Commander Faroush massaged his head gently and winced at the burgeoning headache in his skull. Paperwork, that was the thing. Tottering piles of reports leered sardonically at him from his desk. Expenditure reports (Kyle had tried to pass off his latest bar bill as 'entertainment expenses'), training reports (Galleon's belief was that the current training regimen for the regular army was much too soft, and was continually submitting suggestions at which Faroush would cringe a little and veto immediately), complaints from palace staff (Kyle again...) and other sundry matters which definitely, incontrovertibly had to be handled by the Commander of the Queen's Guard.

Now he understood why his father had often been a little grumpy whenever Faroush had called unexpectedly at his office. It had only been a few months since the liberation of Sol Falena, but he was already beginning to respect -- and miss -- his father a great deal more.

Then someone knocked on his door. Faroush scowled blackly at the door and mentally willed whoever it was to read the damn 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door and go away. The last thing he needed now was another young noble arrogantly demanding a place in the Queen's Knights, or some doddering old servant coming in to clean the place up. The study was perfectly clean! A little messy, perhaps, but that was how he liked it!

"Prince?" A somewhat timid voice called from behind his door. Faroush brightened a little. This, at least, was one interruption he was glad to suffer.

"Come on in, Lyon. You don't have to keep calling me Prince, you know. Oh my - is that food for me?" Faroush stared at the tray Lyon was holding, which was piled high with various offerings from the palace kitchen. With a great deal of effort he refrained from drooling all over his reports.

"You didn't come out for lunch, so I thought..." Lyon trailed off and stared at the floor. Almost inaudibly, she asked, "Do you like it?"

"Like it?" Faroush leaped up from his desk and dramatically swept a pile of reports off his desk. "Lyon, you're a lifesaver! Is it lunch time already? Damn me, but there's been so much paperwork to do... put that tray down here and join me for lunch, will you?"

"That's good... I… I thought you might be angry I interrupted you," Lyon replied. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and for a while she was absolutely adorable. "You didn't have to do that to those reports, you know." Then it was gone and bam, doom and gloom again.

Faroush waved irritably. "Bah. Reports. I'll pick them up later." He inspected the tray. "Ooh, crab cakes. Here, have one."

Lyon shook her head. "They'll make me fat."

Faroush sighed. "Come on Lyon, just one won't do any harm. Sit down and help me get rid of this pickled cabbage then... I swear whoever told Lyms those things were good for the skin ought to be punished."

Lyon glanced nervously at the door, and said, "I... I'd better not, Prince."

"Hmm? You ate lunch already?"

"Well... no... but...I still have some work to do..."

"But me no buts. You need to take care of yourself too. I am your Commander, after all… do I have to make it a direct order to eat with me? " Faroush clutched his chest and pretended to stagger. "Ah, that the dashing prince of Falena should have to spend his lunch alone, spurned by his beautiful subordinate."

Lyon giggled. "You're acting like Kyle."

"Yeah, well, spend some time with him and it wears off. You just can't help but start to wonder if that attitude of his might actually do some good," Faroush grumbled, secretly glad that Lyon was amused. For the past few days she had seemed a little down. That was, when he had managed to catch a glimpse of her - was it his imagination, or was she avoiding him?

"You look like you need the food, Lyon... you're paler than usual, and your eyes seem a little red... are you getting enough sleep?" She really didn't look well at all. What was the problem?

Lyon stared at the floor again. "I'm fine, Prince. Don't worry about me."

"Is something on your mind? Oh no... did I forget your birthday or something?" Faroush rummaged feverishly in his desk drawer. "Calendar... wait, that can't be right, it's still months away."

"It's nothing, Prince." Lyon seemed even more depressed now. "I... I'm not really hungry, so if you'll excuse me..." She trailed off and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Faroush grabbed her hand and spun her around to face him, hands on her shoulders. "Lyon... please, tell me what's wrong. Is there something I can help with?" For a split second, despite Lyon's best efforts to avoid eye contact, their eyes met. In their bottomless black depths, Faroush read terror. Fear. Maybe a little despair. Certainly nothing he had ever wanted her to feel. Was he the cause? Was that why she had been avoiding him?

"Lyon? Please. You're worrying me." A little embarrassed, he averted his gaze.

"Is what Miakis told me true?" The question was soft, and barely reached Faroush's ears. Maybe it was muffled by the way Lyon had nestled up against his chest.

"Eh? What did she tell you?" Faroush was genuinely puzzled. "Not about the beer, I hope."

"No... that you don't want me as a bodyguard anymore." Lyon looked up at Faroush, the suspicion of tears swimming in her eyes.

"Oh! That." Faroush rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, releasing his hold on Lyon. "Well... erm..."

"Is it?" Lyon repeated.

"I suppose... well..." Faroush grimaced ruefully. "Miakis said she would keep quiet, dammit."

"I... see." Stepping back from Faroush, Lyon looked crushed.

"It's kind of complicated, really. Look, why don't you take a seat and I'll explain." Faroush moved to take her in his arms again. "It's nothing, really."

"No... there's... there's no need... I understand." She was definitely crying now, and pushed Faroush away with one hand, the other fumbling behind her for the doorknob. "If you'll excuse me, Your Highness..."

"Lyon, please. It's not what you think. Lyon!" But she was gone.