*Jon*

Two weeks after the Battle for Port Abbaster, the queen held a festival that was to last three days and three nights. The entirety of King's City was in an uproar as country nobles flocked to the capital for the festivities. 

Jon had been released from the infirmary the day before the start of the festival with instructions to walk as little as possible to spare the strain on his fractured leg. His left wrist was still wrapped in yards of cotton, but at least he was no longer confined to his bed.

On the first night of the festival, the queen hosted a feast. Jon found himself seated at the High Table with the royal family and the rest of the Council. The feast was a prelude to the festivities, and would be followed by a second meal at midnight. 

At the first meal, Jon found himself without a dinner partner–which was not necessarily that bad. There were only two women at the High Table: the queen, who partnered her father, and Lady Dor who was partnering her husband. Looking out at the other diners, Jon wondered why none of the other prestigious ladies present–not least which were the queen's own attendants–hadn't been invited to dine with any members of the Council. It was traditional, after all, for each nobleman to be partnered by a lady. Jon knew that Idris, among others, enjoyed engaging in various liaisons, all of which he was wont to flaunt before the court. It was surprising that he hadn't taken advantage of the feast to call attention to his latest skirt. As for Lord Rolond, Jon was surprised he hadn't insisted his godsdaughter, Lady Mary, join them. 

Jon swept the room with his gaze, surveying each diner, until his eyes fell upon a slight, forlorn figure in a deep blue gown. Lady Mary picked at her meal, her eyes on her plate, as her dinner partner ignored her in favor of flirting with the lady across from him, Isadora Pender–who Jon wasn't surprised to see monopolizing the attention of the male diners. 

Yet, despite the obvious allure of Lady Isadora's vermillion gown and golden locks, Jon found he couldn't tear his gaze away from the drabber Mary. For some reason, the pallid, gaunt girl-child seemed far more beautiful to him than any other woman in attendance, even Isadora, who many considered the loveliest lady at court. 

The feast concluded quickly enough, and the nobles began filing out of to the palace grounds where the festivities would begin. The queen and her advisors were among the last to leave the Great Hall, moving slowly so Jon and Declan, with their injuries, could keep up. 

Eventually, though, they came to the large, empty, green expanse that separated the palace from the city. But the Commons, as that space was called, were no longer empty. Large, white tents framed a small, temporary garden. Inside the nearest tent, dancers cavorted across the plank floor to the strains of a cheerful reel. 

The queen entered to lively fanfare, and the orchestra moved into a jig. The queen and her father took to the floor to lead the dance, the rest of the court following their queen's lead. Within moments, the dance floor was transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors as the ladies' gowns twirled and flashed brilliant in the torchlight, their colors melting into an iridescent blur. 

Jon retreated to the edge of the tent and sank into a chair, heaving a relieved sigh as his weight shifted off his injured leg. As he leaned back with a stifled groan, her heard a startled gasp come from beside him. 

He whirled around and came face to face with a pair of frightened green eyes and a dark blue gown. In his haste to relieve his pain, he'd accidentally brushed his hand along someone's arm. No, not someone: Lady Mary. 

"My lady," he stammered out. "I beg your pardon. I was distracted." 

Mary ducked her head. "It's all right," she murmured, red flags of embarrassment flashing on her cheekbones. She moved to stand up. "I'll just go, then, my lord." 

Jon reached out a hand. "Stay, please," he said. Mary hesitated. "You were here first. If anyone should go, it is me." He moved to stand, bracing himself for the jolt of pain that would hit his leg at any moment. 

"Don't," Mary said, settling beside him. "There's more than enough room for us both. I just thought you wanted privacy." Jon very nearly sighed in relief, and he scooted himself back until he was more comfortably seated. 

"Thank you, my lady," he said sincerely, startling a small smile from her lips. They lapsed into silence. Mary twisted the necklace she wore between her fingers, her brow creased in worry. Jon watched her for a moment, and then realized that his attention might be considered rude. He turned away to watch the dancers. 

After awhile, Mary spoke. "My lord? I hear you are the one responsible for advocating for my release from... the tower, I never got a chance to thank you for fulfilling my requests, to a higher degree than I would have thought possible." 

Jon didn't know what to say. All he'd done was parrot her words to Declan, who had handled everything else. "It was the least I could do," he said finally. "I trust you are happy? You have everything you need?"

Mary's cheeks flushed. "Oh, yes," she hurried to say. "Yes." After a moment in which she nibbled delicately at her lip, she asked, "Why?" 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Why did you do this for me, my lord? I am nothing to you." 

Jon didn't know what to say. Why had he done it? All he'd known was that, when he'd seen her huddled in that prison, he'd had to do something. "I couldn't just leave you there," he settled for saying. 

Mary looked down at her lap, her eyes shining, almost as if she was crying. No, she was crying, large tears running discreetly down her cheeks. 

Jon was startled out of his propriety. He'd never really spent much time with women,unless it was the kind of woman who could be bought for a few hours' pleasure. So he reacted on impulse, reached out and took her hand. "My lady, what is it? Have I insulted you?" he asked.

Mary looked up, the tears on her cheeks glistening in the torchlight. She took a shuddering breath and spoke, her voice a rough whisper. "Nobody ever cared before," she managed. 

It was her broken voice that cut the deepest, Jon realized. During her four years' imprisonment, so much had been taken from her–her home, her family, her freedom–that she'd lost hope. Jon couldn't imagine a life without hope. It was his hope that had kept him going when his father shunned him, when his brother turned his back on him, when his sister wrote to him, knowing she'd never see him again. 

Suddenly, the whirling dancers, the raucous music and wild colors all seemed too much. The extravagance, the needless show of wealth and power grated on his sanity and made him sick. Abruptly, he stood and offered a hand to his companion. "Walk with me," he suggested. 

Lady Mary's eyes widened, and she glanced around. Hesitatingly, she placed her hand in his and stood. Jon tucked her hand under his arm, suddenly conscious of how the top of his head barely came to her chest. Mary favored her mother, and had quite obviously inherited Arabella's tall stature, if not her regal bearing. 

Together, they strolled from the tent, attracting a fair few stares as they went. They were an odd couple, Jon had to admit–the disgraced daughter of an unfaithful queen, and the disowned dwarf-son of a proud, rich man. Yet, at the same time that people whispered that she had traitor's blood, Mary was, alongside her sister Grace, one of the wealthiest heiresses in Valoria, just as Jon, whose brother was barren and sister was dying, was heir to one of the most powerful families in the kingdom.

How strange it was, Jon reflected as they made their way out of the tent, that the gods would place people like himself in positions of such power, and give them no power at all. 

As they stepped into the night, Mary's guards fell in behind them, and Jon had to fight the urge to order them to go lurk somewhere else. He kept his mouth shut, though, and, twisting his face into a blank mask, simply wandered up towards the palace with Mary floating beside him. 

They spoke very little, simply reveling in the company of someone who didn't judge them for something they'd had no say in. The closer they came to the palace, the more space the guard gave them, seemingly trusting that Mary was not about to attempt to run away. 

Once they'd reached the great, oaken doors to the palace, Jon thought to wonder where they were going. Since he had no idea, he simply let Mary lead. 

The pair drifted through the silent halls, absorbed in their own thoughts. It was Mary who broke the silence. "I remember, when I was little, Roald and I would sneak away from formal events and run and hide in the Temple." She laughed ruefully. "It seems strange now to remember. Would you mind terribly if we went there, my lord?"

Jon couldn't bring himself to refuse the girl beside him a chance to remember her family, now that she was alone in the world. Mutely, he gave her arm a squeeze and guided her towards the Temple. Mary paused before the ancient standing stone outside the Temple doors just long enough to kiss her fingers and press them against it, so Jon felt obligated to do the same.

He'd never been very religious. It wasn't that he didn't believe–he did. It was simply hard to worship the gods who had thought it fit to create a monster such as himself. But now, watching Mary's serene piety, considering the life she had, he wondered if, perhaps, her continued faith was not bling folly, but its own type of hope. 

He found he'd frozen before the standing stone, staring up at its gargantuan height, with Mary's slight form no longer above him. For a moment, he was worried, until he caught sight of the flicker of a single candle on the altar before the statue of the Moon goddess. 

Mary knelt before the silver goddess's likeness, her face turned up towards the vaulted ceiling, a single beam of moonlight from a high window bathing her form in its silver glow. 

Tentatively, Jon selected a candle from the basket by the doors, lit it from a lamp's flame, and carried it over to place beside Mary's. He had to stretch to set it atop the altar, but once he had, he felt a small wave of triumph rush through him. 

Smothering a groan of pain as he bent his injured knew, he settled awkwardly beside Mary, hissing under his breath as fiery agony raced through his leg. He heaved himself back to his feet. With his injury, it seemed kneeling in prayer was not an option. 

Mary glanced over at him. With her kneeling and him standing, their eyes were on a level. "Are you all right?" she asked, her voice hushed and gentle. 

Jon brushed her off with a hasty, "Yes, yes." 

Mary pursed her lips. In this light, with her hair done up and her head cocked to one side, she looked so like her mother that it sent shivers down his spine. Her eyes, so bright and clear, seemed to catch his lie, for they widened. 

"I'd forgotten you were injured," she admitted, forlorn, like a guilty child. Her green eyes filled with shame and disappointment. "I'm sorry. This is the worst place we could have come. I shouldn't have suggested it." Her head hung, and her lips trembled. She was the very picture of contrite repentance. 

And, simply to comfort her in her crestfallen state, not at all because she was so beautiful, so good and pure–so Jon told himself–he leaned across the distance between them, and kissed her. 

Beneath his lips, Mary's mouth was still and unresponsive. Her lips were parted in surprise, her breath caught in her throat. Jon felt his own lips still, and he pulled back. His head swam with disgust and self-loathing. He'd never before forced himself upon an unwilling woman, yet Mary had looked so sweet and sad, had seemed to genuinely like him. 

What had he done? Perhaps he was the monster so many believed him to be. 

Mary must have read his doubt and disgust at himself on his face, for she reached out, twining her hands in his hair, and pulled him to her. 

Their lips met, and this time, Jon was left breathless and startled. As Mary's hands tangled in his hair, Jon felt a strange warmth creep through his veins, almost like a goddess's kiss. 

A/N: Yay! Finally some romantic action going down in King's City! Let me know what you think of Mary and Jon. Do you think they'll work out? Do you agree with my choice, or did you think I was going to have Declan and Mary wind up together? Also, is there anyone else you think will wind up with someone else? Let me know!

On a completely different note, some of you guys may have noticed I'm going to try out a new updating schedule. Opening (and, later, Passive) will stay on Sundays. Donkeyskin (for those of you reading it) will get updated on Tuesdays (that might change to Mondays when next semester starts). Exile will be on Thursdays or Fridays, depending on my schedule. So there you have it. I'm actually planning ahead, for once. 

Also, I'm so sorry I haven't been updating recently. The end of the semester is fast approaching, and I've been really busy with last-minute assignments for all my classes. This week is exam week, so I'll be procrastinating a lot. I might even get around to finishing the Epilogue, which I'm still working on. (Side note: I realized that the Epilogue will be about 6+ pages long, handwritten, so wish me luck!)

Don't forget to VOTE/COMMENT and let me know what you think. It always means so much when people take the time to just click that little "vote" button, or leave a polite comment with their opinion. Anyway, thanks so much for reading!