Marten looked into the study as he passed it, the light casting her shadow out into the hall. His feet slowed against the will of his mind, and the struggle to keep them moving was almost unbearable. He held his breath, afraid she would hear, she would lift her head and see his struggle.

He forced one foot in front of the other, then the next, until he passed the Tower's study. For the fourth night in a row, he found himself resisting the urge to burst in on her, and confess his feelings. Living in the Tower didn't make things easier. Seeing her every day, even in the most mundane of tasks, his pulse would quicken, his step became that much lighter.

But, every time he came close to her, and tried to let her know how he felt, she pulled away. He would pull her close to him, just to feel her warmth against him. He would lean to kiss her, and she would allow it, but only for a moment. So many times, he wanted to just force himself into her bedroom, into her bed.

His mind swam. He looked up, and saw the study a few feet in front of him. He silently cursed his feet, and his absentmindedness for allowing them to lead him back here. Quietly, he tried to walk past the door, without arousing her suspicions.

"Marten? Is that you?"

He stopped dead, trapped like a fox in sight of a pack of hunting dogs. His legs, now slabs of hardened mortar, refused to work. He looked over his shoulder at the study, and could see the fireplace, and her shadow cast across the floor. He saw the light cast across her shoulder, her hips.

He turned, and walked into the study.

"I thought it might be you. What were you doing..." His look cut her off mid-sentence, left no room for questions. He stood in the doorway, looking at her. Her hair draped across her shoulder, the curve of her hip leading down to her soft legs. Her slim waist, her firm breasts lifting the fabric of her thin nightgown away from her skin.

Without a word, he walked toward her. She opened her mouth to say something, but he reached out to her, his hand clasping the back of her neck, pulling her lips to his.

He kissed her, hard and deeply, and it was just as he imagined it should be. At first, she resisted ever so slightly, but he felt her relax, her lips covering his, her mouth opening slightly. He kissed her even more deeply then, his hand pulling her head back slightly. She moved against him, and he moved his arm around her slim waist.

He moved his hand behind her and pulled her hips to his, letting her neck go. He stopped kissing her, and she stopped to catch her breath. She looked surprised, but didn't push him away.

He ran his hand up her smooth, slender arm, and moved his hand to her shoulder, slipping a finger underneath the sleeve of her nightgown. He lifted it up, and slid it off her shoulder, letting it fall to her elbow. He moved his other hand up, running a finger along her spine as he did, until he loosed the other shoulder. He let the sleeve go, and the nightgown fell to the floor.

Marten awoke with a start, his heart pounding from the memory. His pillow was soaked with sweat again, and he collapsed back into his bed.

Alone.