The faint voice caught the young man's attention, making him turn from the window and stare at the doorway. Silhouetted by the soft candlelight behind him, the young prince stood with one hand against the doorframe, the other nervously fiddling with his earring. His blue eyes stared out with confused concern.

"Trowa, my love, are you all right?"

Lowering his head, Trowa nodded mildly. "Just...a little tired..." He looked back out the window at the vast landscape before him. The crescent moon, partially concealed by black clouds, cast a dim light on the dark sands below. Hurled out among the black sky, stars sparkled like sheets of diamonds, twinkling in the desert's heat.

Quatre came closer, shutting the door quietly behind him. His light boots tapped across the stone floor until he sat down on the windowsill, a few inches from Trowa. A little smile crept onto his face, he couldn't help it. The quiet boy beside him seemed to love gazing out the window at the night sky almost as much as Quatre loved to gaze at him.

"Tired?" Quatre wondered. "From the banquet?"

Trowa nodded again. "My kingdom isn't as large as yours. I'm not used to so having many people around me. Large crowds tend to make me nervous."

Quatre smiled broadly in understanding. "I understand. It can be disconcerting, even when you get used to it. If it's any consolation, social functions don't happen too often. It's just...with our marriage coming up in a few days..." His voice drifted off, and he stared at the mosaic in the floor.

Sensing something was wrong, Trowa glanced aside at him. "Does...does that upset you?"

Quatre blushed, but he managed to look up and smile again. "No, not really. I mean, I always knew my marriage would be arranged, but I always thought I wouldn't like who my father chose. And now..." he put one hand out and slid his fingers into Trowa's hand. "I find that my fears were groundless."

Trowa, slowly at first, closed his hand over Quatre's, then brought his other hand to firmly hold Quatre. "I'm glad. When I first saw you..." he suddenly stopped with a small smile. "I was certain my mentor had chosen well."

The little blonde leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Trowa's lips, fingertips trailing over the cheek hidden by the long bang. "I wish I could sleep by your side tonight," he whispered. "But until we are married, it is forbidden."

Trowa wrapped his arms around Quatre, holding him close. "I've waited a long time for you. I can hold back for just a few nights more. But I will dream of you, little one."

Heavy footsteps marched down the hallway outside, followed by torchlight that flickered under the door.

"Quatre, where are you?! You little brat, what mischief are you making this time!"

Quatre sighed and put on a face of long suffering. "I'd better go before Rashid starts breaking things."

"He won't hurt you, will he? I'd hate for you to get into trouble because of me," Trowa said, protectively tightening his embrace.

"I'll be fine. He's never once struck me, although I might find myself locked in my room for awhile." Quatre kissed one him last time, then extricated himself from Trowa's arms and headed for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, hopefully."

"If not, I'll lead Rashid on a wild goose chase around the palace and then sneak into your room," Trowa promised.

Quatre giggled at the thought as he opened the door and meekly stepped out. "You don't need to shout, Rashid. I'm right here."

"There you are!" Rashid snapped. "Shamelessly flirting with your betrothed?"

"Not shamelessly," Quatre smiled. "I hope I haven't worried you."

"Your father would have you locked up in your chambers if he knew about this," Rashid continued. "And he wouldn't let you out until your marriage day!"

Quatre bowed his head in deference. "I'm sorry, Rashid, but Trowa looked so sad, and I wanted to make sure he was all right. Are you going to tell my father?" he asked, craning his head back as he looked up at Rashid.

The tall man sighed in exasperation, but he still smiled. "No, I suppose not. But you mustn't run off without telling us where you are, small one. Leaving aside assassins and ambitious thieves, there are always witches and monsters to consider. And you would not want those delaying your honeymoon, would you?" he added with a wink.

A furious blush covered Quatre's face. "As usual, you are correct."

Trowa listened to their conversation until Rashid and Quatre left the hall, then abandoned the window and headed for his bed. Unused to the amount of wealth the Winner family had at their disposal, he felt rather self-conscious as he climbed into the large, silk-draped, four-post bed and pulled the heavy blankets over his body. He comforted himself with the knowledge that in a few more nights, he'd have Quatre here to sleep with him.

*****

Quatre bolted upright in bed, eyes as wide as saucers. Everything was perfectly silent, but he still knew something was terribly wrong. "Trowa..." he whispered. He jumped out of bed and ran to the door only to find it locked and barred from the outside. "Rashid," he growled angrily. "I can't believe you did this."

Raucous laughter suddenly flared up outside, and Quatre ran to the window, leaning out far enough to see around the side.

A red-haired woman dressed in pink and black rose up into the air by magick, spinning in manic delight. In her arms, bound up tight in chains and struggling desperately, was Trowa.

"Oh no, it's a witch," Quatre gasped. Without hesitation, he ran to one of his cabinets and pulled out a huge, white carpet. Throwing it onto the floor, he knelt in the center and leaned forward. "Up, Sandrock! Up and forward!"

Immediately the carpet floated into the air and soared out the window. Quatre narrowed his eyes as the wind pulled against him, gripping the carpet's fabric as it raced faster after the witch. As the palace disappeared in the distance, the witch gradually descended to the ground and carried Trowa to a circular pattern of sand at the base of a towering sand dune.

"Take a deep breath," she warned him, then leaped into the patch of sand. They sunk so fast that Quatre at first thought they'd disappeared until he noticed the pattern on the sand's surface.

"Carefully, Sandrock," Quatre whispered. "Just hover here."

Sandrock obediently hung in the air only a few feet over the sandpit. Quatre bit his lower lip in anxiety, wondering if this was the smartest thing he could do. Of course he should get Rashid, but Trowa might be dead by the time they got back. With a little grumble, he jumped from the carpet and landed on the sand, wondering if he could indeed follow the witch.

The moment his feet settled on the ground, though, the white sand flowed up around him, sucking him down rapidly. As it came up over his thighs and hips, Quatre looked up at his carpet. "Sandrock, go get Rashid and the Maganacs! Hurry!" He watched as it darted away, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath just as the sand covered him up. For a few terrifying seconds, all he could feel was sand rushing against his skin and tossing his body around as if he was in water.

Abruptly the sand disappeared, though, and he dropped several feet onto a rock hard surface. Muffling his pained whimper, Quatre brushed the sand from his face and hair and looked up. Part of the ceiling, the sand swirled about as if held up by magick, which he decided was entirely possible. He glanced around and found that he was in what looked like the entrance to a set of caverns made entirely out of sand. Most importantly, the witch was nowhere to be seen.

Forcing himself to his feet, he crept down the long corridor, listening for any sound beside the crunch of sand beneath his slippers. He blinked suddenly and looked down at himself. Yes, indeed, he was wearing his nightshirt, slippers, and nothing else.

Well, not entirely nothing, he sighed, his hand going to the hilt of the dagger Rashid had insisted he keep at his side, even at bed. Praise Allah for small favors.

"My poor little prince, why do you struggle so much?"

The dagger seemed to fly into his hand as Quatre looked up. With a tiny sigh of relief he realized the witch wasn't nearby. Her voice had echoed out from the large chamber ahead of him. Keeping his dagger up, he ran forward and pressed himself against the wall, peering in around the corner.

A few feet away, Trowa had been strapped, arms outstretched, to a large wooden board. Silent as ever, he still fought to bring his arms down or break free. Quatre winced as he saw blood slowly trickle from beneath the leather bindings.

Trowa might tear himself apart before he stops fighting, Quatre thought.

The witch stood in front of his betrothed, a knife in her hand, and she traced the blade along Trowa's cheek dangerously close to his half-hidden eye. "You'll be so much happier here," she grinned. "That rotten, spoiled brat would have no idea how to take care of you. I'll keep you safe, don't worry. Now hold still."

She walked several feet away, held up her knife, and flung it at Trowa. The blade sank into the wood only inches from his face. Jerking in shock, he struggled even harder.

The witch pouted and folded her arms. "I told you to hold still. I might hit you if you move around too much. I only want some target practice."

She turned to what Quatre could see was a box filled with knives and proceeded to carefully choose the best blades from the pile. Deciding he couldn't risk his beloved being stabbed, Quatre stole inside, motioning for Trowa to be quiet. Trowa smiled in relief and stopped struggling. It only took a moment to slash through the leather, but as they turned to run the witch sensed that something was amiss. She turned just in time to see the straps hanging loose and her prisoner disappearing into the caves.

"Get back here, you little ingrate!" she shrieked, grabbing a handful of knives before she ran after them.

"Where are we going?" Trowa asked as he ran next to Quatre.

"I think we can get out the same way we came in," the blonde answered. "But I don't know how."

Trowa noticed that the smaller prince was having trouble keeping up with his longer stride, and he glanced at him, wondering how to handle that. Before he could think up a decent solution, he saw something bright fly through the air and slide into Quatre's back.

Pain flared up throughout Quatre's entire body, and he screamed as he fell to his knees. Trowa stopped and turned, lifting the small frame into his arms before he ducked into a nearby chamber. For a moment he couldn't see through the yellow gleam in the room, but as he went in, he saw that he was surrounded by vast piles of gold. He dropped behind one of the larger piles near the door and waited.

Gliding by, the witch didn't notice them as she walked deep into the room. "Tricky, aren't you, my little prince. But I'll find you. You'll thank me when I slit that pipsqueak's throat."

Trowa edged silently out while her back was to him, then took off back down the corridor. He passed three small caves before heading into a larger cave, carrying Quatre to a dark corner. Trowa set him down and tore two long strips of cloth from Quatre's nightshirt. "This is going to hurt, but you have to try to stay quiet," he whispered.

Quatre looked up at him, eyes full of tears. Although he had never been spoiled, he'd led a rather sheltered life that in no way prepared him for such physical agony. He gave Trowa a shaky nod and shut his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Trowa pulled the knife out and pressed the cloth compress against the wound, staunching the blood flow. Quatre whimpered and he put his hands to his face to muffle his sobs, but he kept as quiet as he could. Using the second strip to hold the compress in place, Trowa again picked Quatre up.

"Just a little longer," he promised. "I'll get you away from Catherine, I swear."

"C-Cath'rine?" Quatre mumbled.

"My sister. She picked up her magick and knife tricks from a wandering carnival. She's fanatically protective of me."

Trowa fell silent as he carried Quatre out, scanning each area for any trace of the witch. To his surprise, she didn't seen to be anywhere. Wondering if this was going to be an easy escape, he found his way to the rocky ground just beneath the sand trap.

All right, now what? he puzzled.

"M-maybe...it...w-w-works in...rev'rse?" Quatre murmured, unable to speak above a whisper.

Trowa noticed a decent-sized boulder a few feet away and nodded. "Let's see." He stepped on top of the boulder, then put his hand up into the swirling sand. Immediately his hand was trapped and they were lifted up into the maelstrom.

Both of them gasped for breath as they emerged at the top, and Trowa backed away before it could decide to drag them down again. He clutched the small body against his chest and turned, about to start the walk back.

"I knew you'd come this way, little brother."

Trowa froze, startled by the unexpected voice. Catherine stood before him, a knife in each hand and a cruel frown on her face. Without warning, she lunged forward, aiming to slice through Quatre's throat. Trowa slid to the side, but he still only managed to shift her target. The blade cut deep into the blonde's shoulder, and he buried his face against Trowa's neck as he tried to escape the pain.

"Catherine, stop!" Trowa pleaded. "Don't hurt him! You don't have to protect me from him, he loves me!"

"He'll only hurt you in the end!" she argued, taking another shot.

"Get around the quicksand," Quatre hissed in a low voice. "M-make her f-f-fall in..."

Trowa had no choice but to obey, backing up as fast as he could around the pit as Catherine advanced. They went around in circles for several seconds until Trowa took a chance and jumped over part of the dangerous sands while she lunged. He landed safely, but Catherine, radically unbalanced, fell face first into the sand. As it swallowed her up, the sand dune beside it rumbled ominously.

"Run," Quatre gasped. "It's unsettled, it's going to--!"

Suddenly the sand dune crumbled, sliding in huge sheets into the sandpit. Trowa tried to run, but the ground beneath his feet shifted in the same direction. They both fell, and Quatre's smaller body was pulled faster toward the center of the slide.

Trowa's hand clamped down over Quatre's wrist as he tried to pull him back, but the sand was too strong. All he could do was hold tight, barely keeping him from heading even farther.

"I...I can't bring you back," Trowa cried, his free hand scrambling to find something solid to latch onto.

"Let me go," Quatre whispered, his voice almost lost in the roaring of the sand. "Save yourself."

"No," Trowa shook his head fiercely. "If you go, I go with you."

A strong hand abruptly dropped onto Trowa's shoulder, hauling him back as a second hand grabbed Quatre's arm. As they were both dragged to safety, Trowa looked up into Rashid's relieved face.

"Fortunately for you two, it won't come to that."

As he looked around, Trowa could see several more men coming over the last dune. Quatre's personal guard, apparently. Trowa glanced back at the sand again. "Catherine..." he whispered sadly.

Rashid pulled Quatre into his arms, motioning for Trowa to follow. "I'm afraid if anyone was in there, they'd be smothered under all that sand. Come, our poor little prince needs tending to."

Trowa watched Rashid hand Quatre to a rider on horseback, then stared as his companion was rushed back to the palace. His own legs began to feel weak, and he sank to the ground wearily. Blood trickled on his hands from the marks the manacles had left on him.

"Rashid, I think this one needs some care, too," one man said as he helped Trowa back up.

With a muted chuckle, Rashid motioned for another horse to be brought to Trowa. "I suppose you can tell us what happened when we get back, then. After some rest, perhaps."

*****

The wedding went off mostly without a hitch, even if Quatre was still a little pale. His right arm held in a sling, he'd been one of the only quiet voices at the reception until they discovered one of the wedding gifts was a keg of mead sent from Trowa's family. Neither made from grape nor barley, this alcohol was made from honey and therefore permissible for Quatre to drink.

And the little prince could certainly not handle his liquor well.

Trowa visibly shook as he gathered a dozing Quatre into his arms in front of court, nervous as hell until Rashid put his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

"Relax, young master. Almost everyone is too drunk to notice, and besides, you're expected to take care of him. That's why you're married to him!"

Still, Trowa's smile was sheepish as he carried Quatre back to their room, placing him on the bed so he could remove his clothes. Before that, he made sure the door was locked and the window shut, just for good measure. Once that was done, he started to unfasten Quatre's top.

"I take it we're in bed now?" the blonde mumbled.

"And how long have you been awake now?" Trowa gently chided him.

"Never fell asleep," Quatre smiled. "I just wanted to get to this part sooner, that's all."

"I'll have to get used to your manipulative ways, I suppose," Trowa smiled, sliding off Quatre's soft harem pants. His smile faded as he stared into Quatre's eyes. "We...don't have to...I mean, we can wait until you're better--"

Quatre's smile turned into a grin and he placed his hand on Trowa's cheek. "It's all right. The pain is gone, it's just a dull pressure there now. Just...be gentle with me."

With a relaxed smile, Trowa blew out the candle and slipped into bed.

*****

Out in the desert, far from the palace, a small mound of sand was pushed up and over as a hand thrust up from the ground. Pulling herself up painfully, Catherine found herself stuck waist deep. Taking the chance to catch her breath, the witch glared at the palace in the distance and suddenly pounded her fists against the sand around her. "Not fair not fair not fair!"

The End