A/N: Disclaimer – It's all Squaresoft … I own nothing. Storyline is AU, and as I said is based loosely on the French faible Tristan et Yseult, which I also do not own. The version I know was written by Béroul, I believe (though I know there are quite a few versions out there). Just in case you cared to know ^_^. I'm still writing this, really I am. Apologies to anyone who was waiting for me to update … I hope you're still out there! Anyway, reviews are always welcomed!

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            Setzer had been true to his word, and Locke groaned as the ship underwent another unnatural tremor. To say there was a storm was putting it mildly, and Locke buried his nauseous face in his pillow.

            "Damn you, Setzer," he groaned piteously. It wasn't that he didn't trust Setzer's piloting skills; Setzer was the best pilot on the whole continent. But Locke could get tremendously airsick, and the sway of the ship was beginning to get unbearable.

            Locke sat up, bracing himself and wiping damp bangs out of his feverish face. He wasn't going to be able to sleep like this. He really needed a drink. Something hard. Knowing Setzer's affinity for liquor, he stood shakily and made his way out into the hall. Surely his scarred friend wouldn't mind if he indulged himself this once.

            He walked carefully down the hall, one hand trailing along the wall to steady himself in the case of any sudden lurch, and headed for the room Setzer had dubbed 'The Entertainment Chamber'. Locke smiled wryly; he would just as soon have called it 'The Poker and Booze Room,' but Setzer insisted that was "the exact same thing."

            As he got closer to his destination, he frowned. A light was burning in the large room, filtering into the dark hallway like a beacon. What was Setzer doing away from the helm, especially at a time like this?! The thought spurred Locke to a greater speed, and he burst into the room expecting to find Setzer nonchalantly pouring himself a shot of something or other. He opened his mouth, ready to reprimand the man, when he realized that the pilot was not in the room at all. Instead he was met with the sight of Celes Chere sitting casually on one of the plush couches, her legs tucked beneath her indifferently and a book on her knees.

            She looked up at him, and his tirade died into a rather unflattering squeak of surprise. He stood dumbly in the doorway, and she stared at him impassively.

            "Uh …" Locke said, mentally slapping himself for being unable to form even one intelligible sentence. She slammed her book closed, the sound resonating in the wide chamber.

            "Is something wrong?" She asked.

            "Uh … no. I … saw the light," he answered feebly.

            "I lit the lanterns," she replied tonelessly. Locke wanted to roll his eyes; he could see that the gas lanterns that hung on the walls were all burning cheerfully, lighting the room like it was day. Then she continued. "I hope that's all right."

            "Um, sure," he shrugged. "I just … kind of, didn't expect you to be in here."

            "Oh. I'll go." She made as if to stand, and Locke took a step toward her.

            "No!" he said, and suddenly felt embarrassed as she looked at him oddly. He cleared his throat. "What I mean is, I'll go. You were here first."

            "You have more of a right to be in here than I do," Celes pointed out.

            "Not really," Locke shrugged. "You're the queen-to-be. You can do whatever you want." At those words Celes' face grew stony, and she lowered her face to stare at her feet. Locke winced.

            "Look, um … I didn't mean to offend you," he said, as seriously as he could manage. "I don't know why you're so upset, but I'm sorry, whatever it is."

            Celes looked up at him, surprise flashing for a moment in her frosty blue eyes. She sighed, and nodded wearily. "I'm not offended … thank you."

            "I'll leave you alone. I mean, with you being sick and all, I wouldn't want to impose …" he paused, noticing the bemused twinkle in her eyes. Her lips tightened in an amused smirk, and she leaned back into the couch comfortably.

            "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.

            "Uh … I don't understand," Locke replied. "They said you had been ill, I just thought …"

            "They said I was ill?" Celes interrupted, then suddenly laughed. "Oh, now I see. To excuse my unprepared state. Of course they said that."

            "So … you aren't sick?" Locke frowned. Celes actually smiled.

            "No," she admitted. "I was being stubborn, that's all. But they'd never tell you that, Locke of Figaro. No, that wouldn't be fitting."

            "Stubborn? What do you mean?" Locke asked, taking another couple of steps into the room. Celes sighed and motioned to him with her hand.

            "You may as well come sit, instead of shouting across the room like this," she offered, waving toward the other end of the couch. Locke moved to take the seat, his nausea momentarily curbed by curiosity.

            "I … was being stubborn because … because I didn't want to go," she confessed, smiling ruefully. Locke's eyes widened.

            "What? You're against the marriage?" Celes snorted at the words.

            "Oh, I agreed to the marriage. I'm here, aren't I? But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Would you want to go to a land that had until recently been enemy territory, to marry a person that used to be your country's archenemy?" Locke stayed silent for a moment, then he smiled.

            "Yeah. Yeah, that's how I'd feel too," he said. "I don't really understand why a person would want to marry a stranger in the first place, but you make sense. Of course you don't like it!" Celes was smiling again, the expression warmer this time.

            "Why did King Figaro send someone like you to fetch me?" she asked. Locke's eyes fell in momentary embarrassment.

            "Oh, that," he said. "Well, I sort of … did something, and … he decided that this trip would be my punishment, of sorts. He has taken to disciplining me, ever since our father passed on …"

            "You're the king's brother?!" Celes interrupted. Locke chuckled, relaxing more into the couch. She wasn't such a bad woman, Locke decided, once she dropped the icy façade.

            "Not biologically, no," he replied. "Edgar's father … well, he adopted me, I guess you could say."

            "No! Really?" Celes asked, genuinely interested. "I didn't know the late King Figaro had an adopted son!"

            "It wasn't ever official, and it certainly wasn't a public fact," Locke explained.

            "Well, tell me how it happened," Celes asked. Locke raised an eyebrow.

            "I'll tell you, if you tell me how you got to be so close to the Emperor," he bargained.

            "Deal," Celes agreed. "So?"

            "Well, I was five. Maybe six. I don't really know, honestly," he began. "I was a street orphan."

            "Oh, that's horrible. That young?" Celes asked. "All by yourself?"

            "Except for the other kids, yeah. I never really knew my parents, so it wasn't any big deal to me," Locke shrugged. "I was used to it. Nobody suspected a little kid of thieving, so I could eat at least. I moved around a lot, just to avoid getting a reputation in any certain place. I was a pretty smart kid, actually. Until I decided it would be a good idea to pilfer from Figaro Castle's kitchen.

            "I was caught, of course. The punishment wouldn't have been too harsh, really, since I was so young and all. A few days of confinement and a slap on the wrists. But then in came Father with his voice of steel and those regal eyes … he only had to look at me, and I was scared shi…, out of my mind. He very calmly explained that I was going to have to stay in the castle and work off my debt to him."

            "And you never left," Celes said.

            "No, I didn't. I had never been happier, and Edgar and Sabin … The princes were my heroes. They were older and stronger than me, and I wanted desperately to be their friend. There weren't a lot of other kids around, so they kind of liked having me around too. I asked the king once, after I was sure that my debt had been long since repaid, if he wanted me to leave. You know, since I was just taking up space. He just looked at me, and he asked … he asked … 'Locke, do you want to leave Figaro?'

            "Of course I said no, but I would if he wanted it. I would have done anything for the guy. He had fed, clothed, and sheltered me, and I loved him like the father I never knew. So he listened to my answer, smiled his sage smile, and said, 'Well then, why the hell did you bring it up, boy?'

            "Pretty soon after that I started calling him Father, just like Edgar and Sabin did, and none of them minded. The king … I think he actually liked it. Gods, I do miss him, I really do …"

            "I'm sorry," Celes said softly as he trailed off. "I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories …" Locke shrugged back at her, giving her a casual smile.

            "It's no big deal. I have no bad memories of my father," he replied. "So then, I believe we had a deal?"

            "Oh," Celes said, reaching up to fiddle with the waves of golden hair that fell down her shoulder. "There isn't a lot to tell, really … I was orphaned, too. My father was an Imperial soldier, and he died in battle. My mother died shortly after. I ended up living in Vector because of my grandfather. He was the only living relative I had left, and he agreed to take me in."

            "Your grandfather? What is he, one of the Emperor's advisors or something?" Locke asked. Celes promptly snorted, startling and amusing Locke at the same time.

            "Oh no," she shook her head. "Grandpa is a scientist. He's one of the head Imperial researchers, and has been working for the Empire for a very long time. I was nine when I came to live with him, and already he was basically in command of every research project that Vector had."

            "That's all very interesting … but you didn't answer my original question," Locke said. Celes wrinkled her nose.

            "I'm getting to it," she retorted. "Are you always this impatient?"

            "No," Locke said, crossing his arms in automatic defense.

            "Touchy too, I see," she observed tonelessly, earning her a rather baffled glare. She grinned suddenly, tilting her head to one side slightly as she regarded him. "Your feathers are easy to ruffle, Locke. You don't have to be so sensitive."

            "I'm not sensitive," Locke defended himself. "Not very often. Now will you get to the point already?"

            "Fine," she sighed, letting it go with a slight smirk of amusement. "As you know, the Emperor has a son around my age."

            "Yes, I know. The heir apparent is … um, quite well known," Locke spoke carefully. Celes laughed out loud, shoulders shaking suddenly as she lifted a hand to stifle the sudden outburst.

            "You don't have to hedge around it!" she told him, eyes sparkling. "Kefka is a fool, and everyone knows it. Is that what you meant?"

            "Uh … certifiably insane is actually the term I would have gone for," Locke admitted sheepishly. Celes shrugged, her laughter dying off at last.

            "He is a strange one. He wasn't so bad as a boy," she said. "We were friends at first, because there weren't many children around. It was through Kefka's influence that the Emperor took notice of me. Once he found out I was the granddaughter of his most prominent scientist, he found time to make sure I was raised properly. I was educated and trained as his own daughter would have been, had he had one. I do believe he intended to wed me to Kefka someday." She pulled a face, and Locke chuckled despite himself.

            "Wouldn't that be a bit like wedding your brother?" he asked jestingly.

            "We weren't related by blood, but … it would have not been ideal," Celes said, rolling her eyes. "I do believe Kefka was jealous of the attention his father gave me, and once we became rivals he severed whatever friendship remained between us. I don't believe either of us would have agreed to marry one another."

            "What do you mean, rivals?" Locke was curious.

            "Swordplay," Celes said tersely, and smiled as he gawked. "What, I did have more ambition than needlepoint and weaving. Noble women do not have a lot of stimulating hobbies, and I had a natural flair for a saber."

            "The Emperor let you learn?" Locke asked, surprised.

            "Well, he wasn't happy about it at first, but he couldn't stop me. I trained in secret for a while, with Leo," Celes said, smiling at the memory. "Once I was able to best both Leo and Kefka in a fight, I let him know what I had been doing. He was impressed, although reluctant to admit it, and let me practice in the open from then on."

            "Amazing," Locke breathed, then smiled in embarrassment. "Sorry, I mean … it's just …"

            "You expected me to be a frail little princess?" she finished for him. "It's all right, most people do. I guess I just have too much of my father in me for my own good. Are you a swordsman, Locke?"

            "Um, me?" Locke repeated. "I can get by … that's mostly Cyan and Edgar's department. I'm better at stealth than open challenges."

            "A man of the shadows? Espionage?" Celes guessed. Locke shrugged.

            "If I must," he replied evasively. "If I have to fight, I'm more adept with knives. I'm sure when we get to Figaro, you will be able to keep up your swordplay with Cyan or someone else. Of course, you might not quite be up to Cyan's level …"

            "You wouldn't happen to mean Cyan Garamonde, would you? Of Doma?"

            "The same. He's second only to Sabin in Figaro's military, and Edgar's main protector. Pretty nice guy, if you can get past all his hang ups. The guy's way too formal."

            "Maybe you're just too informal," Celes suggested with a hint of smugness. Locke shrugged.

            "Maybe I like it that way."

            "Touché," Celes replied. "In any case, thank you. I would like to be able to practice every now and then, assuming the King doesn't mind."

            "Edgar? Nah …" Locke waved a hand through the air. "He'll probably be glad you'll have something to do. Figaro isn't exactly the biggest hot spot for activity, you know, being in the middle of a desert."

            "… That was a very bad pun, Locke."

            "What? Oh," Locke suddenly rouged a little. "I didn't realize …"

            "I didn't think you did," Celes smiled. "Do you have many duties at Figaro?"

            "Uh … not really. Not unless something comes up that Edgar thinks I'd be good at," Locke shrugged. "Why?"

            "Because … I find you easy to talk to. Perhaps we will be able to talk in Figaro as well," she replied. Locke fidgeted a little in his seat.

            "Um, sure. I'm usually around," he replied. The ship gave a little shudder, and Locke followed suit as his body suddenly reminded him why he had come to the room in the first place. Celes' face turned to one of concern.

            "Are you all right?" she asked as he got to his feet.

            "Yeah … just a little airsick, is all," he replied, heading toward the liquor cabinets. "I get like this whenever there's a storm in the sky, it's nothing new. That's why I came in here in the first place … to get a drink. Would you like to join me?" His hands were shaking slightly as he reached for one of Setzer's faux crystal glasses, though the trembling was not just due to the abnormal shifting of the ship. Celes made him nervous, but not in the same way as she had before. He found her easy to talk to as well; far too easy to talk to. Her smile made him nervous, and he knew why. He didn't like the reason.

            Don't get any ideas, Cole, his mind berated him. She's Edgar's bride, there's no use even thinking of her as anything else. Keep your eyes to yourself!

            "Yes, thank you," Celes replied to his question, pulling him out of his thoughts.

            "What'll it be?" he asked without looking back at her, pulling out another glass. He wouldn't look at her unless he had to, and he'd just get the hell out of the room once he was done with his drink. No harm done.

            "Whatever you're having is fine," she said evenly. He lifted an eyebrow at that; she couldn't be as heavy a drinker as he was, and Setzer had some pretty strong stuff. He shrugged, reaching blindly for the first container his hand found.

            His fist closed around a small silver flask.

            He opened it and peered inside before lifting it toward his face to inhale slightly. Shrugging, he poured a liberal amount in each glass. It looked something like brandy, and Locke wasn't picky. And if Celes didn't like it, too bad for her.

            Turning on his heel, he carried the drinks back the couch and dutifully handed one to Celes. She thanked him quietly and swirled her glass around, watching him as he sat. Fighting the urge to blush, Locke looked anywhere but her face as he sat back down on his end of the couch.

            "Shall we toast something?" she asked, turning toward him again in the same manner that she had done before. Locke looked at her at last, a little surprised by the suggestion.

            "Like what?" he asked blankly.

            "I don't know," she said, shrugging. "It just seems like the thing to do, don't you think? How about … to peace. Peace between our two nations, something that will last this time."

            "Hmm, I'll drink to that, I suppose," Locke replied, raising his glass. "And to your marriage. I think you and Edgar will get along just great." Celes smiled, the expression slightly sad, but she lifted her glass to clink it against Locke's before raising the drink to her lips.

            Locke did the same, only he downed as much of the alcohol as he could in one draught. It burned slightly going down, but that wasn't unexpected. What was strange was the odd taste of the mixture … it didn't taste like any sort of alcohol that he had ever had before.

            "What is this?" Locke asked absently, pulling his glass up to eye level to examine the remaining liquid. Celes stared down at her glass as well, her face tightened in confusion.

            "I don't know," she admitted. "It's unlike anything I have ever had. Does your friend the pilot collect strange wines?" Locke smiled a little and set his glass aside.

            "That must be it," he said. "I hope whatever it was wasn't rare, though, 'cause there wasn't that much, and …" his words trailed off as he met Celes' eyes. It felt like the wind had been knocked clean out of his lungs. His mouth hung open slightly, but he was helpless to do anything else. He couldn't move his stare.

            What the hell was it that he was feeling? His chest was suddenly tight and awkward, and the rest of him was growing hot and cold at the same time. He looked at Celes helplessly, watching as her eyes widened in sudden surprise.

            "Do you … feel that?" she asked quietly, and Locke wondered if he was only imagining the sultry tinge to her voice. He nodded dumbly, attempting to speak.

            "What is it?" he managed, unintentionally leaning closer to her. He was having trouble hearing or something. Yes, that was it. Why else would he be leaning closer to her? She shrugged feebly, her lips moving for a moment in silent confusion as no words came to mind. Locke couldn't stop looking at her lips, and he suddenly felt the strongest urge to still those lips with his own.

            That notion brought his train of thought to a sudden, screeching halt, and he slapped a hand over his mouth as if he had actually spoken his thoughts. The way that Celes suddenly gave a sharp, surprised intake of air, he wondered fleetingly if maybe he had spoken.

            She was on her feet suddenly, swinging her glass around wildly as she looked down at him. Her eyes were unusually anxious.

            "Locke? What did you pour in these glasses?" she asked, quiet but deadly serious. Locke pried his fingers away from his mouth, struggling to his feet as well.

            "I don't know. First thing I grabbed. Celes …" he said, his tone almost pleading suddenly. He honestly hadn't known where that had come from. She looked away from him to the bar, her eyes furrowed in worry.

            "Locke? Show me?" she asked quietly. Locke nodded, grabbing her wrist and pulling her to the counter. He didn't release her when they got there, but neither said anything. Celes set her glass down and looked around. Locke pointed to the drained flask, which had been left on its side.

            "That one."

            "That …?" Celes repeated, mouth falling open in horror. She lunged for it suddenly, picking it up as if she wasn't sure it was real. "Oh no! How the hell did this get in here?! I specifically put it on the dresser where no one would find it …"

            "Celes?" Locke interrupted her frantic words, tugging on her captured wrist gently. She tried halfheartedly to pry herself out of his grasp then, but when he didn't let go she gave up willingly. "Celes, slow down. What are you talking about? That flask is yours?"

            "Yes." The word came out as almost a sob, surprising Locke. She turned toward him, her eyes clearly troubled. "How did it get in here, Locke? How?!"

            "I don't know. Setzer probably mistook it for his own. He has liquor hidden all over this ship," Locke said softly. "Why? What's gotten you so riled, all of a sudden?" He knew it was serious; his suspicions were confirmed when a single crystalline tear appeared on her cheek. Without thinking he reached up to caress it away, his hand lingering far longer than normal. She leaned into the touch, though the worry in her eyes never dissipated.

            "Locke? What are you doing?" she asked softly.

            "I don't know. What are you doing?" he asked as she rested more deeply into his palm.

            "I don't know …" she replied, pulling away suddenly. "This is wrong, Locke, all wrong!"

            "Tell me?"

            "This drink wasn't meant for anyone, you know!" she burst, angry now. "My grandfather made it specially. It's very powerful and manipulative! It wasn't meant for us!"

            "What are you talking about?" Locke pressed gently, still not understanding.

            "My grandfather is a very intelligent man," Celes said, breathing in deeply to try to calm herself. "He knew … we both knew I would likely feel nothing for Edgar when I married him."

            "That happens a lot …"

            "I know!" she interrupted. "But my grandfather didn't want it to happen to me. He wanted me to be happy! So he manufactured this special tonic … it was meant for me and Edgar, you see? To make each of us feel something for the other."

            "What? So … you're saying this stuff was a … a love potion or something?" Locke asked incredulously. Celes bit down on her lower lip for a second.

            "Something like that." Locke snorted, shaking his head.

            "That's insane, Celes. Look, your grandpa just told you that to make you feel better, I'm sure it wasn't really …"

            "You think he couldn't do it?!" Celes roared. "You think it's impossible? Well it's not, Locke! Vector scientists know many things, my grandfather most of all! They know ways to manipulate people! Surely you have heard of the slave crown of the Empire, as your people called it?!"

            "Well, yeah … but … that was for soldiers! To make them more loyal!" Locke protested. Celes shook her head.

            "It doesn't matter. The concept is the same! My grandfather used the same basic research to make something different, something to make people fall in love! He gave it to me … for Edgar! And now it's ruined!" Tears were becoming more frequent, though she had yet to make a noise indicating their presence. Locke had the urge to wipe them away again, but curbed it furiously. This was all crazy!

            "Celes, think about what you're saying," Locke said, trying to be rational. "I mean, just because I drank that stuff, doesn't mean that I'm instantly in love with you. And wouldn't that make you in love with me as well? We're not, okay?!"

            "Oh really?! Then why are you holding my hand, Locke?! Why am I letting you?!" Celes demanded. "Why do I want you to touch my face again, Locke? Tell me that, huh?" Locke felt himself shudder at her words; tentatively, he reached trembling fingers toward her cheek. She moved into the touch, feeling the strange jolt between them as he jumped slightly.

            "You see? What does this feel like?" she whispered, seeming suddenly very crushed. Locke sighed, trailing her tears away on his fingertips before pulling away again.

            "Celes … it can't be," he shook his head. "You're to be Edgar's …"

            "I know that," she whispered. "Don't you think I know that? Why do you think I'm crying?"

            "Please tell me this is all some kind of joke," Locke said weakly, pleading. Celes squeezed her eyes shut, and she shook her head slightly.

            "I can't …" she said. "I'm sorry …"

            "It'll go away, right? We can find a way to stop it, or just ignore it till it goes away?"

            "It isn't going to go away, Locke," Celes said, her eyes snapping open again.

            "It has to! Maybe … maybe if we just think about it really carefully, we can snap out of it or …" He was cut off rather abruptly as Celes thrust her chin forward, pressing her lips against his trembling ones. He made a slight noise of surprise, but even as his mind told him to stop right that second he reached an arm around her waist. It was as if his mind had suddenly shut off, and it frightened him as he returned the kiss against all better judgment.

            "Do you believe that, Locke …?" she asked softly after they had pulled apart, their noses only centimeters apart. Locke swallowed with difficultly.

            "Celes," he whimpered, staring into her eyes with open fear, and suddenly he had released her as he sprinted toward the door. He didn't look back or take notice if she called after him, he just ran.

            He couldn't get near her. He couldn't allow anything like that to ever happen again. Potion or not, he had no right going near Celes Chere. She was Edgar's. She had been from the moment he first saw her.

            Damn.

            Edgar and Cyan stood side by side in the midmorning heat, watching as the Blackjack made its final docking preparations. Neither spoke, content to stand in silence, but Cyan cast his friend a supportive glance. Edgar was nervous, whether or not the suave king actually wanted to admit it.

            "Hey! Am I too late?!" a voice called, and they turned their heads to find Sabin barreling barefoot across the smooth stones. He looked a positive mess in his sullied training outfit, but the excited gleam on his face kept Edgar from telling him so.

            "No, they're just landing," Edgar said, smiling slightly at his brother's appearance. Some things never changed.

            "You could have at least attempted to look presentable," Cyan rolled his eyes. Sabin grinned, punching the man good-naturedly in the shoulder. Unfortunately, good-natured to Sabin was a bit much for Cyan, who scowled at the taller man's actions as he fought the urge to rub the abused muscle.

            "C'mon, Cyan. If I'd gone all the way to my rooms on the other side of the palace, I never would have made it back in time!" Sabin explained himself. "Doesn't bother you, does it Edgar?"

            "No," Edgar sighed, giving his brother a knowing look. "Gods know we're all used to you running around like a ruffian, and Celes will have to get used to it eventually. She might as well know what kind of person you are from the start."

            "Hey! Are you insinuating that I'm a ruffian?!" Sabin protested, mocking hurt at his twin's words. Edgar grinned then.

            "Of course not. Just that you look like one," he quipped, turning back to the airship before them. "Shall we go meet them?" He started walking, and the other two followed along on either side of him.

            Locke was the first to descend the airship, appearing just as they were walking up. Edgar smiled at the sight of him, but the expression quickly faded as he noticed the bitter expression on the young man's face. He didn't greet them as he neared; he hardly spared them a glance.

            "Locke? What's the matter with you?" Cyan asked, confused as the young man brushed past him angrily. His appearance was rumpled and his eyes were red, as if he had been crying. Locke glared at him.

            "Leave me alone," he nearly snarled, leaving the stunned swordsman gaping after him. It was far beyond Locke's character to be so hostile. Sabin noticed as well, and stepped in front of Locke's path.

            "Was there a problem or something? Locke, why are you --!" Sabin was cut off sharply as Locke shoved him bodily out of his way, continuing to stomp with a slight stagger toward the palace entrance. The three men all stared at him with utter disbelief as he disappeared into the castle. Sabin couldn't find anything to say; he stared at his brother helplessly. Edgar shrugged, taken aback.

            "Don't mind him," a voice said from the airship's direction, and the three turned back to find Setzer standing with a young woman at his side. "He's been temperamental all morning. We ran into a storm and it made him ill ... I think he's still a bit sick."

            "I see," Edgar frowned, looking back at the castle for a moment. "Sabin, would you go see if he's all right? I don't think a little motion sickness would make him that way."

            "Sure," Sabin nodded, and sprinted off toward the doorway eagerly. Edgar ran a hand through his hair with a sigh of worry as he watched after his brother, then suddenly remembered his manners and turned back to the others.

            "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I wasn't expecting that. Setzer, are you sure everything's …?"

            "Yes, everything went well," Setzer replied. "The Emperor sends his regards. Now, if you want to give me a hand with the luggage, Cyan …" He nodded his head in the direction of the airship, and the swordsman nodded wordlessly. With a polite nod to Celes he passed her, following Setzer back to the ship. Edgar looked at the blond woman he had been left alone with, feeling uncharacteristically blank. He couldn't think of one witty, charming comment.

            "I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Miss Chere," he said softly. "But as you might be able to tell Locke kind of surprised us, and he's very important to us, so …"

            "It's quite all right," Celes responded, prying her eyes away from the direction in which Locke disappeared to meet Edgar's eyes. She offered him a tired smile. "I'm a bit worried about him too."

            "Oh?" Edgar's eyebrows rose slightly.

            "We had a chance to talk last night. He mentioned he wasn't feeling well," Celes said. "He thought a drink would help him." Edgar gave a small chuckle.

            "No wonder he feels so poorly," he said, then after clearing his throat he gave a small bow. "In any case, I'd like to welcome you to Figaro Castle. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Chere."

            "Likewise, Your Majesty," Celes replied, unable to do anything but smile at Edgar's dashing expression. She had heard the king was a charmer, and apparently he lived up to that reputation. His nose wrinkled slightly at her words.

            "Please, just Edgar," he asked. "Anything else seems odd, what with our arrangement …"

            "Just Celes then," she said, nodding. "I don't mean to be rude, but do you think I might be able to go to my rooms first? I'm not used to flying, and it was hard to sleep …"

            "Absolutely," Edgar replied lightly, flashing her a grin. "Have you a lot of luggage? I should wait to help carry it along …"

            "You … carry luggage?" Celes couldn't help but exclaim. Edgar threw his head back, laughing.

            "I've got arms you know," he said, smirking. "If Setzer and Cyan can play bellhop, so can I." Celes watched him carefully, but returned his smile. This was certainly not what she had been expecting.

            Sabin stood outside Locke's door, tapping on the wood softly. He knew Locke wasn't asleep yet; he had been there in time to see him shut and bolt the door, after all.

            "Locke, c'mon, open up. It's just me, okay?" Sabin said, but received no response. He jiggled the knob, knowing full well that it wasn't going to give. He sighed. "Locke, I could break this door in, you know. Let's do this the easy way, huh?"
            "Go away, Sabin," Locke's muffled voice grumbled from inside the room.

            "Locke, please …"

            "Just go away!"

Continued