"Minako," Jezibiah greeted, sinking down by her feet in the garden where she and Maria were. There were a few townspeople scattered about, but they weren't listening. "Did you have fun at the party last night?"

Her eyes brightened delightfully. "I had a wonderful time, thank you! I didn't see you much, though. Where were you?"
Jezibiah frowned. "I was talking to a jerk on the balcony and decided to go to bed early."
"Oh?" Minako looked concerned. "Why was he a jerk?"
"He was saying some pretty mean things about you," Jezibiah picked at the grass and Maria glanced at him.
"And who was this blind fool?" the old woman asked, jabbing fiercely at her knitting and pressing her lips tight.
"One of those generals," Jezibiah muttered and Minako went perfectly still.
"Who?" she asked breathlessly.
"The big pale-haired one." At Minako's pale face, he added quickly, "He was saying some lousy things about you and I got mad at him. I guess I should have watched my mouth, but I didn't like hearing him talk about you like that."
"You're a good boy," Maria approved.
"What did he say?" She was still stunned and had trouble drawing a proper breath.
"He claimed to be the baby's father and that you left him and were very violent and . . . and it was more his tone than anything else. He was being very disrespectful."
Minako covered her face with her hands and groaned. "Oh, he has a right to say whatever he wants of me."
"No he doesn't!" Jezibiah scoffed angrily. "No man has any right to treat you – a senshi and a princess and a wonderful woman – with disrespect! No man has any right to lie about you."
"Jezibiah," Minako breathed painfully, "he wasn't lying. I did those things to him." She averted her face, not wanting to see Jezibiah's crushed faith. "Kunzite is an honest, honorable man, and he's never been anything else – even when I first met him." She sighed, miserable. "I don't blame him that he's still angry."
She heard the rustle of Jezibiah standing and turned to him, shocked at the tears in his eyes. "How could you do that?"
Minako straightened in her seat, smoothing her face in the way of aristocracy. "That business is mine and his. No one else need concern themselves with it." She slumped a little, her back hurting. "When he chooses to forgive me, he will."
The woman who sat there was not the woman Jezibiah remembered. Janie was kind, sweet, and smiling – if a little sad. This girl was a stranger – cold and distant with eyes like blue ice. This was the Princess of Venus.
"Why should he?" Jezibiah asked, white-lipped and wild-eyed, not understanding what he had seen in this girl, or what the cold man from the night before had seen in her. One thing he knew, though, was that they were made for each other. All he had to do was look into this horrible woman's eyes and know that the fierce, hard general would compliment her well.
Minako was stricken, but she replied as best she could. "Kunzite is a kind man . . . when he wants to be. He can be harsh sometimes, but he is the leader of Earth's military. . . . And he has a responsibility to the baby," she faltered, stopping.
"Everyone has their good points and their bad," Maria tossed out, knitting thoughtfully. "If you love each other. . . ." she told Minako, and shrugged.
Minako was so happy, she kissed her. "Thank you, dearest Maria," she gasped.

It was dark as Jezibiah hurried the other town-folk, tossing bags onto horses and strapping them firmly in place. A few servants helped him, but the town-folk wandered a bit aimlessly, confused at his haste in leaving and the sudden fervent will that they had never seen before. It was late and they were tired, but the look in the young man's eyes was impossible to approach or reason with.

When the last horse was readied, Jezibiah hurried everyone onto their mounts and strode back to his own, his eyes hollow and haunted.
There was a man holding his horse. A tall man – broad, with shoulder-length pale hair. He looked at Jezibiah with no imitation of friendliness – only a sad understanding.
"Here," he held out a strip of red. Jezibiah only stared at the item dumbly. "Take it." Jezibiah didn't move. Kunzite sighed and forced it into the younger man's unwilling hand. "It's her bow. From her hair. You loved her – yes, you did love her, and still do, I can tell." Jezibiah frowned fiercely and opened his mouth, but Kunzite cut him off with a sharp gesture. They were out of earshot of the rest of the village, who were waiting for Jezibiah to leave. "Shut up. Just because you loved the normal part of her, the ordinary girl who loved life and loved living life, doesn't mean that the object of your love was fake. She's still that girl. She just . . . has responsibilities that don't allow her a normal life. Otherwise . . . you would have had a chance."
They looked at each other for a long, measured moment, and Jezibiah glanced down at the strip of red cloth in his hand.
"Thank you." The comment was unwilling, but it was made.
Kunzite shook his head and looked up at the dark castle. Only the moon gave them any light. "I love her too." He paused. "I'm furious with her, but I love her. Obsessed with her. Wild about her." His eyes filled with pain and focused inward. "God, Minako," he whispered with feeling.
Jezibiah turned, leaving Kunzite to himself, and joined his party. In silence, in the night, they left.