They are bound, each, by oaths of necessity-- and though she is a princess by birth, a sorceress by circumstance, Aeriel is not a proud woman. To stay with him would be to doom the world; to bring him to her would betray the Equustel. She knows, without considering, that she is not worth that.

"I gave you your own, husband. If you love me, you love of your own free will," she murmurs into his neck, lips curving in an unseen smile. She twists her hand to rest upon his chest, to feel the steady beat of the heart she carried so long-- once gilded in lead by the water-witch, now strong and proud as befits a king. Of him, she is fiercely proud; that Irrylath could love her, that he has become this. She is proud, even, that he has kept his distance, rather than shirk his duty. It is all dearly won, but worth it.

"Nothing would please me more, than to stand by your side." But there is not a choice; there never has been.