May 30: "the dose makes the poison," feat. Kalasin and Faleron.

It wasn't her fault, not really, nor was it his. Faleron knew that he could quite easily blame her, because she was the one who had so coyly asked for empress lessons.

Common sense told him to say no, of course, because one simply did not deflower the Princess Royal two years before her marriage. It just wasn't done.

But Kalasin looked at him and fluttered her eyelashes and given him an imploring look, and he had never been able to turn down a pretty face.

Their lessons were always enjoyable. Faleron had always liked Kalasin just a little bit more than became a subject to a princess, and she returned the feelings. He was handsome, and friendly, and always offered very suitable escapes from boredom.

His aunt mentioned the importance of chastity and modesty in Carthaki society, once, in a lesson,and Kalasin rolled her eyes behind an innocent flutter of her fan, as usual.

But that night, curled up in bed with Faleron, and trying to catch her breath after a particularly passionate kiss, she felt a prick of guilt. It startled her more than the feather he tickled the soles of her feet with. She didn't feel guilty about things. She never had. Whether it was stealing jam tarts out of the kitchens with Roald, convincing Liam that there was a bloodthirsty monster inside the stables, or sleeping with her cousin, guilt just wasn't one of the emotions that affected her.

Kalasin buried her head in the pillow and groaned.

Faleron noticed, of course (she was being unusually unresponsive to his tickling), and bent to look her in the eyes. "Anything wrong?"

She looked up at him. "Kind of. Sort of. Maybe."

"Well?" he prompted.

She gave him a blank look.

Faleron sighed. "Just because we're bedmates doesn't mean we can't still talk."

Kalasin opened her mouth and considered what she was going to say. "…Nothing."

"Really?"

"I mean…what are we going to do during Midwinter? We'll be at the palace," she blurted.

Faleron blinked. "Well, I suppose that it'll be harder to give you your lessons there. We'll hold off on it for a bit. Besides, I'm going with my knight-master up North for a while."

"Oh." She felt a little disappointed, despite herself. More than a little disappointed. Something he said finally registered. "You're going up north?" she demanded.

He cracked one eye open, and gave her a curious look. "Yes."

"Oh," Kalasin said, again. The feeling inside her was back. "Be, um, be careful."

"Of course," he replied drowsily, and kissed her shoulder.

After he was asleep, Kalasin dressed and left quietly, not wanting to wake him.

They left for the palace the day after that. Kalasin had to ride with his mother, of course, but she found herself looking up the line once in a while, looking for him. Once in a while she would catch a glimpse of his smile, and she looked back down at her saddle, content, although she wasn't particularly sure why.

They didn't see each other the rest of Midwinter. Kalasin discovered that nights without Faleron were startlingly lonely. She spent most of them sleeping restlessly for most of the night, and walking around her room, looking out of the window, toward the brightest star in the sky, for the remaining hours. And the princess wondered how he was doing, and hoped he was safe.

By the end of the winter, Kalasin couldn't sleep at all. She spent nights sitting on the window seat, hugging her knees to her chest, and feeling disgusted with herself. She imagined his kisses, felt his touch against her chilled skin, and heard his gently teasing voice in the shadows.

When she folded herself into bed, she slept and dreamed of every single one of their lessons in such detail that she woke up sweating, aching, holding her pillow close to her chest. Every gasp of breath she took hurt with desire.

I'm addicted, Kalasin thought that evening. The thought came to her with such clarity that she was hardly surprised at it. I'm addicted like someone would be addicted to drink. I'm addicted to…

The princess could barely think the rest. Addicted to Faleron? Addicted to sex? Both thoughts disgusted her. She was above that.

And, Goddess bless it, it had been a recent development. When they first started lessons, she could go a few weeks without it without craving it so.

Kalasin realized that she needed to break her addiction, of course. She had to talk to Faleron as soon as he came back. And until then, there would be no more sleep for her. She didn't want to dream of it, to relive every searing detail.

She laughed, a little bitterly, at what her mother and aunts would say if they knew about this.

But Kalasin reckoned that it could be worse. This was only a mild addiction.

It wasn't as if she was falling in love with him, and that realization made her almost want to cry with the sheer gratitude. She had enough problems in her life without loving a man. Without loving Faleron, who was most certainly not her betrothed.

She hadn't begun wishing he was, Kalasin rationalized, so that was all right. She could work through this and remain sane.

That night, as Kalasin read one of Roald's old books, she chanced upon a phrase—the dose makes the poison, and she started laughing, and couldn't stop.