnotized as I was watching my fingers slide in and out of her, meeting the push of her hips, I nearly missed her comment. “What?”

“I’m not…you can’t just position them in and out. You need to spread them, like you’re stretching something open. Well. You are stretching something open. But you need to do more than that if you want to take me.”

My face was beet red as I did as she bade, both from stubbornness and shame that she had to instruct me on what to do and angry that she knew how to do so intimately. She spoke as someone well-acquainted with the act and eager to banish that thought, I curled my fingers inside her. I did not want to consider why she was so knowledgeable. 

She keened. I did it again. 

“Gods, Fitz,” she swore. “Just like that.” 

I alternated between rubbing my fingers deep inside her and spreading them until there was room for another. At some point she had stopped trying to move against my hand and simply laid there to take it, mumbling obscenities I dare not repeat. It was when I could fit three comfortably in that Amber caught hold of my forearm. 

She leaned forward, panting. “I want you.”

The words rushed through my entire body. I nodded, too overcome to verbally respond even if she could not see it. But she knew, and once I withdrew my fingers from her she reached for me in return.

Whereas I had been unsure in my actions, Amber did not possess the same hesitancy. There was no shyness in her touch when she pressed against me firmly, enclosing her hand around me and gripping as much as she could through the restraints of my leggings. She pushed down with her palm, squeezing lightly, and I could not help the thrust of my hips seeking more. 

It was Amber, though, who moaned.

Undressing me was not an easy affair. Despite her hands working with evident hunger for me, Amber fumbled with the buttons of my jerkin. However, when I tried to help her she brushed my hands aside and grumbled, “Don’t deny me this.”  

So, I let her unfasten my jerkin, then my doublet, and everything underneath it, until she was ridding me of my small clothes completely and pulling me out of my hose. It felt odd to be so exposed while she was still mostly dressed, but then her hand came down to wrap around me again and everything else no longer mattered.

Her touch was chilled against my warm skin and at first contact, I shivered in her hold. But I quickly grew accustomed to it, especially when she began to move her fist and the friction from that provided its own warmth. 

“Hand me the oil,” she said without taking her hand from me. 

This time, I gave her the vial and she poured it more generously than I certainly had. Amber lathered my cock with it, spreading the oil as her fist worked up and down the shaft. She seemed content with teasing me for a while but I clearly was not. I squirmed under the jerks of her hand, using her fist as if it were another part of her body, and she eventually took pity on me. She leant back against the bed then guided me to her.  

As before, I was initially cautious in the way I approached entering her. As any boy who grew up almost entirely amongst men would learn, I had some basic understanding about this type of conjoining. I had never forgotten the bawdy language that passed between guards and sailors when they had too much to drink and no women to hold. But my knowledge did not extend very far. I was terrified of accidentally injuring her. I was bigger than fingers.

Amber did not seem to feel the same way. In a manner extremely enticing, she bent her legs and pulled them towards her chest, revealing herself completely to me. I swallowed. It was an invitation no man would be able to deny.  

I used my hands as leverage to thrust into her, setting them on her hips and thumbs digging into the crevice where her pelvis dipped. Since my grip remained there, I let my mouth roam her body in lieu. I kissed the edge of her jaw, then her neck. My lips traveled down all the way to her chest, tasting the salty beads of sweat that clung to her skin.  

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmured against her collarbone. And she was—all beauty and divine and feminine as she clung tightly to me. I chased every little pretty sigh that escaped her lips and nosed the crook between shoulder and neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume as I rocked into her. It was maddening. 

She was maddening. She had always been so far, so out of reach and unfamiliar. But not anymore. I would soon have her and know her like no other. 

“I do desire you. I’ve wanted you so badly,” I confessed.  

That simple admission did something to Amber. I felt her tremble underneath me and then, quite suddenly, found myself being forcibly separated from her. 

The Fool had always been stronger than he looked and Amber was no different. She hooked a foot around my ankle, her hands coming up to my shoulders, and with an agile maneuvering of limbs and flexibility that I did not know she still possessed, I was tossed onto my back. The sudden change in position knocked the wind out of me. I hit the mattress with a grunt as she switched our places seemingly effortlessly.  

“You truly desire me?” She asked, leaning back on the balls of her feet. In any other context it would have sounded like she was seeking reassurance, but her voice was more astonished, mixed with wonder and breathless. Disoriented as I was from her sudden tossing of me, it took me a moment to realize she was seeking a genuine answer. I blinked up at her, dazed.

“Yes,” I confirmed, and then my heart hammered at what she did next. 

I had been right about the scarring. Dozens of hatched and crisscrossed lines covered her torso, marking her chest and stomach. They all became visible as Amber lifted her shirt above her head, baring herself unexpectedly to me. But I did not have much time to dwell on that, for as soon as her shirt had been cast aside she reached for her skirt.

I was staring. And she could tell that I was staring. I could not help it. To feel was one thing, to see was another. And to know that my desire was wholly and equally reciprocated, equally accepted, captivated me like nothing else had. 

Amber sat before me, hard and dripping and aching for me as much as I was for her. And I could see it all—the curve of her cock, the indent of her belly, the scales that covered her body where my eyes usually could not roam.       

My fingers twitched at my side but before I could move to touch her, Amber moved back on top of me with the grace of a gazelle, splaying her gloved hand across my chest. “You’ve been wanting me? Badly?”

She straddled me, thighs parting around my waist and weight pressing down on my groin. My cheeks burned as she posed my earlier words as a second question. The answer was evident in the way my cock leaked against her, creating further mess of the area between her legs and sliding alongside skin already slippery from the oil. It would have been easy to push back into her with the slightest shift of my hips. Fully aware of this, Amber grinded down, teasing. 

I bit my lip, then shuddered when she took me in hand again. I struggled to form a coherent answer as she stroked me almost leisurely. 

“Since I…since I first saw you.” 

Amber peered down at me and for once I did not find satisfaction at the thought of her being able to see any part of me. Something in her face was too knowing. I felt too vulnerable. 

“Since you first saw me as a woman, you mean,” she corrected. It was a comment that should have made me pause, or stop completely, but then she canted her hips and beared down.

Amber set the pace, a maddening, even rhythm that would not take me to the edge too slow or too quick. I tried to match it, but the hand she kept on my chest held me down. Her other hand ran through my hair, fingertips lightly scratching at my scalp. When she brushed my dark curls back fondly, I turned my head to bury my face into the bed, unable to handle the emotion behind it.  

The caress was too loving, too much, especially from a woman who had looked at me with scorn not that long ago. I hid from it, or at least I tried to, but Amber refused to let me shrink back. She ignored my turned head, my tightly shut eyes. She paid no heed to my shaking beneath her or how I burrowed into the mattress, wanting to escape that tender touch. 

It was entirely at odds with how she rocked against me, grinding down with force that kept my build up steady and controlled. It wasn’t quite methodical, but there were intentions in her actions. I’d sense my climax approaching and so would she, and then she’d sink down on me less deep or reach back to wrap a fist around the base of my cock. I cried out after she did it several times, the noise pained and embarrassingly needy. 

“None of that now, Fitzy,” she cooed, and my heart tore at her calling me that. “What else do you want? Do you want to come inside me?”  

I was too lost in pleasure to be shocked by the bluntness of her question, but not enough that an answer came out easily. I did want to and far more than that. I wanted to sink my teeth in her shoulder and paint her skin with my seed. I wished to claim her in any way that I could and mark her as my own.

It was an irrational notion, the idea of possessing someone in their entirety like that. But once the thought took root in my mind I could not unbury it. It hooked in deep and with that, I realized what I truly desired. The crave to have each piece of the whole.  

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. My neck hurt from craning it sideways for too long. I knew she would not accept a nonverbal response. “Yes.” 

“Then say my name,” she ordered me, not unkindly but a firm command that left no room for suggestion if I wished for her to continue. 

I swallowed thickly, the air sucked out of my lungs. It came out as no more than a hushed whisper, an exhale of breath that was barely audible apart from the sound of our bodies coupling. “Amber.”

“No, my name.” 

Pain prickled my scalp as the gloved hand buried in my hair turned my head to force a gaze I had been cowering from. Swirling tawny implored midnight black and all at once I became fully aware of what she would no longer allow me to ignore. 

The harsh pull on my hair and fingertips imprinting themselves into my chest were reminiscent of Lord Golden’s more domineering ways. The gentle caresses given alongside boldly spoken words in soft, musical tones could only come from Amber. The not-quite teasing reproval resembled one of the Fool’s more solemn moods. But the look in her eyes as she rocked against me was unmistakenly all Beloved. 

Louder this time, although still soft enough that it could have been misheard by someone who did not have the attuned ears of the blind, a different name tumbled off my lips.

“Beloved.”

The grip on me did not cease but became even more firm. Fingerprints would mark my skin beyond my wrist. Not silver, but a bruised tone against brown.

“Again,” she demanded.

And as if the first naming opened up a dam that had been on the verge of collapse, their name flowed out never-ending. 

“Beloved,” I said as they met me with renewed intensity.

“Beloved,” I repeated as their head bowed and painted lips ghosted over the hollow of my throat. 

“Beloved,” I chanted as a mantra and with each thrust another naming. I planted my feet firmly on the mattress and bucked into them with the sort of passion that comes from a newly awakened wanting. It wasn’t simply the lust that had been plaguing me since meeting Amber, but something more intense. An uncontrollable need. A search for respite. A longing—an insatiable hunger—to fill and be filled. I yearned to have the whole of them and to become whole in return. Then, another name lingered on the tip of my tongue, a name that belonged to them as well. 

If I were a braver man I would have given it to them then and there, for the second time in this life. Yet, while I did not consider myself a coward, cowardice was something I acquired, giving some truth to what the Pale Woman had accused me of before. My top front teeth grazed my bottom lip but I could not get even the initial sound out. Instead, I settled my palms on the slenderness of Beloved’s waist and flipped our position once more. 

Amber gasped as her back hit the bedsheets, a near reverse of what she had done to me prior. And when I pushed back into her again her lips parted on the name I had withheld like a craven. 

I am unsure if she was finishing what I had stopped beginning or if she merely mimicked the prayer of a name one does in the throes of pleasure, but to hear her say it ignited some courage within me. My own will hardened with her pleas of Fitzchivalry. And, I think, she found some courage in me.

The sounds she made were both high-keened and deep. It quickly became apparent that some boundary between us had eroded away and now Beloved didn’t quite know who to be. Or perhaps that was only the result of him discarding caution. Whether he moaned low like a man or cried out like a woman, it was all the same to me. At the end of the day, it was all of them I made love to.

I took hold of him and my grip on his cock was more sure than it had been before. I pumped my fist up and down the length of it and marveled at the way he came apart. All sorts of drivel tumbled out of him as I jerked him off, half-finished sentences and choked words said by every facet of himself.

I could not make out most of it but caught bits and pieces that stuck out from the rest. I never imagined…always longed for…to see you right now…

When he charged me to go harder, I tried to pretend I was the strong thirty-five year old man that matched my appearance and not the sixty-something I’d no doubt feel to be in the morning. He was taxing and demanding to the point I found myself surprised that my usually selfless and tenderhearted friend could be so dictating. 

Later, it occurred to me that he must have believed it’d be our only time together. A once in a lifetime chance that he wanted to get the most out of, never to happen again. 

So, I gave and he took, though I still received much in return, and it did not take long for him to reach his peak. I stroked him through it, my movements just as steady as he coated my hand and his belly. I did not cease until he pushed me away and even then it was almost unwillingly.

Beloved fell lax against the mattress, limbs heavy and spent. His lips parted on an exhale of breath and in a rare moment of inspiration, I raised my soiled hand to his mouth. Without his sight he could not have anticipated it. He gasped at the wet feeling of my fingers pushing his own spend to his lips.  

I had not the faintest idea of what coaxed me to do such a thing. It certainly was not something I had ever been prone to do in bed. But once I did I was glad I had for the sight of his pink tongue darting out to lap at my fingers was inspiring. I watched the tip of his tongue curl to lick the seed off my index finger and cursed under my breath. It was easy to imagine it as something else.     

I let him continue like that for a moment and then, without thinking, wiped whatever mess he left on the bed beside me only to immediately cringe. With no proper sheets on the mattress, I was unsure how the cleaning of it worked. Well then. Someone would no doubt be happy to confirm the relationship they imagined between Lady Amber and Prince Fitzchivalry. 

Amber, of course, might take delight in such scandalous gossip.

As if reading my thoughts, it was her who spoke next. My movements had become choppy and arrhythmic, half-aborted thrusts as my attention had focused on making sure Beloved finished. Unintentionally, I had been holding myself back, but she reguided my focus to my own needs, spreading her thighs wider and very purposefully bearing down on me. It was erotic, as was her voice sultry. “You can come inside now, Fitz.”

I was self-indulgent. I directed her to turn over onto her hands and knees, not because I did not wish to see her face but because I wished to be as close as I possibly could. I draped myself across her back, then reached for her gloved hand to interlace our fingers together. Our bond hummed through the fabric and the proximity of her fingers to my wrist was the exact opposite of being careful. That did not matter to me then. I wanted her like this. 

The way I pounded into her was ruttish. I chased my climax with that single goal in mind, exactly the way Beloved had bid me. 

“That’s good,” he said. “You are doing so well, Beloved.”

I moaned into his ear at the words and was able to feel how the noise affected him. His body trembled under mine and I grasped his hand tighter. I was so close, there, surrounded by his entirety. The rose scent of Amber’s perfume, the sturdy back of my friend—the back I had mended not once but multiple times—the renewed Skill-link that should have never been broken. It was all mine to have and to own. 

Beloved was soft and pliable in my hold, languid from his own release, so I did not expect any of him to be contrary. My teeth suffered the brunt of that. I bit into his shoulder as I came and a canine snagged on a dragon scale instead of flesh. That did not deter me. I kept my teeth clenched against his skin and we both cried out as I spilled inside him but rather than a name, I repeated a term of possession.

Mine, I thought, or perhaps said, because Beloved’s hair rubbed against my cheek as he nodded. 

“You’re mine,” I reiterated, aloud, voice gruff and wanting. I could not control the burst of emotion I felt. If I could have, I definitely would not have allowed such thoughts to be spoken so bluntly. Thoughts I had harbored for almost as long as I could recall. “All of you is mine. Beloved, Lord Golden, Fool—Amber. There should not be a single part of you that exists without me, including her. Perhaps especially her.”

A half-choked sob, half-whimper came from beneath me. It was unclear who made the noise but I guessed it to be Amber. I kissed the back of her neck and another sob rang out. 

I did not separate from her until I had gone completely soft and as soon as I did, she collapsed onto her stomach and too late did I remember that her body, too, was not what it once was. But no complaints came from her, nor did she do anything but shudder when I replaced my cock with a finger, mesmerized at how she remained open to me. The area was red and raw despite my preparation. I ran my calloused thumb through my release and the oil around it. 

“Fitz,” Beloved said, weakly.

His body melted into the mattress as the Elderling bed adjusted to the shape of him and my eyes raked over his form burrowing there. From the scars on his back to the dragon scales to the colouring of his skin, everything about him was so different than all those years ago, yet not even what had befallen him could have erased all their beauty. I looked down at the person I just bedded and struggled to fully comprehend that they were the same one who used to terrorize me with Ratsy in the halls of Buckkeep. 

My boyhood companion, my dearest friend. 

What had I done?

“Fool,” I whispered, both a chastisement to myself and a calling, and my heart clenched in my chest as he stiffened, becoming as still and wooden as any of his old carvings. I knew that he needed something from me again right then, but I had always been terrible at figuring out what it was. I was not even sure I could give it to him if I did. 

With a deep breath, I laid down beside him and slowly, carefully, took him into my arms, turning him so that his back still pressed to me. Then I dropped my head onto his shoulder and held him with all my strength. 

I held him as much for myself as I did for him. The desire I had been battling with for weeks—no, perhaps for years, though I was not ready to admit it—now satiated, panic rose to replace it. But his body was solid and grounding cradled in my arms, cool and familiar in every single way two beings could possibly be.

I knew him in his entirety, inside and out. 

They were silent for a time, then, muffled and so quiet that I nearly missed the question, “Do I truly remind you of Molly?”

“What?” I was stunned. 

“You said Amber reminds you of Molly.” His voice was hesitant, guarded. 

Oh. Recalling the words I had thrown at him amidst our quarreling, guilt engulfed me for more reasons than one. I swallowed back the bile rising to my throat. 

I did not know which would hurt him worse: the truth or a lie. Both seemed just as harmful as the other. But I did not want him to make the wrong assumption, so I hastily answered. “Yes. A bit. But not in the way you think. Not because of…not because you’re you, but because of your actions. Amber behaves the same as a lover.”

It was, then, a redundant confession after I had just taken her as that. An incredibly hypocritical and useless complaint. I did not mention how attraction might have also played a role in my comparison. 

“And that bothers you?” She asked me.

“Of course it bothers me.” I was astonished that she even had to ask. How could Beloved, who claimed to understand whatever I was thinking, down to being able to translate the little noises I made, not comprehend the reason for that? “It leads people to falsely believe you are my wife. I do not want another wife. I had a wife. And I loved her.”

I also loved him, I could not bring myself to say. I think, somehow, he heard it in his heart, for Beloved threaded his fingers through mine at the declaration. I held him tighter.

We simply laid there for a while, basking in the tenderness and quietude a good bedding brought. I used my free hand to trace patterns over his stomach, still amazed that he had bared all to me.

“It’s the dragon blood,” he said softly, uncannily answering my thoughts again. “I told you it makes me feel braver.” He paused for a moment, then added, “And your hands make me feel safer.”

It was a trade for a trade. One honest, vulnerable comment for another. I hummed. 

Eventually, Beloved began shifting in my arms. I could tell he was growing uncomfortable with the sweat, come, and oil that stuck to his skin, but I loathed to let him go. My arms became a lock around him. 

“Fitz. Let me bathe,” he sighed, frustrated.

The warm pool that heated itself was just in the room next to us. It would have been quick and easy to let him wash in that, a mere twenty steps away. Yet, I did not want that. He was scentless no longer. Apart from rose, he smelled like me. I wished for him to remain that way, at least for the night. 

“Bathe in the morning,” I bid him. 

It was an incredibly selfish request to give to a person who prioritized cleanliness. I almost let him go, reprimanding myself for even asking it of him, but then he went slack in my arms and nestled further into my chest. 

“Okay,” is all he said.

//

“Fitz, which colour is this?” 

Amber sat on the floor of our room, cosmetics and clothes strewn around the space beside her, creating a mess that encased her within. The container she held in her hand displayed a red of a darker shade, something more akin to the hue of a gem. It was not a shade I had ever seen her wear as she preferred her colours more vibrant. 

“It’s garnet,” I answered, taking a break from dressing to squint at it. 

Amber tapped her finger on the lid of the container, contemplative. Then, surprisingly, she nodded and opened it up, a decision I was very grateful for given the fact that we were already as late as we were to board the Tarman. We had both slept much later than anticipated and after a greatly needed washing we had found ourselves out of time. I did not help, either, that when Spark had come to our door that morning to help Amber I had sent her away for obvious reasons.    

“Do you know what garnet symbolizes, Fitz?” 

“What?” I asked, voice flat, my attention divided on a particularly stubborn button. 

“Well. It depends,” she answered, tilting her head. “It can mean a lot of things. Friendship. Love. Passion.” At this, she waggled her eyebrows. “Or it can represent protection, either aiding you in battle or ensuring loved ones come home to you.”

I was heartsick to hear it. “You’re going to wear such a colour as we depart for Clerres today?”

“Of course. It’s only fitting.” There was something different about her that morning. The smile that graced her features was more genuine, the way she moved about the room less pained. It was hope, I surmised. It had been a long time since I had seen the Fool like this. I did not know how to feel myself.

It would be a lie to say that there was no rift between us anymore. Awkwardness lingered in both of our actions. I had woken up to find Beloved curled in on himself, shivering despite our room always maintaining a perfect warmth for the chill of early spring. He had not let me bathe with him even though he had bared all his body to me. But afterwards, when he was dressed and packing the rest of his clothing away, he turned to me and asked me how I’d slept. 

When I crossed the room to answer him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, he stilled, then melted. 

There would be plenty of opportunity for me to mule over his behavior and my own following. I would come to realize that he was fearful that I had regretted our bedding and in turn he’d realize that the wariness I exhibited was the struggle to reconcile with feelings and wants that I had held for decades but only knew how to deny. There would be more clashes and arguments and quarrels, until I admitted my attraction had existed before Amber and used her existence as justification to act on it, and until he’d learn to stop hiding things from me.  

But that would all come in the span of our time aboard the Tarman and the Paragon. For there, in Kelsingra, was just the start of it. 

I watched Amber apply her face paints while I combed through my wet curls. The garnet-coloured rogue matched well with the patterned dress she had put on that morning, though it highlighted the gold of her eyes the most. Her blonde hair framed her face in soft waves, tumbling just past her ears and brushing her neck each time she tilted her head down. Just like always, she was utterly dazzling. As she was putting the final touches on her lips, I walked up to her, then kneeled on the floor to meet her at eye level.

“Your rogue is smudged here,” I lied, touching the corner of her mouth. She had applied it flawlessly. 

“Are you going to try to fix it for me again?” She teased with a crooked grin. Her smile faltered, though, when I reached a hand up to grab ahold of her chin. I both heard and saw the hitch in her breath as I leaned in. 

“Yes,” I said, then promptly ruined it.