Saints, but Alana is perfect.

A sentiment I’m sure she’d disagree with, given that she once questioned why I was even attracted to her. She takes the word too literal. Perfection isn’t a constant state, as nothing and no one is always perfect. To me, perfect is used to describe a brief moment where I can’t imagine anything better than that moment.

I suppose one’s position on the scale of perfection is determined by how frequently they can invoke such feelings. Alana does it more than she thinks. There’re times when she’s dashing, jaw set in a firm line as she readies herself to stand against an injustice. Having grown up around the martial zeal of the north, she understands how I find her readiness to cut someone to get her point across attractive. She’s less understanding about her physical attractiveness.

Her entire life she’s been compared to her sister, the rose blooming in the north as her fans call her, and never measuring up. Yulianna is beautiful. Undeniably so. I can understand how that and being compared to myself and Kierra could prompt insecurity, but the idea is ridiculous. If only she could see herself as I see her.

One day, I’ll get her to understand that a sweaty woman dressed in a loose shirt is sexy. Maybe through a demonstration.

Not to mention how cute it is when she gets embarrassed. Or the small gestures like leaning on my shoulder earlier to comfort me. Every one of those moments is perfect and she does it without thinking.

And there are no words for what “sweet” Alana does for me. Watching her lap up my cum from between another woman’s legs and do it with such obvious relish…fuck. It takes everything I have not to throw her to the ground. The only thing that holds me back is knowing that being intimate out in the open makes her uncomfortable.

Oh, she wouldn’t push me away. When she gets in the mood, her judgment is as flexible as Kierra. That’s why I am extra careful with her. She can only let herself go because she trusts me so I’ll do anything to maintain that trust. Even suffer stuffing my gift back into my pants and enduring the sweet ache of my lust. Getting off a few times is nothing but a tease with my constitution.

Alana is just as desperate, having consumed so much of my essence. She’s walking much closer than usual and her hand keeps stroking my lower back. She pulls it back when she realizes what she’s doing only for her fingers to brush my shoulders a few minutes later. Signs of her fraying restraint. I don’t know what she’ll do if she’s made to wait too long.

The only one completely satisfied is Cynthia, blissfully asleep in my arms. We did what we could to clean her up, wiping her down and finger combing the grass out of her hair, before putting her dress back on but anyone with eyes and a working nose can guess what happened. I hope she’s as self-assured as she comes off, as there will undoubtedly be rumors spreading about tonight. Saints, she still has to get through tonight. A little rest is in order but it’s far too early for anyone to bow out of the celebrations.

“Damn!”

The excited exclamation draws my attention and I change directions, weaving through the hedges until I find the source. Oh, what was the name of Alyssa’s lackey? Leon?

“Lane Macklemore,” Alana whispers, her breath tickling my ear.

“I knew that,” I mutter. How did she know I was trying to remember his name?!

“Sure.”

“Mr. Macklemore!” I shout, perhaps disrespectfully. In Harvest, a last name implies status but doesn’t always equate to nobility. Commoners can be granted family names by nobles of suitable status. It’s uncommon, but not rare. In fact, if I hear a surname I don’t recognize, there’s an equal chance of it belonging to lesser nobles or notable commoners.

With those odds, it’s best to err on the side of caution and address strangers with some degree of formality. Nobles tend to get testy when they aren’t addressed properly.

In the past, I’d never take the chance of earning a random noble’s ire by addressing them as I would a commoner but I’m a different person now.

Actually, I might have taken the chance back then. This Lane doesn’t strike me as a young lord. Or especially impressive. Or happy.

He seems pretty engaged kneeling at the base of one of the arches but something about the young man exploring the wonderful garden alone is depressing. I don’t often take pity on men, but no one’s allowed to be unhappy tonight.

The young man shoots to his feet, eyes shifty with guilt. “Lady Tome!” He scratches the back of his neck while wearing a wry grin.

“Call me Lou.”

“Feel free to call me Lane.” His eyes move to the unconscious woman in my arms. To his credit, he doesn’t immediately become hostile, confusion dominating his expression. “Uh…”

“Don’t worry, she’s fine. Got a little excited out there and decided to take a nap.”

“Outside?”

“The whims of women. What about you, Lane? Are you enjoying the tour? You seemed quite interested in that arch.”

“Arch? Are you not aware that it’s an artifact?”

Am I not—what kind of idiot doesn’t know that the giant arches around their house are artifacts? “I was aware,” I reply drily.

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Lane flushes, realizing his faux pas. “Sorry, didn’t mean any offense. I was just…” He waves a hand toward the arch. “I was thinking about getting into enchanting. It’s pretty rare to see such large artifacts so I was curious.”

“Why?”

“Er, well enchanting requires very precise inscriptions and it’s hard to—"

“Not that. I’m asking why you want to get into enchanting.” Artifacts are popular but the profession isn’t. It’s a very expensive trade to learn, as the proper materials cost more than most laborers make in a year.

Besides that, enchantments are guarded jealously, more than any spell. The only way to learn is an old-fashioned apprenticeship and who knows what any prospective teacher would ask in recompense for their teaching. Some treat their apprentices like slaves, even after their training, using contracts and sometimes outright threats to keep their students from striking out on their own and creating more competition. The more profitable the industry, the more cutthroat the practices.

“Can’t be an acolyte all my life. Enchanting pays good money. Enough to live like a lord and support a family.”

“Which do you want? To live like a lord or support a family?”

“…are they different?”

“Depends on what you mean by live like a lord. In my experience, that generally means an excessive amount of crowns spent on frivolous pleasures. And supporting a family isn’t just about money.” Though it helps. “So? Do you want to live it up or be a family man?” I chuckle as I watch his growing confusion. “Something tells me you don’t want either of those things.”

Lane’s eyes flick to the sleeping Cynthia, to Alana, then back to me. “…do you mind if I ask you something weird?”

“On the contrary, I’d welcome it. Ask away!”

The young man shuffles his feet. “So, uh…” Anxiety is practically dripping off him as he fidgets, fingers twitching and jaw working. Beside me, Alana sighs in exasperation, but I watch the show with a smile. He’s going to spit it out and if he’s this nervous about it, it’s bound to be entertaining. “How do you get women to notice you?”

I take it back. All my hopes are dashed and I let out my own sigh. “Have you seen me?”

“Well, yeah, but you haven’t always had that face, right? You were just an ordinary girl, but you got someone like the elf to marry you. I’m asking how you did that.”

Oh? Oh hoh? There might be something to this after all. “So to be clear, you’re asking how I, an ordinary girl with no talent to speak of and few prospects, managed to interest a woman more powerful, more worldly, and much better looking than me?”

“Yeah…”

“Looking for a way to get Miss Alyssa to notice you?”

He jumps. “Uh, no, no. What made you think that?”

I just stare at him. Eventually, he winces and bows his head. “That obvious?”

“Only to anyone with eyes.”

Lane sighs. “I’ve been trying for years but she still sees me as a student. Figure it’s because I don’t have much going on. Women want stable men, right? Good money coming in, a good house—"

He frowns as I interrupt him with a laugh. “I’m sorry,” I say as I struggle to pull myself together. “It’s just—hahaha!”

“Lou!” Alana scolds while slapping my shoulder.

I smother my humor. “Sorry,” I say to the frowning Lane. “What you said was so ridiculous I couldn’t help myself.”

“What do you mean ridiculous? My mother always said that a man needs success if he wants a good wife.”

This poor bastard. “Oh, definitely. Women will flock to a man of means. Plenty of them good sensible women who appreciate the safety of a good income and will make good wives. But you’re not chasing a good wife. You’re chasing the woman of your dreams.”

“I, ah, wouldn’t say—"

“Does Miss Alyssa need someone who can bring in crowns or provide a new house? Of course she doesn’t. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself. Oh sure. Everyone likes to be pampered and having something of your own might dispel Alyssa’s image of you as her student but so what? Neither of those makes you, Lane Macklemore, more appealing.”

“Less appalling, maybe,” Alana adds. “Not that you’re appalling. I don’t know you. Just making a point.”

“A good one,” I emphasize before the clearly offended Lane can comment. “So, you need to ask yourself that question again.”

“What question?”

“What women want, idiot. Saints, ignore that. I take it back. The real question is, what does Miss Alyssa want? Women aren’t the same.” What I want is very different from what Kierra wants and that is very different from what Alana wants.

The young man huffs. “I know that much. Doesn’t mean I know how to figure it out.”

“You could ask her.”

“What?! That’s—you’re crazy!”

“Why? It’s the fastest and most accurate way of knowing her mind.” Short of having a succubus steal the information. “I don’t know why you’re so opposed to the idea.”

“Because…cause…” He trails off but the answer is obvious.

“Have you told her you want to stick your hands, and several other parts of yourself, down her pants?”

“NO!” he shouts, horrified.

“Well, there’s your problem. She can’t even consider you as a suitor if she doesn’t think you’re interested.”

“She knows I’m interested.”

“You sure about that?”

“She has to be! I’ve dropped hint after hint. I joined the Grand Watch. People would rather fight in the campaigns than be the Hall’s errand boys. We’ve lived in the same house, for saints’ sake.”

“So…you follow her around loyally. Do you know what else does that? Horses. Puppies. Children.” I chuckle. “And you wonder why she only sees you as a student.”

Lane frowns in indecision. “She has to know…right?”

“And if she doesn’t?” I sigh as the young man remains silent, worrying his bottom lip. “Then…” I try to prompt him, but I still don’t receive an answer. “Then you have to tell her.”

He shakes his head. “Can’t do that. I thought she knew and didn’t mind but if she doesn’t…”

“Yes, she may be disgusted by your feelings and send you away. Or she could be impressed by your daring and let you take her to dinner.”

“…no. I need to be careful about this. Feel her out.”

“You want to feel her out when you could be feeling her up?”

“You don’t know boss—"

“That’s another problem. How do you expect her to see you as anything but a lackey when you’re calling her boss? Unless she’s into that and I’m sure if she was, you’d know by now.” Miss Alyssa isn’t the type to tiptoe around her feelings. “All I’m saying is that if you wait too long, someone else will take your opportunity. Maybe that crusty hunter. They seemed close.”

“They aren’t close,” he quickly and vehemently denies.

“They’re close enough for her to invite him to a personal party.”

“She invited me to this party.”

“But we’ve already established she sees you as a lackey. I doubt she sees him as a lackey. That makes him a close friend or her date. Either way, leagues ahead of you.” I laugh at his stricken expression. “You don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to. Not like I have two wives and a mistress.”

Alana huffs but doesn’t object to being referred to as my wife, cheeks lightly flushed. If I didn’t have a woman in my arms, I’d squeeze her. She’s so adorable.

Lane, less so. He looks ridiculous grappling with himself. “I can’t,” he eventually says. “Maybe you’re right but…if I say it and she doesn’t…” He groans, shaking his head. “I can’t say it.”

I shuffle Cynthia as I approach him, freeing a hand so I can pat him on the shoulder. “Why do you think they call it liquid courage? Don’t worry, Lane. By the end of the night, you’ll be as brave as a saint. You might even have the woman of your dreams.”