It was sultry as hell.

That was the main thought that pounded through Nephrite's brain as he waited for the appearance of the trade minister. Well, that and the fact that his dress uniform was completely unsuitable for conditions. He was hot, sticky and quite uncomfortable. Damn planet.

It wasn't that the planet wasn't beautiful. From what he'd seen since his transport landed, the planet of Jupiter was stunning, even more verdant green than the Earth, a rarity in the solar system. But the abundance of plant life was supported by a ridiculous amount of rain which came in nightly electrical storms, so even when it wasn't particularly hot, it was definitely humid. Today it was both.

"Lord Nephrite."

He snapped to attention. A servant stood before him, looking uncomfortable. "I regret to inform you that the trade minister has been slightly delayed. He sends his apologies. However, he will be here soon. Please make yourself comfortable and please help yourself to the refreshments provided."

After waving a hand at the salver which held a small plate of toothsome-looking tidbits and a crystal goblet and small carafe of wine, the servant bowed and withdrew. Nephrite eyed the wine, smiling cynically. Getting the other side drunk was one way to sway negotiations in the Jovian's direction. It might be his first such trade mission, but Kunzite would deservedly have had his head if he'd fallen into such an elementary trap.

Ignoring the wine, he decided to stretch his legs a bit, wandering down the length of the hall. It was all windows on one side, most open to allow views of the stunning, wild gardens below. However the other side of the corridor was lined with portraits of past rulers of Jupiter, all with hair of vivid auburn or red and piercing eyes as green as the planet's forests. The Jovian royal line, it seemed, bred true.

He froze before a painting at the far end of the hall, eyes flitting over the polished brass tag which bore a ridiculously long inscription reading: Her Most Royal Highness Crown Princess Verity Lita Honora Callisto Veridiana of the House of Io, fairest flower of Jove.

This was not a portrait of a past ruler, but of a future one, he thought. And worse luck, he'd met her before. For what he saw was a portrait of a small verdigris-eyed girl child, cradling a bouquet of sugar pink poppies in one arm and a scepter in the other, innocent and demure-looking in lace and ruffles.

A slight snort escaped him, causing a guard in the room to shift and eye him with suspicion, so Nephrite fell silent. He couldn't blame the man, as there had recently been rumors of attempts on the royal family by anti-royalist dissidents. Though the princess he'd known probably could have held her own against them. Innocent though she appeared, appearances had been highly deceiving. When he'd last seen her she'd smacked him, burned up his training sword and blacked his eye. She'd been a tiny hellion in pink.

He winced remembering the acid tones of his king's scathing rebuke. The childish squabble caused by his youthful chauvinism had reportedly very nearly resulted in an interplanetary incident. And stern Kunzite had not been amused. Though, he ruefully recalled, Endymion and Zoisite had found it uproarious.

Thank goodness he wouldn't have to deal with her on this trip. High royalty was never involved in such trifles as trade. The strained relations between their planets resulting from that faux pas eleven years past remained to this very day, which was one of the reasons he'd been dispatched to restore them as soon as he'd reached the age of majority. He'd argued that such was a diplomat's job, but as Kunzite had coldly pointed out, it was his duty to repair what he had broken, especially if Earth was to eventually join the Silver Millennium Alliance. In another two years Jadeite would be sent on a very similar trip to Mars.

He stepped to one side and watched curiously as a pair of servants came in, toting a huge, canvas wrapped object. When they stopped before the princess' portrait, which they took down, he was downright intrigued. Evidently a new painting had been done of the princess. She'd be sixteen now, he mused, idly wondering how she'd changed.

Before he got a chance to see the new portrait unveiled, however, the trade minister, a fat, fussy man in clothes as ill-suited to the climate as his own, arrived, spewing apologies as formal and ceremonial as his garments as he ushered the Terran lord into his office. Nephrite hid a grin. Let the games begin.

It was several hours into negotiations, which he thought had been going well, when the scream, shrill and loud and long, ripped through that whole wing of the palace, raking nerves and turning blood to ice.

"The princess!" yelped the trade minister, leaping to his feet with a speed that was impressive given his pudgy body.

He was not the only one springing into action. Nephrite, in a nearly instinctive move, had whipped out his sword and thundered into the hallway with the palace guards. His temper flared at the idea of any woman, even the little hoyden, being hurt simply because of the circumstances of her noble birth. He could almost hear Jadeite's scornful whisper again accusing him of possessing a ridiculously overly-chivalrous nature. Kunzite's voice butted in to remind him that if he could save the heiress to the Jovian throne, the Earth would be in an excellent position for negotiations. The only downside was possible death, but that had never stopped him before.

The continued screams allowed even a man unfamiliar with the palace to home in on the source. He rushed into the princess' chamber just steps ahead of the Jovian guards, his broadsword drawn. The lightning fast reflexes that had been drummed into him by his sword master over the years were all that kept his head from being severed from his neck just then. The clang of metal against metal reverberated up his arm as he stared around the flower filled suite.

Two, men garbed entirely in black, lay on the floor. The first was out cold, sporting a lump the size of goose's egg which was rapidly purpling on his forehead. The second lay still and face down amongst a clump of potted ferns, his body cooling, his life's blood having been inconsiderately spilt onto the fine carpet.

The other occupants of the room were ladies. The first, an expensively dressed redhead, was alternately sobbing and shrieking at the top of her lungs and twisting her velvet skirts in her hands. The second was a servant girl, who knelt on the floor and wept silently into her apron. And the third, not dressed at all but barely covered in a damp towel and still dripping, was presently clutching said towel around her ripe form with one hand and holding a saber to his throat with the other. She was silent as the tomb, her jade eyes glinting dangerously and her cheeks flushed a heated pink.

Nephrite felt his mouth go suddenly dry with a fear which had nothing to do with getting skewered. Incongruously, given the situation, he wanted nothing at the moment more than to yank loose the pins which held the girl-woman's damp hair up in an untidy knot on her head and run his hands through the silken red-brown curls…for a start. Unhealthy as he knew it would be, he could actually feel his fingers flexing to do just that. Wisely he decided not to make a single aggressive move, dropping his sword and holding up his hands in an unmistakable gesture of peace.

But for the first time he really understood what possessed the mythic hunters of old to risk life, limb and humanity itself to gaze on a goddess bathing.

There was a moan from the floor where the man with the goose-egg lay. As the guards pounced on the would-be assassin, dragging him off to his fate, Nephrite felt a hint of a slight smile creep across his face. The long crack in the heavy, rock crystal decanter on the rug and the scattering of bath salts on the floor told the whole story.

"Oh do be still, milady, won't you?" snapped the single remaining guard to the shrieking lady, shocking Nephrite. The woman sniffled, but did cease the ear-splitting wail, dabbing at her tears with a soggy handkerchief.

"Thank you, Captain," murmured the Amazon, sounding amused. Her rich, throaty voice stimulated Nephrite's imagination along with his every ductless gland and, he imagined, those of the guard. He swallowed hard, realizing that thought unaccountably vexed him.

He was more shocked when the captain of the guard bowed deeply before the toweling-clad vision. "Are you hurt, my princess?" the man begged, keeping his eyes firmly averted from the display of ivory flesh before him, a feat which Nephrite admired since he couldn't have done it.

Wait a minute! Princess?!?

A scorching blush rose on Nephrite's cheeks as indigo eyes again locked with stormy green. The beguiling, yet dangerous, green-eyed nymph was very the same pig-tailed vixen of a princess who had once blacked his eye and disgraced him before the whole Terran court. And that meant, dammit, that even had she not been too young as he knew her to be, she was still as far out of reach as the Moon was from the Earth, even though she was so tantalizingly close that he could see the individual beads of moisture pearling on her white shoulders.

Cronos' balls!

Evidently not, now that danger was past, overly concerned with her state of undress, Princess Lita looked down the blade of her sword at the man before her, her attention only wavering when the guard captain again plead with her. Assuring him she was well, she then returned her attention toward the brunette man, her eyes flickering over him searchingly. There was something about him…

After an eternal moment the saber was lowered from his throat, allowing him to draw a deep breath. The princess turned away and shrugged into a light caftan her shaken maid pressed on her. Once again covered, she allowed the towel to then pool at her feet, as she tightened a jeweled belt around her slender waist. Turning back to him then, she arched a graceful auburn brow and cocked her head to one side in a too-familiar inquisitive motion that made Nephrite groan low in his throat. If she placed him before he could explain, he was a dead man…he'd already had a slight glimpse of heaven.

He cleared his throat to speak, but the princess got there first. "Pardon me," she said in dulcet tones that would have been suitable to any formal ballroom, "but you seem very familiar to me. Have we, perchance, met?"

A faint, rueful smile twisted his lips. The stakes had just been raised alarmingly and now the real games had begun…winner take all.

(Note: If Lita seems strangely unconcerned about being nearly naked in front of a perfect stranger, please know that royalty in the past had shockingly little privacy at most times. Courtiers, servants, etc. were everywhere. 2nd Note: I'm setting the male age of majority at 21. The women's is 18.)