He thought about the elf the entire two weeks of the return journey. He swayed in the saddle and remembered the scent of his skin, the silken hair, the eyes, framed by the glimmering silver lashes, the slim chiseled body... but, most of all, he remembered the elf's astonishment during their kiss. It was as if, for a moment, Alva had reached beyond the walls the elf had raised around himself. That soft moan that escaped him when the human who was trying to save him, had hurt him. Alva would have done anything to please the elf, he wanted to bring him to Trianess, put him up in Alva's house, surround with every luxury, grant his every wish! He was going mad whenever he imagined the elf in his bedroom — smiling, happy, overwhelmed with desire... "Hell, I've got a vivid imagination," thought Alva wryly.
At the court, everyone was thrilled to see him. The courtiers had waited impatiently for Alva's return. This was not because they cared for the news of the mission (it was secret anyway), but because Alva Ahayrre was well loved in the capital. Old friends threw a party in his honour, but he slipped away early, pleading exhaustion after a lengthy journey. Truth be told, he just did not feel like partying and flirting. Everybody kept asking him about the trip, but there was little he could say, as only the elf filled his thoughts. In short, the general opinion was that Chevalier Ahayrre had been supremely rude to the cream of the capital: almost as soon as he was back in Trianess, he had left again, and no-one knew where he was headed this time.
Also, nobody knew that Alva had precipitously sold two antique vases from his collection, and dumped an obscene amount of cash on a Scroll of Magic Portal. If anybody could get into his locked study, they would have seen something resembling a rainbow-shaded lens by one of the walls. But even if they could guess where the Chevalier was at present, the purpose of his Fanneshtou visit would have remained a mystery to them.
In the meantime, Alva paced impatiently around the chamber where he had been received by Meda Moreyli. He knew already that the prisoner was well now, and that nothing threatened his life or his health. He had asked to be taken to the elf's quarters, and was now waiting for brother Markhee, who spoke the Ancient Tongue. Alva planned to burn his bridges and tell the elf outright that he did not intend to keep him prisoner. He was afraid of himself and of what he might do if he looked even once more into these eyes the color of molten silver.