AN: Okay, so I am the first one to admit the length of time it took me to post the next chapter has been ridiculous. However, I am now a nurse, going through my own medical crisis, and am in school to become a midwife. I have a lot going on. This chapter was a miracle in the making. I am hoping after my surgery to find some more inspiration and time to post. I cannot thank y'all for sticking around. Let me know what you think.

"You have a lot to learn my son," Sharamon said pointedly to Tus. It caused the younger man's cheeks burn with embarrassment, and he downcast his gaze. Garsiv stared at his family, and just tried to not allow himself the pain of the memories that surfaced as they spoke about the ongoing war. He was becoming very accomplished at burying the way he felt about it.

"Succession is not so cut and dry with less civilized governments," explained Nazim. Garsiv understood that all too well. Especially due to the fact that he had been with the Scythians so long. The previous King, before Garsiv put a blade between his ribs, did not seem the sort that would have heirs. The man had accumulated his land by pillaging villages until they agreed to join his command. There wouldn't be someone to take the throne. Many men would be fighting for their right to be called King.

Garsiv knew that Tus thought that the moment he learned the Scythian King was dead as well as there not being a king at the moment meant the war was over. He knew better though. On the contrary, that meant it had just begun. Eventually, the throne would be taken by whoever was the most cunning and fearsome to seize power. Being cunning did not necessarily mean that the individual would end the war. During his time with the barbarians, he knew that they would be coming for blood from Persia. It is what he himself would do, despite not being a barbarian.

Sharamon had ordered many villages to be slaughtered in the Scythian boarders in hopes that the King would return Garsiv. Garsiv knew the Scythian King had known about his people being slain on a daily basis. Never once did he even indicate that he would give Garsiv up for the lives of his people. If Garsiv was the man cunning enough to take the throne, he would come after Persia for blood. This would be the best reason as to why Garsiv was glad he was not the crowned prince or a King. Garsiv was a warrior. He was not fit to rule. A self-actualization he knew all too well. He hadn't even had the forethought about what marrying another woman would do to his household.

He wanted vengeance for what happened to him. It mattered not that he had killed the man who had him tortured. There were still the men out there who had tortured him, with or without orders. Garsiv would bear the scars as a reminder for the rest of his life that he had been brutalized while being a prisoner. He wanted them dead. He had not shared this with anyone from fear he wouldn't sound sane. His duty called for saving the lives of innocent people, and so had his father's. Grief had caused his people to commit atrocities to find him. In the end, it was Garsiv who found them. After his return his people retreated back into Persia, stopping the attack on the innocent Scythian villagers. Garsiv could not demand that they immediately march to Scythia and take it before someone else did, and destroy the men who had almost succeeded in almost destroying him.

Yet now it was starting to seem like a good idea to Sharamon to send in troops to occupy the Scythia in the name of Persia. Tus had been the first to disagree with the idea. Garsiv had wanted to say he agreed with his father but kept his mouth shut. There was a fear within him that stayed his hand in this matter. If he backed his father, it would only be coming from the part of him that wanted Scythian blood to make the rivers run red. If he backed Tus, he would be proving that he was not fit to rule an ever-expanding dynasty. The silence was something he could do.

His father was talking again and he found that he wasn't listening. He was stuck in his own mind with his own worries. After talking to Shraga a bit about what happened he knew eventually he would need to speak to someone more about what happened, and in more detail. He wasn't ready yet. He just wanted to look forward and try his hardest to forget. A prospect that was not bound to happen, forgetting that was. Try as he might, there were too many times since his return he woke covered in a sheen of sweat from the terrors that he was still living with by himself. Once he had gone to seek Shraga out. He had peered into her room and found her curled up on the couch with Iryanna stroking the other woman's silver gilt locks while whispering for her to sleep. He had wanted that to be him. He wanted the comfort that his first wife was giving his second wife. He had shut the door and retreated back to his chamber because he knew he was not worthy of the comfort he sought. And most certainly couldn't ask her to comfort him, not after what he had done to her.

His uncle drew his gaze away from his father and brother. Nazim stood there staring at his own brother. Sometimes Garsiv wanted to ask his uncle how he did that, suppress his emotions. Nazim was the master of blank expressions. Garsiv needed to learn how to do that. He needed to because it was getting harder to hide the fear and pain when he wasn't alone. Just the day before in the practice ring he had heard the snap of a whip in the distance. It caused him to stand still, allowing Dastan to slap him on the leg painfully with the flat of his sword. Dastan had made to ask Garsiv if he was okay, but when the men met their gazes, Dastan's eyes grew wide and questioning. Garsiv knew his brother was about to pry because Garsiv could barely contain the panic that was expressed onto his countenance. He had fled the arena, avoiding his brother the rest of the day.

Sharamon started to roll up the map they had been all standing over, signaling that meeting was coming to a close. Garsiv thanked the gods. He knew this was his duty as a prince to attend them, but he was better suited with a sword in his hand or discussing battle tactics and terrain. Not standing over the map and speaking about the politics of invading Scythia.

After the meeting was over and he exited into an open hallway he saw that the sun had already set and the braziers had been lit to light up the palace. He hadn't the slightest idea what time it was other than late. His muscles felt tired from sparring for the better part of the day, especially from fighting with his bad arm. Though it would be good for him to see the physician to have the healing herbs rubbed into his shoulder, he decided to skip it for the day. Maybe the pain was good for him. When he had been first learning swordplay he had worked through the pain of tired muscles and he was better for it. He felt like this would be no different.

He started towards his quarters. He made his way up the to the next level and across the palace, passing many servants and members of the high society. He ignored them all. He was tired and he didn't want to stay longer than was needed, so he kept his eyes straight, walking like he had somewhere to be. When he entered the part of the palace reserved for his brothers, him, and their wives, he glanced at the doors leading to Shraga's rooms. For a moment he felt drawn in that direction, but he stopped. Things between them had been doing better. She was trying so hard to let things improve between them. He admired and respected her for it. However, he didn't want to push his luck with her. In her own way, Shraga was a creature that desired her space.

So he went to his chambers. He entered them and the servants hadn't lit any of the braziers or candles in his room. That was odd, but he turned and lit a candle on an end table near the door. Even though he couldn't see he had done this many times. He lit the candle and with the light it offered he made his way through his chambers to light several other candles. After the fifth candle had been lit and he was about to light a brazier, he heard a groan from his bed.

He turned quickly, disturbing the flame of the candle in his hand, while his free hand went to the hilt of his sword. He was very surprised to see Shraga laying in his bed with her hands over her face. She was covering her eyes and she groaned again. His hand loosened from the hilt of his sword, but that did not stop the desperate beating of his heart against his ribs./p

"Oh please don't light any more candles, the light it making me hurt," she whispered as she tried to peek at him through her fingers at him. She huffed and closed her eyes again. He gave her a small smile that he was sure that she had not seen and sat the candle down on a table and then made his way over to his bed.

"Are you alright?" he asked. He sat on the edge of his bed. He wasn't too close to her, nor was he far away. If he so chose he could reach out and touch her. It was tempting. Her red hair was splayed out over his pillows and he found himself wanting to touch the silken strands closest to him.

His answer was a grunt from her, but she also managed to nod her head. Good, he thought, she is okay enough to at least to gesture.

"Is your head hurting?" he asked. He only assumed by the way her fingers rubbed circles into her temples. She sent him a scathing look before squeezing her eyes shut again. Another smile passed his face. The real question though that loomed over the both of them was why was she here and not her own chambers? He wanted to ask but he wasn't sure if he would get an honest answer from her. She sometimes had a tendency to say the first scathing thing that came to her mind and that had ways of getting under his skin.

"I used to sleep here sometimes when you weren't here. I must have come here out of instinct." Her explanation was simple but in ways, it was very complex. It was simply because it was where she had once laid her head, her home when he wasn't home. What made it complex was why had she slept here? He knew why. Shraga had feelings for him that was more than just because it was her duty to because she had been forced to marry him. Finally, his tenderness won over and he didn't care to keep his walls up around his wife from fear that he would upset her. Swiftly after kicking his boots off, he lay on the bed with his head propped up on a hand so he could stare down at her.

She was as beautiful as ever, even with her hands over half her face trying to hide from the soft glow of the five candles lit in various places around his room. He was happy that when she felt the bed move from his weight that she hadn't stiffened. She didn't even resist when he reached out and played with the hair that was above her ear, tucking her unruly hair behind her ear gently. In fact, she moved into his touch. As she did so, she parted her lips slightly with a sigh escaping between them. He was glad that he could comfort her in her time of need.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, wanting to care for her.

She shook her head no. However, she demanded that he blow out the candles. He chuckled but did as she bid. He left the bed and blew all of them out after setting one on the end table next to the bed for when she was able to stand the sight of light again. He sat on the edge of the bed again, but this time with his back to her. He too was tired, and now that his room was darkened, sleep loomed heavily over him threatening to take him sooner than later. He pulled off his blue tunic and tossed it into the darkness of the room. He had slept in the same bed as his wife before, however, he wasn't sure if he was invited to do so again since he came home from war. He didn't want to presume her feelings on the matter. He also didn't want to ask. So he made his mind up to sleep on the lounge across the room./p

Before he could get up he felt her fingers brush against his lower back. He turned to face her over his shoulder. It was ludicrous, she couldn't see him in the dark nor could he see her. Her gentle touch was all he needed though. It was her invitation for him to lay back down with her. He turned completely towards her when he settled himself prone on the bed beside her. He adjusted himself to her since she was lying on her back. He wrapped one arm around her middle and his other arm was over her head so he could angle it so he could brush his fingers through her hair. Her hands reached down to his arm over her middle where she rested them on his forearm./p

"I hope you feel better in the morning," he whispered before leaning forward and pressing his lips to her forehead. He heard her sigh again. His pulse was racing happily. It wasn't long until they both fell into a peaceful sleep.

Later he was woken up by a finger lining his lower lip. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that it was Shraga touching him. He smiled against her light touch but that didn't make her withdraw her hands, no matter that she was caught in the act.

"Not the worst way to be woken up," he whispered. She huffed at him. However, she kept her fingers tips gliding over his skin. "Feeling better?"

"Yes," was all she offered for an answer. She was preoccupied with touching him. She would not hear any complaints from him. He rather enjoyed her touch and wanted her to feel free to do so whenever she pleased. He wanted her to be comfortable with him, so he just lay back and let her do as she will. Her hand moved from his lower lip to the side of his cheek, where her fingertips whispered through his beard. It tickled and he couldn't stop himself from chuckling. Yet that didn't stop her from causing him the tingling torment. He couldn't see her face, it was still night, yet he liked to think that she was enjoying herself, wearing a wonderful smile.

Her feather light touch traveled along his neck, over the prominent lump that was distinct in most men. She caused the fine hair to stand up on the back of his neck, and a lump to rise to his throat. He didn't know what his wife was doing but he didn't care. He just wanted her to keep touching him as she willed. At his chest, she flattened her palm into the center of his chest, over his sternum. She was feeling his heart hammer excitedly under his ribs. He reached up and flattened his own hand over the back of hers, pressing her hand all the more into his skin before curling his fingers around her hand.

She was staring at him, he could tell, for he was staring up at her. He could see the shadows of her face, indicating her eyes were turned towards his. With his other hand, he reached up and palmed the side of her face, just to prove to himself that she was staring down at him. He was right. He wanted to touch her, he wanted to feel if her own heart was hammering against her chest like his was. Yet he didn't want to take over. This was for her. She had been the one who woke him up touching him. He didn't want to stop her. He let his hand slip from her face to her upper arm where he just let his thumb smooth over her soft skin. He also released her hand over his chest. He then waited for her to continue.

Her hand started moving again, over one of his defined pectoral muscles. It was there she found his nipple, by accident her nail scraped over it gently. On contact it became erect and he was surprised by the fact that he very much enjoyed the way that felt. His muscles tensed as electricity shot through his nerves because of the way she had touched him. She noticed it caused him pleasure, he knew she had because she touched the erect surface again, but this time she just used the tip of her index finger. He sucked in a sharp breath as desire coursed through him again.

His pulse was quickening, a fact that he couldn't hide from her. If she kept this up, other parts of him would start desiring her. She then glided her hand up and over his shoulder. Eventually, her hand found his bicep where she kneaded the flesh tenderly with her fingers. He was so distracted by her hand, that he didn't feel her lean into him until her lips brushed against his. The muscles in his abdomen tensed, pulling the skin taut over them, defining them all the more. He was going to come undone by her. Everything in him wanted to take control and kiss her the way he wanted. Except he still wanted her to set the pace. He needed this to be about her, not him, and he was sure she felt the same way. He wanted whatever this was to build her trust in him again.

His lips moved to mirror hers as she slowly slanted her mouth over his. She opened her mouth and he breathed her in, sucking the air she had been exhaling into himself. She made a little noise in the back of her throat because of it. He could hear his heart pounding his ears. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stop himself from grasping her, holding her tight, and possessing her mouth with his. She broke the kiss to look down at him.

He wished he knew what she was thinking, and what she was thinking. He didn't want to rush her so he just smiled up at her like he was content, and hoped that in the darkness her adjusted eyes could tell that he was alright with whatever she wanted. He would say it out loud but it felt like it would be presumptuous. She may have only wanted to steal the one kiss and touch him as much as she had. Her hand stopped kneading the flesh of his bicep. She placed it back near his lips and started lining his lower again. She was causing it to become sensitive. He wouldn't complain though, he liked the way it tingled in anticipation of what she would do next.

"Garsiv…" she started before she trailed off. It was his turn to make noises at her as his answer. He made a noise indicating for her to continue. He was so focused on her fingers that he was having a hard time thinking of words. "Do you love me?" she asked./p

"Immediately his attention was torn away from her touch to what she had just asked him. By Gods, she sounded so innocent and vulnerable. That was not the Shraga he was used to, but the question she just asked was a very brave one to ask anyone who hadn't said the words aloud yet. She feared his answer, and maybe if he hadn't brought another girl home as his wife too, she wouldn't fear his answer. He hated himself all the more because of his actions. His Shraga was such a strong woman, but even she had fears, wants, desires, and hopes. He fully understood in that moment how he had rocked this woman to her core, disrupting everything she had ever felt and known the day he asked Iryanna to marry him. The answer he was about to give her was not because of the things he had done, and it wasn't because of guilt. It was the honest truth despite everything.

"Yes," he declared.

"Say it," she demanded. Her voice cracked. He would never really understand exactly how much she needed him to say it out loud. He felt the hot tears drop from her chin onto his neck and chest. He cupped her face in both of his hands and wiped her tears away. The skin beneath his thumbs was warm and silky smooth.

"I love you, Shraga," he stated. "And only you," he added. He needed to admit that to her. He needed her to know that the only person in his heart was her. She released a shuddering breath that turned into a sob. Never had he seen her like this. He drew her closer to him and kissed her brow in a lingering kiss.

"Then show me," she whispered to him when he started to draw away.

AN: Please let me know if there are any strange formatting errors. I spent thirty minutes trying to resolve some formatting stuff that popped up after I posted. So if anyone finds any "/p" or any other weird stuff let me know.