The Hallowe'en Ball was a swirl of who's who in the Earth Sphere; artists, business magnates, politicians and nobility all swirling together in a riot of colour and noise.
Zechs's opening speech had been grave and moving, a lovely tribute to Peace and the joys that it had brought, and to the hard work done by this year's charity of choice, a children's movement on one of the colonies, a decision that had triggered rapturous applause.
In keeping with his selection of beneficiary, and courtesy of a thoroughly trite line about the near quarter-century of peace seeming like one that had Winner's sickly phrase-turning all over it, Zechs had declared the theme of the Ball to be 'Fairytales', cueing the Royal Family to sweep down the grand staircase behind him and open the Ball in a dazzle of elaborate, expensive costumes.
The opening entrance had been followed by the professional dancers accompanying the music Mariemeia had been obsessing over the day he'd first met her, and it had pleased Treize to hear she'd included his harmony line in her final composition.
It had probably been the last thing that had pleased him.
Hot and uncomfortable in the sweeping velvet robes of his Merlin costume, reminded of how much he'd hated formal functions on this level, Treize had managed to plaster a smile on his face long enough to weave Relena through a foxtrot and Mariemeia through a waltz which had left her with tears in her eyes.
Dorothy had refused the tango he'd offered her, laughing at him and pointing out that, at 43 and after two children, there was no way she could keep up with him any more. She'd shoved Helen at him in her place, a silent redeclaration of her faith in him after the incident with Felix, and the two of them had drawn a few minutes slightly scandalised attention as the girl used Treize's demanding choreography to prove she had inherited all of her mother's grace and her father's athleticism, and most of their fuck-you attitude to propriety as well.
He'd inclined his head to Dorothy's approving applause as he returned her daughter, then made himself scarce, seeking refuge in one of the little window seats at the back of the Ballroom. As he'd danced with Helen, the breathlessness Felix had warned him he might feel made itself known for the first time since his waking, and he wasn't sure whether it was being caused by the exertion, or by the overwhelming memories that were trying to insist that it was AC 195, not 220, and that it had been Dorothy in his arms at a Romefeller function in Luxembourg, and not her daughter in Sanc.
Watching, catching his breath, he could, at least admit that the Royal Family looked stunning in their outfits.
When Treize had learned he was to be Merlin, he had assumed that Zechs would be King Arthur, as seemed sensible and obvious. Instead, acknowledging his lack of a living Queen to be Guinevere, Duo had cast Zechs as Thor, allowing him to be the Norse God of Thunder in grand solitude, amusing those who worked out the Lightning connection and throwing yet more kindling on the press speculation about him and Une, who was conveniently and stunningly dressed as a Valkyrie.
Too, recasting Zechs had allowed Duo to group the younger generation into the Arthurian Legends, with Aleks as Arthur – the once and future King, how droll – and Felix as Sir Lancelot.
However clever thus far, though, Treize knew it hadn't been Duo who'd cast Helen in daring black silk as Morgan-le-Fey, leaving the role of Guinevere for the winsome blonde girl Aleks was currently dancing with, his face utterly rapt on her every word.
Princess Isabelle Pendragon as Guinevere to Aleks's King Arthur – the press was having kittens, which was what Treize suspected Relena had intended.
From across the room, Treize caught Relena's eyes and she nodded to him once, her lovely eyes, a match for the turquoise satin of her Scheherazade costume, sparkling in amusement.
He wondered if she'd still be smiling when her brother caught up with her later. Zechs had not looked pleased when he'd worked out what had been done.
Wondering if he should go find the King and get the inevitable talking to out of the way - Zechs hadn't looked thrilled by his dancing with Helen, either – Treize stood up, knowing from the sequence of dances that the next dance would be a quickstep, followed by another waltz which he really should offer to Une.
"Treize Khushrenada," somebody said. "I don't believe we've been introduced."
The voice was rich, cultured, unmistakeably British, and Treize turned to come face to face with the brother of the girl currently charming Aleks.
Immediately, he dropped into a graceful bow – James Pendragon was Crown Prince of the British Isles, the oldest unbroken monarchy in the Earth Sphere. Of all the people currently in the ballroom, only Zechs outranked him, and that only by dint of being King to his Prince.
The was a moment of silence between them as Pendragon left him in the bow just long enough to show him that he could, and then the Prince made a small sound of approval.
"Would that your cousins were so well drilled. You may rise," he bade calmly.
Treize straightened, getting his first proper look at the future King of England, noting that he had the same honey-blond hair and green eyes as his sister, and the same strong jaw line as his maternal great-grandfather, the late, unlamented Field Marshall Noventa.
Pendragon was studying him as closely. "The resemblance is remarkable," he said delicately, "but, still, I think I may have noticed if one of my closest friends had regularly changed eye colour over the years."
Treize raised an eyebrow, and let a small smile touch his lips as he acknowledged this obvious flaw in the story they had concocted about him.
"You may have, yes," he admitted. There was little point in trying to brazen it out, after all, and they had always known that their public story about him being substituted for Felix would not hold up for select groups of individuals, Felix's and Aleks's friends amongst them.
Pendragon acknowledged the honesty with a steady look. "Which rather begs the question, who are you really?" he continued. "Even supposing I believe that you are the contract-produced by-blow of a dead General, I find it almost impossible to believe that neither Felix nor Aleksander would have slipped over the years. That they truly have never mentioned another cousin is very strange." He smiled coolly. "I find myself wondering if there, perhaps, was nothing to mention."
Sharp, very sharp, Treize acknowledged. Clearly, James had inherited more than bone structure from his maternal antecedents, although George Pendragon, King at age 17, had been no slouch either during the few conversations Treize had been privileged to have with him. "I can't comment on conversations I didn't hear, Your Highness," he said steadily. "Perhaps my cousins are simply better at keeping secrets than you think."
Pendragon laughed. "And you add weight to my suspicions. Felix, maybe, were I anyone else, but not Aleks." He shook his head. "No, I simply don't believe you, nor the story King Milliardo has spun around you."
Treize stared at the man, keeping his face impassive as his mind ran, lightning fast, through the myriad possible answers he could give, wondering what would be the best course for him to take. Flat denial wasn't going to work, that much was obvious, but he knew next to nothing of the man, had little information on which to judge what he might believe or not.
A flash of green in the periphery of his vision bought him time, saving him from having to answer.
Smiling and elegant in his Sir Lancelot costume, Felix was suddenly next to the British Prince. "Don't believe what, Jem?" he asked lightly, flicking Treize a warning glance. "Don't tell me you can't see the family resemblance?" he laughed.
Playing to the cue Felix had given him, Treize smiled back, then dug under the velvet robes he was wearing and retrieved Felix's car keys from his pocket.
He tossed them at the other man lightly. "Here, thanks for the loan," he said, deliberately informal.
Felix caught them neatly, letting his smile become a wicked grin. "Thank you. Dare I ask if she still has petrol in her?" he asked, slipping one gloved hand into the crook of the Prince's elbow as he spoke.
Treize shrugged, unapologetic, vamping careless inconsideration as would be expected, when, in reality, the car had a full tank.
The by-play didn't work.
Pendragon jerked his arm back sharply. "Stop it," he said shortly. "Do you really imagine I will fall for this little act?" His face set into a dark frown as he turned on Felix. "You come half a continent to see me, then take off in the middle of the night in a panic before we've talked about any of the things you'd come to discuss. Then, the next I know, you're turning up in the gutter press, first with a 'mystery man', then with a new cousin you're supposed to be in a relationship with." He shook his head. "Do you really expect me – me of all people – to believe your story? And don't touch me," he added, tightly. "Not here."
Treize watched with interest as every trace of light vanished from Felix's face, as it shuttered down into neutral disinterest.
"It's a party, Jem. No-one will care," Felix answered, and his voice was irritated for the first time Treize could recall. "And, yes, I do expect you to believe me. I think I've earned that much from you."
"It's a party with half the world press here," Pendragon countered. "Don't be foolish, Kitty," he snapped. He shook his head again. "As to what you've earned from me, a week ago you had my absolute trust but now... Do you imagine this changes nothing?" he asked gesturing at Treize. "Either you've been lying to me for years, Felix, or you're lying to me now, and either way, pool shots of you 'announcing' your relationship with him were not the way to tell me about him."
Felix's expression shattered, and he stepped back as he looked away for a moment. "No, I imagine they weren't. I have apologised for that," he said softly. "There were reasons," he offered.
"Yes, but since you can't or won't tell me what they are, what do they matter?"
Treize watched as the two younger men looked at each fixedly, seemingly having forgotten about him, Pendragon demanding and Felix apologetic, and found himself wincing. The tone of the exchanges between the two men was intensely personal, layered with the unsaid, and in conjunction with some other comments, both now and from Felix on other occasions, was giving Treize a picture of their relationship that left him thinking, very much, oh, dear…
Still, he did not doubt the conclusions he'd drawn about the two men in front of him; swift, accurate assessment of people and their motivations was what he was trained for.
He wondered idly if Dorothy knew her son was in love with the British Crown Prince; he wondered if anyone did.
He wondered, less idly and with a genuine sense of sympathy, if anyone had told Felix it was hopeless.
He turned his head, trying to give them a moment of privacy in which they could recollect themselves, and the gesture must have given him away because suddenly Pendragon was speaking again.
"And there," he said icily. "Now I know you aren't General Khushrenada's Peacecraft-raised by-blow." He moved away from Felix and towards Treize, his eyes scrutinising all over again "Family resemblance there may well be, but less than a minute to look at the two of us, deduce the full picture of a secret we've kept for years and project out the complications and consequences? Someone has drilled you extensively in some very old world techniques, cousin Treize," he added softly. "Such a shame I can't begin to think who that could have been."
Felix gave a little chuckle from behind him, dismissing his words and hiding nerves. "There's always my mother," he said, lightly, clearly trying to help.
But he'd missed what Treize hadn't, the subtle intonations in the word 'cousin', the particularly glittering shade to the Prince's smile; Treize's gut was suddenly screaming Romefeller.
George's son, Sylvia's son, Noventa's great-grandson – of course this boy wasn't going to be the untrained Child of Peace that Aleks and Felix were. He was sharp, polished, everything that a Crown Prince should be, everything that Zechs refused to let Aleks become. If his sister was the same, Treize knew he would have to get his hands on Aleks swiftly if Sanc wasn't going to become a subject state to the British during his rule, never to stand alone again.
Acknowledging the British Prince as another of his own breed, Treize smiled back, letting his teeth show. "Yes, rather a puzzle that," he said quietly. "Still, what other option is there?" he asked. "If I am not General Khushrenada's son, then who am I? I am, clearly, related."
The Prince's eyes turned speculative, his face momentarily betraying his intent. "Say, rather, clearly not related," he replied slyly. "Tell me, aren't you rather warm in here in that costume? Or are you still feeling the chill?"
So that was what the Prince believed – that Treize was Treize, frozen and now restored, purpose unknown, just as Kaminski had. It was the story they'd most worried about, the one most likely to cause widespread panic and fear, and Treize knew he had to shut it down swiftly.
"Oh, I'm perfectly warm," Treize replied. "But if I am who you think, would challenging me so be wise?" he said, answering the Prince's silent question.
He waited for the sudden flare of triumph to bloom to fear in Pendragon's eyes, then deliberately flicked his own to where Felix was standing, watching and confused. "Or did you wish an exchange of press speculations?" he finished, tossing the metaphorical gauntlet.
The Prince stiffened suddenly. "No-one would believe you," he hissed, betraying his panic at the suggestion.
Treize blinked slowly. "Wouldn't they?" he asked. "Rather more than they'd believe you, I think, Your Highness. After all, Feliu Maxwell disclosing his love-affair with the British Throne is a far more believable tale than, what? General Khushrenada returns from the dead but hasn't aged a day? Tch," he dismissed. "I think not."
Pendragon's face was a study in fury; Felix, on his left, looked stunned, and not a little betrayed.
"Treize, you wouldn't," he managed, and his voice was horrified.
"Wouldn't I?" Treize answered him. "Haven't you been paying attention to Milliardo's warnings about me at all? There's very little I won't do if it's needed," he said levelly. "Still, perhaps a shared silence would be preferable. If His Highness is agreeable, of course," he offered, inclining his head to the Prince.
Pendragon merely stared down his nose at him for a moment, then swept away regally, radiating disgust.
Felix stared after him wordlessly for almost a minute, then rounded on Treize, all anger and flashing eyes, clearly his mother's son. "How could you?" he hissed. "I trusted you; I helped you!"
Treize stared at his near-twin, rubbing his forehead wearily as the tight posture and the hyper-focus of his past ebbed away now that the Prince was no longer there to trigger them. "Hello, Felix," he offered quietly, "Sorry about that," he sighed.
"Sorry?" Felix managed. "Sorry? I've spent the last week being suspected by every member of my family for defending you, and the first thing you do now you're back is prove them all right! Why would you threaten to ruin one of my oldest friends?" he demanded. "Do you have any idea what would happen if what Jem and I are leaked?"
Treize glanced round, hoping no-one had been close enough to hear that. "Of course I do," he said immediately. "Do you imagine it would have worked otherwise?" he asked. "He's astute, I'll give him that. Is his sister the same?" he asked.
Felix was still staring at him in outrage. "Sorry, what? He's astute?" He shook his head. "You threaten his entire future and then pay him a compliment?"
Treize smiled gently. "Kitty, calm down," he urged softly. "And think. Of course I did, and of course I am. He clearly doesn't believe a word of the story that I'm my son; he knows who I am and wasn't shy of threatening to reveal that fact, which is worrying. Still, he put the pieces together damn fast and his only error was not trusting his own conclusions until he was too deeply committed to back up. It's not, now, a fatal error and he'll recover when he's thought it through unless I miss my guess, if be a bit more circumspect about whom he shares them with. Just give him a few minutes and he'll be fine."
Felix stared for a moment more, then blew a noisy breath. "I do not understand politics," he moaned. "Much less whatever that was. Were we really that obvious?" he asked quietly, and his expression had changed, becoming diffident and a little sad.
Treize looked at him, seeing real pain in the other man's bodyline. "Oh, Kitty," he murmured. "You poor boy." He rubbed his eyes again, then caught the doctor's arm in his hand and drew him towards one of the doors leading out into the gardens. "Come with me," he urged.