He sees her there, sitting against a low stone wall in a garden in the Labyrinth, enjoying the spring weather. Reading. He hesitates to disturb her. Her beauty there, on the emerald grass with petals falling around her, takes his breath away. A thousand years of wonders, and all else pales compared to her. And she has no idea.

The irony amuses him for a moment. King of all the land, he hesitates to enter a meadow for fear of disturbing a mortal girl, albeit one wrapped firmly around his heart. No. Not for fear of disturbing her. For fear of what she'd do if disturbed. Would she ignore him? Lash out? Or perhaps just give that small sad sigh, as if he were a bothersome puppy that simply couldn't believe not everyone adored him. The unpredictability that delighted him so now grates.

He's given her everything she could want and more. He created for her a perfect world, wearing himself out to bend the labyrinth to his will. The day is jewel bright, every petal that falls so artlessly around her is flawless. The stones she leans against are as a sculptor's lifetime work. Each blade of grass she sits upon exquisitely formed. The sun never blinds her, the breeze never chills her. He's charmed her with a thousand charms to make her life the better. Her chairs are never uncomfortable, her feet are never cold. Her hair never tangles, her skin never burns. And she never notices. He sighs softly.

She can almost see him there, out of the corner of her eye. Just standing. Watching. Waiting. She doesn't look at him, doesn't acknowledge him at all. But neither can she continue reading her book. So she waits. Though he doesn't know it, she's become accustomed to him. Though she doesn't admit it, she likes his company. Goblins, while amusing, make poor companions. She wonders how he's borne it for so long. Then she puts that thought out of her mind.

She's discovered she has a sort of sixth sense now. One that always tells her where he is, if she cares to know. It's sort of like the noise of the wind in the trees, or the feel of the petals falling gracefully onto her hair. She can ignore it mostly. But not always. She doesn't know if this is one of his spells or not. He's put so many on her. She can feel them. They're gossamer fine, but when they build up, they become a burden. She wishes she could peel them off. At first she thought them placed on her to torment her. Now she knows that he simply doesn't understand that the sweet is all the sweeter for tasting the bitter.

She wonders what would happen if threw her book aside, ran to him, and flung her arms around his neck. Part of her is tempted. That same part is tired of the fighting, the continual pointless battles. An inch gained this day, an inch lost the next. But it's not in her nature to surrender. Neither is it in his. And so they shall remain, head locked for eternity. She sighs, ever so slightly.

She knows he's there. There's a stillness, a tenseness even, that isn't present when he's not there. Or at least, when she doesn't know he's there. She hasn't turned a page in her book for the last few minutes. She's waiting. Refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge her at all. He wonders is this good or bad, and curses her silently. Every other female of his acquaintance is an open book to him. He can read them effortlessly, he knows their words, he knows their actions, before they take place. The goblins are better company. What they lack in intelligence, they make up in amusement.

He recalls his mind from its wanderings, and decides that he must either leave or do something. Merely standing there, waiting, is torturous. He reminds himself he is the king, he waits for no one. Then he reminds himself that this is the attitude which has caused him so much trouble with her in the past.

He approaches her on cat-quiet feet. She visibly tenses, but still doesn't acknowledge him. He debates several things to say, running them through his mind, testing her reaction. In the end, he opts for silence. He takes a seat on the stone wall above her. In her space, but out of it. She's sitting at his feet, but he feels no rush of power. It is, instead, gratitude that he feels. Gratitude that she's allowed him near her at all. He glances down at her quickly, then looks ahead, out over his Labyrinth. Slowly he relaxes as his mind traverses its paths. It's oddly companionable, just sitting there with her, and he's content.

A slight pressure on his leg, and he glances down. She's rested her head against his knee. The first time since he brought her here that she has ever voluntarily touched him. His heart races. She turns a page with forced carelessness. Taking his cue from her, he tears his gaze from her dark head resting on his knee and stares out over the Labyrinth, unseeing. Something rushes through his veins, something unlike anything he's ever felt before. It's almost like…joy.

A/N: Yeah, I thought A Day in Forever was a oneshot. Turns out it wasn't. Hope you enjoyed. Reviews always welcome.