It isn't perfect.

When I was a child, I promised myself I would wait for marriage. And now, with Thranduil between my legs, oh-so-warm and smooth – is this really the time to revoke my promise? I know he means to seduce me; I can tell by his silky, hard length pressed against me.

But what about after he has his way with me? What then? I doubt that a mere human girl could fulfill the sexual needs – never mind the emotional or intellectual needs – of a great Elven-king. I don't want to give myself to someone only once – especially someone I know I'll never be able to get enough of.

I break off the kiss, tucking my chin into my chest, cutting off his access to both my lips and my neck. The reality of the situation comes flooding back. What kind of person would slip into bed with someone they hardly know?

"Thranduil. I'm sorry." I feel ashamed for leading him on. He's going to be furious with me. He'll surely kick me back out into the cold now. But I have to stay true to myself, no matter how much I like him – need him. "I can't sleep with you." I squeeze my eyes shut so I don't have to see the look on his face. And even though I'm trying so hard to stay rational, I bury my face in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

He wraps his arms around my back, drawing me closer to him. He sits up and pulls me into his lap. I keep my arms around his neck, trying so desperately to find his scent as comforting as I initially found it. His lips brush against my ear. "Tell me what's wrong."

What does this all mean? I feel like asking. I take a deep breath in. I know exactly why I feel guilty. The challenge is figuring out how to explain it to Thranduil.

I ran away from my family, not because they didn't love me – but because they loved me too much. My mother was too overprotective, keeping a close eye on me and forbidding me from forming any romantic relationships. As I matured into a young woman, the pressure became too much. My heart needed freedom.

And now I feel ashamed for wanting a new life with a man I barely know. My mother gave me shelter, protection, love – everything – and I deserted her.

"I miss my family," I finally say. "I think I need to go back."

He cups my face so he can make eye contact, so I can see he is sincere. "If that is what you wish, I will make it so."

I gulp. He doesn't appear to be angry. Is he hiding his true emotions? My shoulders relax. "Thank you."

He pulls away, his warm hands the last thing to leave my skin. "I will send my guard for a weather report."

I shiver, drawing the blanket around my body as I watch him dress, making himself presentable before he leaves me for the first time.

About twenty minutes later, he returns to his bedroom. "The weather is clear and suitable for travelling." He hands me a bundle of fabric. "I took the liberty of having your garments washed and mended."

I bow my head. He's so kind. I can't believe I'm leaving him. "Thank you."

"I cannot, in all good conscience, allow you to travel alone. I will escort you back to your home, to ensure you arrive safely at your destination."

My head snaps up to look at him, but he avoids eye contact. He is slowly striding away from me, his chin held high but his eyes cast downward, as if conveying a calculated aloofness. I know I was foolish for travelling alone the first time, but if he or any of his guards escorted me back, would that not take time away from his other obligations?

But if I tried to travel alone… that would mean we'd have to say goodbye right now. My gaze slips down the cool length of his hair. It hurts too much to look at his profile. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Only if you choose to."

I hug my bundle of clothes to my chest. "Do you want to see me again?" My voice trembles, despite my best efforts.

He makes eye contact, freezing me. "Why would you ask such a thing?" His voice is pressured.

I look down, unable to maintain his intense gaze. "Because I feel like I need you more than you need me. There are so many girls out there." I can't believe what I'm saying. I start to sort out my clothes, trying to appear nonchalant, but my hands are trembling. "But there's only one King Thranduil." I'm trying to get my foot into my leggings, and then I see his feet in front of me. I blink hard and look up. He is so tall, just looking at him makes me dizzy.

"No." He takes my hands, lifting me onto my feet. I stand in front of him, close enough to feel his warmth through his clothes. "You are the only one."

He kisses me gently.

His thumbs are in my palms, and I hang on to this small part of him as his large hands cover mine completely.

I break away from his kiss. "I want to stay here with you."

"Then stay."

"But…"

As much as I'd love to remain in this romantic fantasy, I'd have to face reality at some point. How would I make use of myself all day while he went about his tasks? I wouldn't feel right about staying here if I couldn't earn my keep, but I don't even know what – if any – jobs there are for a human in an Elf kingdom. Besides, he probably runs things so smoothly, there likely aren't any holes in his kingdom that need to be filled.

Even though he's dressed, I'm still naked – not an ideal state in which to discuss job opportunities. Besides, there are too many remnants of the dream floating around for me to start talking about reality. "When I left my family, I was being selfish, I think. And it would be selfish of me to ask you to escort me home. I think the best thing to do would be to write them a letter so they know where I am. So they can pick me up."

He lowers my hands. His face has grown serious, impossible to read.

He waits for me to dress, and then he takes me to what appears to be his office – a vaguely circular room with a lit fireplace and an impressive oak desk. His long legs allow him to stride ahead of me to the large chair behind the desk. "You may help yourself to my materials." He pulls the chair out, gesturing for me to take a seat. I think about how regal he must look, occupying that chair as though it were made for him – which it probably was. As I sit down, I try not to think about how puny I must look in the chair by comparison. I'd give anything to be able to fit into his world.

Gleaming stationery lays in front of me. A long peacock feather quill sits to the right. So he's right handed…

I tear my eyes away from the beauty of his desk to see him striding towards the exit. I speak up before I can stop myself. "Wait. Could you… stay with me?" When he turns to look at me, his gaze causes the words to tumble from my mouth. "Unless you're busy. I'm sorry, I'm being selfish again."

"You're not being selfish, you're being human. It's refreshing, endearing, and…" In just a few steps, he's beside me again. "Exactly what I'm looking for." He leans over so his left hand is on my shoulder and his right hand is against the desk. The intimacy of his closeness makes it hard for me to breathe. I don't know how I'm going to be able to concentrate on writing a letter.

"Thank you for letting me use this." I pluck the quill from its holder. The quill is in excellent condition but I can tell it's well-loved by how soft it is. I try not to think about the oils from his hand transferring over every time he used it, leaving a permanent, invisible mark on his possession. "You've been nothing but generous since the beginning. I know you said I'm not being selfish, but it's hard not to think that way when you're so kind."

He pushes the ink pot closer towards me so I don't have to reach so far. "On the contrary, I'm quite capable of being selfish." He removes the lid from the ink pot. With a surprising amount of carelessness, he lets it fall from his grasp onto the desk. He brushes the hair away from my neck, exposing my bare skin to him. "I could keep you here."

I nearly upset the ink pot. Is he serious? I start to doubt my judgement; I thought for sure he was trustworthy. Is he capable of holding me here? And am I capable of fighting him? Would I even put up a fight?

Another wave of guilt washes over me. I know I wouldn't fight him. I would stay here with him, if he made me. I try again to dip the quill in the ink without spilling anything, putting all my energy into making sure my hands don't shake. "I'm just worried that you'd get bored with me."

"Perhaps you would be the one to grow bored with me?"

I turn to look at him, my eyes wide. He's got one eyebrow cocked. I'd think he was teasing if his tone hadn't been so serious. "No, I could never," I stammer.

He laughs and it's intoxicating, perplexing, because if it came from anyone else, I would be sure they were making fun of me. But somehow he sounds as though he's on my side. "But we barely know each other. How can you be so certain?"

He's playing devil's advocate, and it's frustrating because it's working. "Because there's something about you. I don't know, I can feel it."

His gaze drops to my lips. He closes the distance between us, and my eyes drift shut.

"Write the letter," he says. "If you don't, I will. However, I cannot promise you that my message would be the same as yours."

I open my eyes. He's still got his hand on my shoulder, but he has pulled away from me. My face heats up. I shouldn't have expected a kiss. I shouldn't expect anything from him. It's too risky. But what he said has me intrigued. "What would you tell my mother?" I imagine introducing him to my family…

And then I scold myself. What business would an Elven-king have meeting a human family of no status? His bedroom is almost as big as my entire house.

His hand grazes my smaller one as he steals his quill from my grasp. "I would tell her that her beautiful daughter is unable to return home, as the Elven-king of the Woodland Realm has claimed her as his wife."

I jump and my head snaps to look at him. He strokes the feather against his chin. His smile suggests he's waiting for my reaction.

I hold out my hand. "I think I'd better write the letter."

His deep laugh makes me light-headed. I barely register the quill being placed back in my hand; my mind is racing. He's trying to get under my skin. Or is there truth to what he said? Is he really looking for a wife? But he would marry royalty… or at least an Elf. He's teasing me.

I scribble hastily, before the devil in me lets him write that letter. What a horrible joke that would be to play on my family. After all, I still love them. It's just that I love freedom above all.

Dear Ma,

I am at the Elven-king of the Woodland Realm's fortress. His Elven guards are keeping me safe. I request that you meet me here so that I may return home safely.

Love,

I sign my name, exhausted. My mother probably won't even recognize my penmanship, it's so shaky.

As I let the ink dry, he hands me an envelope so I can write my address on it. He takes the letter and slips it inside the envelope, and then exits the room to summon a servant.

"Send our fastest courier," he says to the servant. "It is crucial that it be delivered today."

I clasp my hands in my lap. I know he's only trying to be helpful, but does he really want my mother to come that quickly?

I feel a surge of regret. I want to run out and grab the letter and tell him I want to stay here. But it's too late now. I try to console myself; I've made the responsible and rational choice.

I hear him re-enter the room. I keep my head bowed until I see his hand, palm up, in front of me. "My little one, you must be famished."

My anxiety was quelling my appetite, but he's right – I can't remember my last meal. I place my hand in his and he helps me rise. "Yes."

"Follow me." He drops my hand to open the door, holding it open for me. "As long as you are with me, I accept full responsibility for your wellbeing."

"You are very kind to your guests."

"Not all of them."

As I walk through the doorway, I catch a glimmer of wickedness in his eyes that makes me doubt his goodness all over again.

He leads me through the winding corridors, holding my hand the entire time, his thumb on top of mine. I would have thought that holding his hand would have been as life changing as kissing him, but strangely, it's not – in a good way, though. It feels so natural, as though my right hand was made for his left hand. The hand on which he'd wear a wedding band...

I feel dizzy again, embarrassed even though my thoughts are private – thank God. I wish I could drive that ridiculous comment about being his wife out of my head. He was only joking; he's probably moved on and forgotten about it by now.

A plateful of steaming vegetables and delicious, crystal-clear water were the only things seductive enough to draw my attention away from him. A hot meal – let alone fresh vegetables – required so much effort to attain, back at home, it's almost unbelievable how easily accessed they are here.

After dinner, I worry about what he has planned for me. I wonder if he'll take me back to his bedroom…

I stopped him from seducing me once, but how much more resistance do I have left? What if he's capable of taking me against my will?

I try to push the thought from my mind. I feel ashamed for having that kind of thought about someone who has been nothing but kind.

He takes my hand again. The glimmer is back in his eyes. "Tell me, my little one. Do you enjoy music?"

My heart skips a beat. "Yes, I do."

"Excellent, because we will be dancing to it."

My mouth opens, but I catch myself before my entire jaw hits the floor. It's not that I hate dancing… but I'm not exactly an expert at it. And dancing with Thranduil would probably make me so nervous, I'd trip over my feet before the music even started.

But I don't want to be rude. He is my host – and rescuer – and besides that, he's a king. I owe him so much respect, it's intimidating. I smile, hoping he doesn't notice me gulp. "Okay."

I look down at my clothes. As if reading my mind, he waves his hand. "It is an intimate gathering, rather informal. Do not concern yourself with the mundanities of dress. You are already radiant."

I feel light-headed again. He holds my hand a little more firmly so I can lean on him.

He leads me to a gathering of about ten other elves, held in a cozy room with a skylight offering everyone a perfect view of the stars. I peer up at the sheer vastness of the night. The crescent moon seems to hang at the top of the sky like a little smile.

He pours me a cup of wine. It's so delicious – it isn't dry, like the few other wines I've tasted. This one is deliciously wet, it's almost like juice, only incredibly, unbelievably better, and I can't get enough –

He gently guides the chalice away from my lips, his eyebrows raised. "Careful. Savour it, my little one."

He introduces me to everyone, using my full name.

"And who is she?" one of them speaks. The room falls silent as they all eye me curiously.

I look at him, having no idea how to respond. What am I to him? Heat prickles my face, partly from embarrassment and partly from the wine. I try to let go of his hand. I am nothing to him. He doesn't need me.

He tightens his grip on my hand. "She is mine."

After engaging in a round of conversation with everyone, he leads me through a doorway out onto a rooftop terrace. "Wait here." He goes back inside to talk with someone in hushed tones. I hear them burst out laughing.

Are they laughing at me? I'm hit with a sudden wave of nausea. I grip the railing that divides Thranduil's party from the rest of the world, shivering.

He returns wearing a thick cape, holding another one in his hands. He comes up behind me and places it around my shoulders, taking great care to ensure it fits snugly.

The moon is bright, but it can't cut through the darkness of the trees. I look out onto the view of the forest. I can't believe I travelled through it alone. Thranduil stands beside me; he could rival the trees, for he is just as tall and mysterious.

I hold my tongue. I have so many things I want to tell him, but I stay silent in case he has something important to say.

"I am afraid I must confess something."

His voice makes me shiver again. Or maybe the cape he gave me is too thin.

I inhale the cold night air, hoping it will help clear my senses. I try to remain calm, but a part of me wonders, did I make a bad impression? That's why they were laughing. Or maybe he really is toying with me, and they're in on it. That's why he didn't want me to change my clothes, so he could give his friends a laugh.

He slips his hand inside my cape, touching my waist – the touch feels too intimate, given my level of nervousness. The forest is too ominous; I turn to him so I'll have something beautiful to look at instead.

His face grows serious. "I destroyed the letter."

My mouth hangs open. I shake my head. "But…"

"Now you know I can be selfish. I hope you can forgive me, my little one."

Part of me feels angry. Now I know he is capable of lying and keeping secrets from me. I want to turn away, to deny him the ability to hold me.

But a darker part of me feels aroused by his deviousness. If he'd do anything to keep me with him – even lying, temporarily – then does that mean he truly wants me? I look down at his chest. "I can't say I forgive you."

He breathes my name, causing me to heat up over how nice it sounds to hear him say it. He wraps his other arm around my waist, and I'm deciding if I should let him touch me, when –

He leans down and kisses me, pressing me against the railing and holding me tight against his body. I keep my eyes open. This is more forceful than what I'm used to. So far he's given nothing but gentle kisses, but this one has a touch of ferocity in it. Are his sweet kisses the norm, and this kiss the aberration? Or is he actually aggressive – his gentleness just temporary?

I want to hope that he's normally gentle.

He moves a hand to the back of my head, tilting it until the angle of it pleases him, and then he kisses me so passionately…

My legs feel weak. I wobble a bit and my lips become unfastened from his. I whimper slightly from the loss of contact, and then chide myself for showing how much I need him. He is powerful and independent in ways I could only dream of being. No matter what he says, he'll never truly need me.

My voice is barely audible. "What about the others inside?"

"I told them all to leave."

The air feels icy on my lips without his pressed against them. I turn my head to look at the forest so he can't see my eyes. "So my family will never know where I am."

He holds my face and says my name. Gently. I sigh with relief, smiling, melting into the warm touch of his hands.

He shakes his head. "No, darling, I had the letter delivered."

I smile. Now I know for sure he's joking. "You said you destroyed it."

"I destroyed your letter. And then I sent my own. My little one, your family knows exactly where you are."

I freeze and try to suppress a choke. "Your letter…?"

He takes my hand in his. "I wish for you to stay here, as my wife."