The Shining Falcon

It's none of his affair! she thought defiantly. After all, aside from the scandalous fact that she and Finist had spent several nights together, alone, they'd done nothing for which either of them could truly be censured, even though she knew he—and to be honest, she, too—burned for more than those few reasonably chaste kisses they'd exchanged in their brief meetings.

«Finist…»

«What is it, love? What's wrong?»

She bit her lip. «Nothing.»

But she was thinking of how it was with more ordinary couples. While, properly, it should be the fathers, not their offspring, who first suggested alliances and betrothals, it still wasn't unheard of for two young people to fall in love quite on their own. But in such a case, the young man must go to his beloved's father to sue for her hand, the father must give his permission; he had all legal rights over his daughter, after all, and without his consent, there could be no marriage.

Marriage. She wasn't sure Finist even had such an idea in his mind. She wasn't even sure she wanted it.

For an instant, a wicked image raced through her mind, she and Finist running off to live in delicious sin… But then it was as quickly replaced by her father's face, sad-eyed and anguished for his daughter's sake. Dear Heaven, how could she ever think of hurting him like that?

Maria sighed. Why try to pretend? Oh, she was grateful to Finist for respecting her honor, or at least she told herself she was. And these past nights had been the most wonderful in her life. But they'd have to end unhappily. How else? As soon as Danilo learned the truth, he'd try to exorcise Finist, or—royalty or no—have him burned!

How much longer can I remain chivalrous? wondered Finist.

And yet the prince was forced to admit that something besides honor controlled him. He couldn't quite forget the memory of a sleek golden form, lit by candlelight, half-hidden by candlesmoke, of a room close with the scent of burning wax and perfume, of joyless lust where there should have been delight… Oh, no. There would be nothing like that for Maria. When they came to share a bed, let it be with wonder, with honest pleasure, not with shame.

I want her, all at once he knew it, I want her as my wife.

The impact of that so sudden, so final realization quite stunned him.

My wife … Finist repeated weakly. But at the same time, something deep within him was singing, Yes, oh, yes! And now that the first shock was wearing off, he wondered why he had been surprised at all. He had known virtually from his first sight of Maria that she was the one for him, that he must love her then and now and forever. And she—oh, the wonder of it was enough to leave him weak and shaken, but—she loved him! She did love him! And after all this midnight courting, after the magic of their linking, it should be clear to both of them that they belonged together, so let him gather up his courage and be bold, just like any ordinary man with his love, and say what he meant to say.

Come now, Finist chided himself, it shouldn't be so difficult.

Shouldn't it? Amazed, bewildered, the prince suddenly found himself shaking, as dry of mouth as though he'd tried some spell far beyond his powers.

Ridiculous. He swallowed nervously, and began, «Maria…»

«Yes?»

«Maria, I…» The prince stopped again, struggling for words. This really was the most ridiculous— He'd faced down angry boyars, sly ambassadors, all without a trace of nerves to him, but now—

«Maria," he began once more, doggedly. «We've been together now for a time, before, when I was—ah—Finn, now, here in Stargorod, where I can be myself, and I think I must ask‑I mean — " Finist stopped with a little exclamation of self‑disgust. «Do you love me?»

«My dear, you know I do!»

«You know—at least, I pray you know—that—that I love you, as well.»

«Finist, love, what are you trying to say?»

«I— Few princes ever have to worry about this sort of thing. It's taken care of by their ministers in cold-blooded political deals, the sort of thing into which emotion never enters. But I—I — " Dammit! «Maria, will you marry me?»

The young woman stared at him blankly, plainly as stunned as he'd just been. «Are you allowed to ask that? I mean, aren't you supposed to clear things with your boyars first, and — "

«I am their prince," Finist said flatly. «They will support my wish.» He stirred uneasily. «Akh, but I don't mean to sound so pompous! Maria, love, they won't protest. That is, if you‑Maria, please! Will you marry me!»

He saw the realization of what he'd said at last sink in, And to his horror, he watched her eyes well up with tears. Blinking fiercely, biting her lip, Maria turned sharply away.

«Oh, Finist, I can't!»

«I… see.»