"The tongue is the most agile muscle in the body. Think about all the things you can do with it," says Lionel, winking a bit when Bertie gapes at him. "You can curl it in either direction. You can make it convex or concave or flat."

Sticking out his tongue, Lionel demonstrates, gesturing at Bertie as though he wants Bertie to come closer, though Bertie knows from previous sessions that it means Lionel wants him to do the same thing. He tries to mimic the movements with his own tongue, though he can feel his face turning pink, the way it does whenever Lionel presses on his diaphragm or strokes his jaw to make Bertie aware of the different muscles that involuntarily stiffen and clench it.

"You can press the tip of your tongue against your palate or against your teeth while the back of the tongue remains depressed." Lionel makes D and T sounds to demonstrate. "Or you can raise the back of your tongue while the front stays down, as when you make the K sound. Isn't it remarkable?"

Bertie knows that he is staring, not just at Lionel's tongue, but at the shape of Lionel's lips and the crinkling around Lionel's eyes which suggests that Lionel is smiling even when Lionel is making a face to demonstrate the proper way to form a letter in the mouth. The blush spreads down Bertie's neck. "M-my tongue isn't the p-p-problem," he stammers.

It's clear that Lionel loves speech - not just language, not just the words from the dramatic speeches from Shakespeare that he likes to quote, but the process of speech, the way air moves through the vocal cords and is transformed by the tongue and lips and nose and jaw. Lionel isn't self-conscious even about his Australian accent, which he doesn't try to disguise completely, though Bertie has heard the clipped Australian vowels mocked by staff at the Palace whose own accents would not have been deemed acceptable by Bertie's tutors.

Unfettered by notions of dignity drilled into him from a young age, Lionel loves to play with sound. He is equally adept at imitating the soft honks and hoots of the fairy penguin and the screams of the Tasmanian devil, both animals that Bertie has never seen, both from the distant part of the Empire where Lionel was born, where Bertie soon must travel in the name of goodwill and his father's will.

"Smile as you say the 'K' and feel how it flattens your tongue," Lionel suggests, and though Bertie knows he must look ridiculous, he finds that he can say King without the sound getting trapped in his mouth.

"I can't make that face when I'm giving a speech!" he objects more vehemently than Lionel deserves, but the anger makes it easier to get the words out.

Lionel understands. He always understands. "You won't have to do it every time, but it's good practice," he insists. "Now try the P. Purse your lips all the way out like this -"

Leaning in, Lionel extends his lips fully, as though he intends to kiss Bertie to make his point. Bertie must force himself to remain still, not to scramble backward as he did a few times in the early days when Lionel's fingers on his neck or against his chin made his heart start to race.

Bertie knows full well that he comes here every day not just because his speech is improving, but because he craves the rush of feeling that comes from the exercises. Everything Lionel does to improve his breathing and loosen his jaw makes his muscles quiver...not just in the face and throat, but in the chest and belly and places that have nothing to do with his speech. Bertie tells himself that the reaction has less to do with Lionel than with the way he was raised, so unused to touching people that he now responds to the slightest provocation.

When Bertie had first married Elizabeth, she had realized it quickly - that he would misinterpret any small show of affection on her part, the brush of her hand or the press of her arm, to mean that she was eager to make love. In fact, Elizabeth was simply used to touching her sisters and her friends without expecting a reaction. She found such ardor to be vulgar. Bertie had learned to stop showing her that every kiss made him ache, rather than risk that she might stop kissing him.

"Shall we try it?" Lionel's voice is cajoling, enthusiastic, not at all like Elizabeth's gentle but firm postponements and deferrals, particularly since the baby arrived. It is easier to accept what affection she offers, so much more than Bertie ever received from anyone in his family. Undoubtedly she's right that it's weakness on Bertie's part to wish for more.

"Pucker up, please," Bertie says in a mocking tone to cover his embarrassment, extending his lips the way Lionel is doing. The words come out easily, like vowels, which Lionel has explained are much simpler because in forming a vowel sound, the flow of air is not interrupted by the tongue or jaw. Like a moan of pleasure.

"Beaut," says Lionel, smiling warmly at him. "Now try 'people' and 'president' and 'prince.'"

Prince is a word that has always given Bertie trouble, though not nearly as much as Queen or King. He thinks of Lionel's fingers touching his windpipe, making him feel how the skin and muscles shift as he pushes the different sounds out. Involuntarily, he smiles, and his jaw unclenches. "Prince," he says, pushing his lower face out. "Purse those pretty lips. Like kissing."

Lionel's eyebrows shoot up, but he returns the smile. "Like kissing," he agrees, shaping his mouth for the sound. "Perfect."