A full month and a half passed before I had any justifiable excuse to return to Athlum; as flimsy as it was, the minor border dispute between two of our subjects was easier to iron out in person and then it wasn't hard to declare that I would stay for a full week. David offered me his hospitality again; this time I was not welcomed with any great formality, and we clasped each other's wrists in easy greeting.

I pleaded tiredness the first evening I was there; my arrival had not afforded David much advance warning, and I did not wish the poor man to feel as if he had to allow me to monopolise his every evening.

The next day, however, he invited me to attend dinner in his quarters; I pointedly wore my customary court garb, and he acknowledged the gesture with a raised eyebrow.

The dinner was a lightly salted fish that seemed to me wholly unfamiliar in taste; when questioned, David mentioned that it had been caught in one of the caverns under his territories. I was unaware that fishing was possible there, and before long David had requested a page to bring us a scroll with illustrations of the sorts of fish that lived in such lightless conditions.

On seeing the pictures of the creatures, I was glad I'd been unaware; I wasn't certain I'd have even attempted to eat such a monster if I'd known its appearance.

That observation seemed to amuse David immensely, and soon we were immersed in a discussion of the fine dishes that could be cooked from hideous beasts. The servants cleared away the dishes, and brought us more wine, and suddenly it was as dark as pitch oil outside and I realised I'd been talking about some recent bardic performances for about half an hour. I wasn't even certain how I'd landed upon that topic - hadn't David been talking about gemstone production a moment ago?

I waved a hand vaguely, having lost my trail of thought. "You should come visit if you like music. I have all the best minstrels."

David made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"Did I say something amusing?"

"No, no, merely recollecting that minstrels made your acceptable list."

It took me a moment to decipher his meaning, then I snorted. "I don't bed the good minstrels."

Realising how that sounded, I waved a hand hurriedly in negation as David's suppressed giggle turned into a full laugh.

"I... oh, well. I meant - never mind."

He grinned. "You avoid complications, I know. And wishing to retain someone professionally means not indulging them personally, correct?"

"Precisely."

"One day, you will find a woman who'll get past that attitude. I hope I'm around to witness it; it should be quite the event."

I bridled a little at that. "As I told you, I'm hardly averse to the idea."

"Someone spectacular will be needed. But it'll happen; you're too fine a man to go uncaught for long."

I doubted it was meant as anything other than a mildly complimentary remark, but I felt a little bemused by the flattery. "I rather hope so."

"Humility, from you?"

"Unusual as it is, yes. I think you're right that I will need to be dazzled. But I think that's a lot to ask for; too much, perhaps, to expect."

"Come now, you're certainly worth it."

Now that was nearly outright flirtation. I blinked. "Easy for you to say; you found someone who fitted your desires."

"Hmm. Rush never intended to catch my eye; he was just himself. There was no effort on his part."

"Yes, yes. Perhaps I will be even luckier than you, and chance upon a lover who is dashing, clever, charismatic and attractive. And unwed. And perhaps noble, too." I sighed. "I doubt it's likely."

He looked slightly abashed. "All I meant was that you can't assume you won't find someone to suit."

"No? I can't think of a woman who meets all those requirements and who might be interested. Nor many men, come to that."

He looked - rather to my surprise - startled. "Oh. Forgive me, I assumed..."

I reviewed what I'd said previously, and then grinned in realisation. "Hm? Oh, I've bedded men before. They have their advantages."

His eyes were still a little wide, but he seemed amused as he asked, "such as?"

"Men do not get pregnant. Which makes them excellent as lovers in the short-term, but probably not ideal in the long run."

"Ah. I see. Can I ask... you prefer women?"

"In general terms, yes. Men don't often catch my eye, and they also assume.. well, never mind."

I seemed to have sparked his curiosity, but despite a raised eyebrow he didn't follow up on my self-censored remark. Which was probably as well; I had no particular urge to discuss the tendency of my previous male lovers to assume my slightness of build translated directly into submissiveness in the bedroom.

"I see. But 'not many' men live up to your list... that is more than none."

"One comes to mind. And he's almost certainly uninterested."

"Are you certain? I thought you uninterested in men until a few minutes ago, after all."

"You know all of the nobles in the northwest, David. Do you think any of them qualify?"

He looked thoughtful. Poor man. Only a handful of minor noblemen were unwed and attractive, and all of those seemed determined to share every whore in Celapalais's docks. "I can't bring any to mind."

"Indeed. And I will not name anyone. And so, let us discuss instead your options."

"Oh, let us not. They are as barren as yours."

"Which, as we've established, is not actually completely bare of desire, merely lacking in reciprocal attention."

"Indeed. Perhaps I should take up with some minstrels."

I laughed. "I can recommend it. Love is not necessary for the occasional tumble, you realise."

"I rather prefer it."

I tried to assess his mood and concluded that he might tolerate a direct question on the topic. "When was the last time you actually indulged, if you'll forgive me so bold a query?"

"I - ah, Kosmosfest, a couple of years since."

"Thank heavens, I thought perhaps you might say it had been your soldier boy."

"I am not quite made of stone, thank you." He sniffed, as if mildly offended.

"Even so, that is still quite a span. Do you truly not desire the, uh, physical?"

He laughed, and there was a strange edge to it. "Of course I do. But it's fleeting. And I'm afraid I fear people desire David Nassau, Marquis of Athlum."

That sentiment was a familiar enough one that it gave me pause. I chose my lovers as less likely to be influenced by title and rank; I found the idea of noble-hunters as distasteful as David did. Rush Sykes's famous disregard for rank had likely been a key point in his capturing of David's heart, in fact.

But I was merely a Duke, albeit an influential and prestigious one, and I chose people likely to ignore that. David had saved the world, and I had gone out of my way to ensure everyone knew of his valour. Who would not be influenced by the idea of bedding a hero?

"Ah."

"I will not hold lovers at arm's length as you do." He smiled wryly. "I admire your ability to do so. But for me - no, I prefer to know they are not merely bedding my name."

"And you don't know anyone who'd disregard that?"

"Oh, I have friends who treat me as I am. But few of them stir my attention in that way."

I couldn't resist it. I leant across the table, and patted his arm. "You'll find someone, I assure you."

He smiled faintly, looking suddenly very weary. "Ah, we are grown maudlin; and it is late. Perhaps our mythical lovers can be postponed until the morning."

That was a clear enough dismissal that I did not tarry much longer. I wished our meeting had ended on a more cheerful note but I was glad for it nonetheless; it had been illuminating.

He invited me to join him in the library the next evening and I accepted; I was by this point expecting more alcohol but was pleasantly amused to note that he offered me fruit juice.

"My apologies; I need my wits about me and I'm at risk of drinking them away of late."

I grinned, and accepted the juice gladly - it would be good to attempt to converse without wine.

And we did; we pored over maps of our expeditions to the Western Isle together; exchanging what tales we had heard. Athlum's maps extended further to the north than Celapaleis's did, but had not ventured as far west; that led us into a discussion of shipbuilding and provisioning. In good humour, I offered to loan him one of my better ships in exchange for free access to Balterossa through their cave system. We haggled good-naturedly; if it turned into something more plausible, then we could open formal negotiations later on.

I did not stay late; David seemed to grow melancholy as the night wore on, and I did not wish to prompt him towards thoughts of loneliness again.

The next day, David called me to the audience chamber early in the morning. He apologised for not notifying me sooner, but Athlum Castle would only be providing a light supper that evening, and he would not be attending it. He had arranged for my retinue and I to dine at the house of a nobleman near the castle, so we would be only mildly inconvenienced.

Confused, my immediate instinct was to think he wished me to leave Athlum as a result of some insult I was unaware of. I nearly offered to leave, until he gave me a pained smile and said he hoped I didn't mind.

I gave a rote and entirely instinctive dismissal of any offense, turned to leave, and then nearly winced as I realised what the occasion was. It was the anniversary of the taking of the Valeria Heart.

Had I remembered, I would not have come to Athlum; I avoided this day, the dates that marked when David's parents had died and the anniversary of the end of the war, having long since decided that I did not wish to intrude on the memories such occasions would surely prompt.

I would apologise to David, when I next spoke to him. My dismissive comment had not been heartfelt, and it should have been.

I felt strangely wistful, during the day. I couldn't lay my finger on precisely why; I had barely known the General, and the Heart would have been lost at the end of the war in any event. I couldn't truly claim I mourned them. But I felt a sympathetic ache for David's sorrow. My own parents had died when I was very young and I had little memory of them to pin any love to, but David had to all intents been as attached to the General as to his own mother before that.

Feeling an urge to seek out what little family kinship I had, I visited the Warrior's Honor.

My brother drew me aside almost as soon as I entered, his face dark with concern.

"I know, I mistimed my visit. I will not intrude; I dine with Count Feraldi tonight."

"What? Oh, the memorial, yes, I'm sure." He peered at me, the concern unabated. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing? I am in fine health."

"You look miserable. Have you fought with Lord David?"

"No." His words sunk in. "Why would you think that the cause?"

Edmund waved a hand, and his expression grew arch. "Oh, honey, you are so deeply smitten with him."

"Nonsense."

"I know smitten when I see it. And more to the point, so does my friend Trevayne at the castle; he says you and the Marquis have grown very close." He nudged me. "So tell me, my dear, should I be jealous yet?"

"It's true we're closer than before, but I am afraid it is only friendship, disappointing though that must be for you." And perhaps for me too, I privately - very, very privately - admitted to myself.

He put a hand on my shoulder. "Oh, you silly boy. If I were 'friends' with him, I'd be proud of it."

"Yes, I'm sure you would be. But I fear, genuinely, I must disappoint you."

He pouted. "Then perhaps I shouldn't tell you that he gazes at you when your attention is elsewhere."

I fought down the thrill of delight that the thought provoked. "Your friend again? Tell him to stop maligning David's name, please."

"Fine, fine." Edmund waggled a finger at me. "But I tell you this, brother dear, you might just stand a chance. Don't waste it."

Before I could marshall a response, he had scampered off to attend his bar, and I could hardly argue with him in so public a place. I waved a farewell across the heads of some qsitis and left.

The dinner almost certainly deserved more attention than I gave it; the noble's daughters were as charming and sincere as any I'd ever met, and yet I couldn't bring myself to take my thoughts away from David.

My brother's words might have been empty teasing, but it had brought something into focus for me. Discarding my attachment to the old David had allowed the attraction I felt to the current David to come to the fore. The David of my youth was pure and strangely incorruptible in my mind; I could see us being comrades, but not lovers. The man he'd become now was subtly changed; more reserved, infinitely fascinating, and - I had to admit it - still possessed of enough magnetism to make me half-wish I could give him back his city all over again.

If he did indeed feel an attraction to me, and he could accept the restrictions we would have to impose on any relationship...

I chewed on the thought, even on my return to the castle.

I only snapped out of it when a polite rapping on my door presaged the door being opened. I stood to greet the interloper as they entered; a rather wide-eyed page stood there holding a folded note. It turned out to be from David, asking if I'd mind joining him and apologising for the lateness of the hour and excusing me in advance if I wished not to attend. All in all it seemed apparently rather hastily written - I could not recall any prior message I'd received from David being quite so garbled.

Upon my arrival, however, David merely smiled calmly up at me from his table, pouring out two glasses of wine. The page who showed me in bowed politely and backed away, and I took a seat, utterly confused.

David held up his drink in a toast. "To those we have lost."

I took my glass, and raised it silently before drinking, watching him closely. His eyes looked a little over-bright, and I wondered if he'd been weeping earlier.

After a moment's silence, I set down my glass. "Did you want to talk?"

"Ah, yes. I apologise for disturbing you."

"Nonsense, I hear friends are permitted to impose occasionally. I'm curious, though; were you not with your generals tonight?"

He smiled, and again his smile seemed sort of wan. "Almost all of my friends knew Emma so well; I had a sudden urge to talk to someone who did not."

I didn't understand his logic, but I nodded nonetheless.

"Please, talk to me of something other than loss. Anything else; how was your dinner?"

"Oh, entertaining enough. The Feraldi daughters are as lovely as reputed."

"Indeed? Do we have contenders to be your Duchess, finally?"

I shook my head. "Alas, I fear not."

He sighed, and made an exaggeratedly disappointed face at me, then picked up his drink again.

I tilted my glass to assess the level of wine in it, and frowned. "Were you not intending to forgo wine? Toasts aside, I do not think it is a good idea for you to drink tonight."

"Ah." He flushed a little. "You may be right."

I took the wine glasses and tipped the contents out of his window, and found the water jug on his nightstand instead. "There."

"My thanks. This is strange, you know. This is not a friendship I would have imagined, even a short year ago."

I resettled myself; our chairs sat at right-angles to one another, allowing both of us the comfort of being able to look away from the conversation if it grew awkward. "Nor, perhaps, I. But I value it, for all that; I am glad you thought to ask for my company."

We sipped our water; I was acutely aware that we had both taken to hiding moments of uncertainty with such gestures.

"So why are the count's daughters not suitable?"

"Ah, they might well be, were I to investigate further. But I fear I have resolved to take your advice on the matter of such things."

He looked startled. "Which advice?"

"To reassess the likeliest candidate available."

"Does this mean you are likely to pursue your one possible nobleman?"

I smiled at him. "If he'll accept that I can't offer much more than a casual relationship for now. He is hard to fathom, though. I truly cannot tell if he would be interested in me."

David looked dismissive. "If his tastes run to men at all, I can't see why not."

I felt a blush creep up my face; honestly, it was the blandest of compliments, and I was reacting like a virgin. "Well, so you say. But your tastes may not be universal."

"Ah, yes. Because young, handsome and wealthy is a grouping of attributes that repulses so many."

"Such flattery, David. You will turn a boy's head if you continue."

He laughed. "Ah, I hardly think so. I am a decade your senior, after all."

"You are seven years my senior at most. I do not doubt you could turn my head were you a decade older again." I meant that; I'd slept with one woman at least that much older than myself, and a man nearly as old as that. And I could not see David aging ungracefully; he'd still be desirable into his twilight years, as far as I could tell.

"I.. well, thank you, but..." he seemed to cast around for a joking way to deflect the comment, and said, "you are pursuing your nobleman, remember?"

I shrugged. "I am, yes."

He nodded, and visibly relaxed. "Perhaps I should take your advice in return, and take up casual lovers instead."

"Ah. You'd consider that?"

"I might, if a suitable prospect were presented."

I was half-convinced he understood my intentions; if so, I could have no better invitation to kiss him. I resisted the urge, however; he'd deflected my direct compliment, and I didn't wish to misinterpret idle banter.

"Alas, though, it might be a while - I fear I am out of practise at flirtation."

I laughed. "Tell them they're young and handsome; I am scarcely the only person who would respond to such comments."

He gave me an odd look. "I suppose so."

Surely that was an unremarkable comment. "Unless they're patently untrue, that is. Is there a ugly old man you're wishing to seduce?"

"No, no." He smiled, suddenly. "Unlike you, I've nobody particular in mind."

I drank my water, masking my sudden feeling of faint disappointment. So much for hoping our conversation so far had been veiled flirtation.

"Which is probably just as well; your young man sounds rather intriguing and we'd doubtless be competing if I knew him."

I tried not to smirk. "Perhaps. I'm too fond of you to fight over a lover, though. Besides, you're prettier than I."

"Hah. You're better with pretty words of flattery than I."

I couldn't help but notice the hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks, despite his dismissive tone. Interesting. "I was serious, though I grant that these things are rarely objective. But perhaps I merely favour blonds."

"Should I assume your nobleman is such, then?"

"No guessing games, David. I'll tell you who he is if he accepts my suit, not before."

He sighed. "And you vex my curiosity, once again."

"Indeed." I stretched, amused. "I can't always indulge you, after all."

I was watching him very carefully now. His eyes flickered down my torso as I stretched, for just long enough to confirm my suspicion. Whatever disappointment I'd felt vanished, replaced with a sudden certainty that my brother was right. There was certain a physical attraction behind that glance.

"Ah well. I suppose I'll live." His smile had returned, easy and amused.

I would have to be careful not to presume too much. Being attracted enough to look was one thing, but it didn't mean he wished to pursue it. This needed delicate handling.

Except that I was weary of second-guessing everything. I was weary of waiting for confirmation, for hints, for the right moment; I wanted to act.

"Suddenly I find myself wishing I hadn't poured that wine away."

He blinked at me in confusion. "Why so?"

"Because then I might have the boldness I lack."

He tipped his head to one side, the confusion still foremost in his expression. "Boldness? When have you ever lacked for boldness?"

"You think too much of me, I'm afraid. I am less bold than I would like around you."

"Are you afraid of offending me?"

"Not precisely."

"So why not merely say whatever it is that you want to say?"

I gave in to my impatience, leaned forward, and kissed him directly on the mouth. He nearly yielded, his lips pliant and responsive for a fraction of a second, before he recoiled as if slapped.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Not at all," I said, my mind racing with sudden panic. "Do I repulse you?"

He scowled. "No, of course not."

"And do you not trust me?"

"Trust isn't the issue here."

"This... it need only be as complicated as we wish it to be."

I raised a hand to cup his cheek, and he snorted and yanked his head back. "I don't take kindly to being toyed with; you've only just left off speaking of your interest in another man."

"No. I want you, my noble friend; have you not been listening?"

He blinked, his scowl softening somewhat. I leant forward to touch his face again, and he did not flinch.

"This is foolishness, my Lord," he said, his voice low.

"No, David, foolishness would be to keep calling me by that title."

"You are too reckless about this."

"And you are not reckless enough. I do not seek love from you, merely passion. Will you give me that?"

He kissed me then, as if to test my notion, slow and deep. His recent lack of practise was perhaps a little in evidence; our tongues clashing awkwardly, but I felt a familiar heat build in my belly nonetheless.

I pulled away from the kiss and moved my mouth to instead press a soft kiss on the junction of his jaw and his neck. He froze, and I paused - if he refused me now, so be it.

He grasped my jaw with one hand, and turned my head towards him, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"And what of the consequences?"

"Such concerns are for the morning after, David."

"So reckless," he muttered again, as if to himself, and then I felt his smile as he kissed me again.

I woke unaccustomedly early, with the slightly strange sensation of a warm foot pressed against my leg. My immediate thought was to wonder if my bedpartner would leave my room of their own accord, or if they were one of the few who lingered until I shooed them out. Then I opened my eyes and realised these were not my own rooms. Perhaps I would have to be the one to leave discreetly.

And only then did I recall precisely whose rooms I was in, and whose bed I was in, and therefore to whom the foot against my leg belonged.

I turned and sat up, cautiously - not wishing to wake him - to confirm my memory. The Marquis of Athlum lay beside me, curled away from me under the sheet, with his head pillowed on his arm. His long hair was loose - I vaguely recalled untying it to glory in it more fully - and covered his face, but he appeared to be genuinely asleep despite my movements.

I stared at him, assessing how I felt about this.

This was David Nassau of Athlum, and no matter how long ago the Dissipation had been and how different he was now - and how he would object to the sentiment - the shred I had left of hero-worship for him gave me a warm glow of smugness about the matter. And then again, this was David Nassau of Athlum, and that was politically unfortunate for a whole host of reasons. And this was David, my friend, and this was rather more intimacy than mere friendship would tolerate.

But damn, I couldn't find it in me to regret anything about it, and I truly hoped he felt similarly.

He stirred a little. I thought he might wake, and steeled myself for the conversation that would ensue, but instead he merely scrubbed his hair away from his face impatiently and dropped his arm back where it had been.

It occurred to me that I could take this opportunity to admire him, as I rarely had the chance to do so openly. His long hair spilled across the sheet, only slightly tangled - his motion had successfully brushed it from his face - and there was a striking contrast between his fair hair and tan skin. His shoulders were not overly broad, but had a pleasant amount of musculature to them; he had more strength than I would have expected. His back tapered down to a slim waist; anything further below was concealed under the sheets, but my memories informed me that I'd not been disappointed.

I transferred my inspection to his face, trying to be as objective about it as I could be. His lips and eyelashes were both still as lush as a youth's; his cheeks were slightly flushed with sleep. With his hair down, he would have looked quite feminine had it not been for the strength of his jaw and the stubble that was barely visible along it. His face had hardened a little since I'd first known him, and he'd acquired some creases along his brow; still, these were softened and smoothed by sleep, and it would have been hard to place his age accurately.

I repressed a sigh; I knew I could be considered handsome - even David had said as much - and I did not exactly lack for compliments from my lovers, but David was actually beautiful.

After the briefest of considerations, I lay back down, and gingerly placed an arm across his shoulders.

You should not think this was out of some misplaced sentimentality or optimism; we had discussed our responsibilities enough that I rather expected him to insist this never occur again. But the man had not taken more than a small handful of lovers in years, and it might be pleasant for him to wake with arms around him for once. Besides, it was a dark hour, and I was not entirely sure I could find my way back to my rooms unaided.

The next time I awoke, it was because the body in my arms had moved unexpectedly. David was awake, had startled at finding company in his bed, and was staring at me in consternation.

"Good morning," I said, lightly.

"And to you," he said, his response apparently habitual despite the frown he wore.

I stretched under the sheet, feigning nonchalance. "What hour is it?"

"A mark or so past sunrise, I think." He sat up cautiously, but seemed to be relaxing a little, as if my unruffled reaction was soothing him. "Did you... did you sleep well?"

I grinned. "I slept very well. Your bed is comfortable, and you do not snore."

He glared at me, then flopped back down onto the pillow with a groan. "I'm wholly reassured, thank you."

I reached across the newly-opened gap between us, and placed a hand on his arm. "This need not be so awkward. Last night was wonderful, David, but it was a matter for our bodies, not our hearts. We can remain friends, I assure you."

He glanced at my hand. "I've heard that words like that do not always translate into reality."

"You and I are exceptional, however." He pulled a face, and I laughed, patting him gently. "Peace, David. If we both wish for it to happen again, so be it. In the meantime, we can dispense with love notes and promises of eternity."

David gave me a searching look, and then nodded slowly. "Very well. I have one request, however?"

"Ask away."

"Kindly keep any comments or observations to yourself while I get dressed."

I laughed. "Very well. I'll even keep my eyes closed if you insist."

He threw back the sheet with a snort.

For the rest of my visit - which I did not abbreviate - I was careful not to do anything that David might construe as overt flirting; I would hardly have objected to sharing his bed again, but that would not have jibed well with my comment about friendship being the priority. Besides, I wished to ensure he was truly under no illusions of romance. I had no intention of breaking David's heart.

And I felt a little guilty, truth be told. He'd been miserable at the beginning of the evening, and while I was reasonably certain that it hadn't made him more vulnerable to my advances than he would have been normally, it felt a little as if I had taken advantage.

We had another private dinner, the evening before I was to return to Celapaleis. I'd been a little wary of the offer; there were several ways in which he might have felt obliged to make it, and I was rather afraid he might wish to indulge in some sort of soul-searching. It was somewhat of a relief, then, when he offered me tea to accompany it rather than anything alcoholic.

He poured it himself, and contemplated me as he did so.

"You have my thanks," he said, after a moment.

"Of that I'm certain." I took the proffered tea, and added honey carefully. As if it were an afterthought-I've mentioned my penchant for theatrics, I'm sure - I added, "for what, precisely?"

He tilted his head to one side. "For your company recently, amongst other things. It has been pleasant."

I nodded, as regally as I could. "Indeed."

We both drank, and I wondered if at least mild flirtation would be permissible; it was becoming hard to hold my tongue against my natural inclination to compliment the man.

David coughed. "You are being uncharacteristically quiet. What is wrong?"

"Nothing," I replied. He looked dubious, and I smiled. "Genuinely, I am fine. You worry too much."

"We have not talked of that night," he said, hesitantly.

"No, we have not," I admitted, and looked down into my cup to conceal my sigh. "Was there something specific that needed to be talked over? We both found pleasure in it."

I heard him make a noise that I can only describe as hmmm, before he said thoughtfully, "You've been careful to avoid the subject, is all. Are you afraid I'll flee like a frightened maiden if you mention it?"

I lifted my eyes to meet his amused ones, and smiled. "I was concerned that you might be regretting it."

"Hardly," he said, much to my relief. "I do not think that we should exactly make a habit of it, however."

I sighed dramatically. "Ah, to be rejected so cruelly."

He sipped at his tea. "If you regard a suggestion at moderacy as a rejection, I'd be fascinated to see what your reaction would have been had I actually refused your advances."

I waved a hand dismissively. "Tantrums, shrieks, tears. The usual."

He laughed. "Much the same as your reaction to a loss at chess, then."

"Yes, that sounds about right."

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "I'm flattered to be valued so highly."

"You should be. I'm very proud of my chess skills."

He laughed, and that seemed to dispel the remaining lingering awkwardness. I wondered if the conversation would lead us back into bed that night - if it did, I would hardly have objected - but it did not.

He did bow over my hand and press a kiss to the back of it before I left his rooms, with a smile that somehow negated any serious intent from the gesture.

I repaid the gesture by dropping to one knee in a formal farewell the next morning; he rolled his eyes in amused horror and bid me safe return.

I didn't see David until the next Congress session was called. Some pockets of resistance near Veyriel were worrying the Eastern Lords, and they wished to muster the largest force possible to suppress the uprising.

I was in a snitty mood even before the session started. My chamberlain had finally retired, and his replacement was barely adequate. My prime minister had appointed him, and I'd had little say in the matter. He'd managed to confuse my staff entirely by redrawing and restructuring the budgets for everything three times in his first week, and he'd forgotten a number of minor tasks that had resulted in my needing to step in and soothe ruffled tempers all around.

Compounding this was that the other Lords all seemed to be in favour of every proposal raised to suppress Veyriel, no matter how unpractical. For the life of me I cannot recall what aspect we were arguing over - troop deployment, I think - but I recall that my point was wholly pragmatic and that not one of the other Lords of the Congress could see the value in it for some reason.

I was launching into an impassioned, well-constructed and perhaps slightly shrill-toned argument when David, under cover of the table, placed his hand lightly on my thigh.

I stuttered in surprise, but would almost certainly have continued with my point had he not then murmured under his breath the words, 'peace now, Robert'.

Hardly anyone had called me by my true name in almost fifteen years. Even pronounced in David's particular accent - which rendered the last letter silent, and which weighted the syllables oddly to my ear - it was startling to hear. I'd not even been certain David recalled what my first name was.

Ghor regarded us suspiciously; he couldn't see the hand - nor could anyone else, thankfully - and I'm certain he couldn't have heard what David had said, only that whatever it was had halted my argument entirely. He seemed to dismiss any questions in favour of interpreting my sudden silence as capitulation.

"Should I assume you have no further objections?" he asked, and I felt David's hand squeeze as if pleading with me to agree, "If so, let's move on."

David removed his hand as I nodded in defeat, and I managed to regain my tongue in time to contribute saliently - though less sharply - to the remainder of the meeting.

As we left, David fell into step on my left side. He was looking altogether too innocent for my taste.

"That was entirely unfair," I hissed at him.

"I freely admit that. But we shall discuss my reasons in private, if you must."

I handed my notes to a page, and followed David to his quarters.

His rooms were a mirror of mine; spacious and sparsely appointed. He gestured me to a seat.

I shook my head, still angry. "David, I do not appreciate being made a fool of."

"But you'd rather be overruled than swayed? We need to show a united front, and you insist on dissenting at every moment."

"The voice of reason, as I see it."

He sighed, and waved at the seat again. "You're more contrary than usual, and you were being ridiculously stubborn. Are you so determined to pick a fight with every Lord in the Congress? Do you wish to test our collective patience to breaking point? You risk throwing away a lot of good will over nothing."

I was shocked into admitting that he might have a point. I'd been itching for a fight, and this was not the arena to indulge that. If I continued as I was, I risked seriously damaging the relationships I'd built up; calm and reasoned counter-arguments were one thing, but I suspected that I'd been on the brink of irrational ranting. For David to have to point that out was mortifying, however.

David watched me think for a moment, and then grabbed my wrists and hauled me over to the couch. He pushed me backwards so I was forced to sit or fall unceremoniously backwards. Surprised, I sat.

He didn't release my wrists, but knelt in front of me. "Listen to me. I'm worried about you. Isn't that what friends are supposed to do?"

I nodded, startled into meekness. "Yes."

He shook my wrists gently, to emphasise his words. "Now, will you explain yourself? Whatever is wrong, I will help you if I can."

I swallowed, my mouth gone suddenly dry. I was hardly some innocent maid to swoon over a simple touch, but David's grip and proximity were stirring vivid memories - he'd held my wrists like this, preventing me from clutching at his hips to hasten his movements. I'd cursed him for being such a tease.

He glanced down, as if struck by the same recollections.

Without pulling away from his grip, I shifted backwards slightly on my chair. "That was an underhanded way to stop me."

His smile was wry. "Agreed."

"I won't be so easily distracted next time." Or rather, I would be hideously distracted by the very idea that he might, and he wouldn't have to do a thing. Damn him.

"I imagine not." He released my wrists, and reached one hand up to smooth the hair back from my temple. The touch felt like a question, and I held my breath.

He spoke his next words very softly, his fingers gently tracing down the side of my face. "Might I be permitted to make amends somehow?"

I would have defied anyone to refuse such a request.

After a few minutes of indulgently slow kisses, he pulled away abruptly and stood up. I was too startled to prevent myself from making a faint groan of protest.

"The dinner - our absence will be noted if we do not attend."

"Ah? There is still quite some time before we will be expected." I knew I was pouting; I didn't particularly care. It would take more than a kiss to apologise for his actions; surely he did not think us even yet?

"We can return after we've eaten." He tilted his head to one side in that thoughtful fashion, "I'd rather not be disturbed, and it's likely we'll have more leisure later."

"Very well," I said, allowing regret - and anticipation - to tinge my words. "Shall I return here later, then?"

David nodded, and I leaned in for the brief kiss he willingly allowed me to claim before we rejoined our peers.

We walked back together to David's rooms, at a leisurely pace, after the meal. The dinner conversation had been surprisingly convivial. My mood had been, admittedly, buoyed significantly by the promise of bedding David again, but the other Lords were making an effort to divert their minds from the potential conflicts ahead, and I'd even found Ghor's conversation rather tolerable.

David opened the door with a flourish, and then occupied himself with lighting the lamps. A servant had banked the fires already; we'd have no further interruptions that evening.

I crossed to his balcony doors; he had a fine view across Elysion's rooftops, and the moon bathed the city in a familiar silvery light.

David stood behind me and wrapped an arm around my waist with careful casualness, propping his chin on my shoulder to admire the view with me.

"It looks almost as it did when Elysion was still here," he said softly.

I nodded, and turned in his arms. He regarded me for a second, and then pulled me closer.

As we kissed, I reached up and pulled away the tie that held his hair back, allowing his hair to fall freely. I threaded my fingers into it gleefully; there was something very satisfying about the weight and texture of it.

He stopped, and gave me an amused look. "My hair holds some particular fascination for you, doesn't it?"

"And if it does?"

"Then perhaps I shall try and remember that." He smiled, and tugged at my hair - not as long as his, but still long enough to fall past my shoulders. "Is that why you grew yours?"

"To emulate you? No. Because I like long hair? Yes." I kissed him again, and felt the laughter bubbling up through him as I did so. "What?"

"Nothing, merely a thought." He smiled very fondly at me, and I felt that warmth flooding through me again.

I pulled him towards the bedchamber eagerly.

This time, our intimacy felt fonder, more exploratory. He discovered that I would wriggle like a trapped qsiti if tickled in the correct spots on my sides - and his hair was a perfect tool for tickling those spots - and I discovered that he shivered splendidly at the sensation of kisses placed along his arms.

We had to contend with my knee, alas; some combination of weight and force made it give way at an unfortunate point, and I had to hastily assure David that I did not need to be taken to a healer right there and then. His concern was touching, but it was easy enough to shift ourselves into a position where my knee was irrelevant.

Some time later, I laid an affectionate kiss on the crown of David's head and slid out of bed to get dressed.

David watched me attempt to locate my smallclothes.

"Are you returning to your own quarters?" he asked, his expression unreadable.

"Yes?"

He frowned, very slightly, as I began to dress. "Ah. I... somehow hoped you might remain here, tonight."

Oh. After our previous encounter, that could be considered a reasonable assumption. "The servants here have no personal loyalties to keep them discreet, David. And if I'm observed leaving here in the morning..."

He sighed, and sat up. "Of course. My apologies for asking."

I sat back down on the bed, and leaned over to kiss him again - and he allowed me to do so, albeit rather passively - and then tangled my fingers in his hair. "I wish I could."

Worryingly, I meant that. Which was another reason for me to leave; indulging such whims was risky. I dared not allow myself to start becoming romantic or possessive about David.

He pouted very appealingly, but nodded and slipped out of bed also. I watched as he - with apparent disregard for his nudity - found himself a comb from somewhere, and settled down on the edge of the bed to comb his hair out. There were a few knots, probably as a result of my attentions, and he winced as he attempted to yank the comb through them.

He'd certainly learned how to exploit his weapons to unfair advantage. I felt my objections fade.

I sighed, dropped the shirt I'd found, and plucked the comb from his fingers, kneeling behind him on the bed to take over the task. He seemed a little startled - possibly he'd genuinely not expected me to be won over so easily - but he did not protest.

"I will have to leave early," I said warningly. "There are papers I must collect from my quarters before the meeting tomorrow."

His eyes were half-closed; he seemed to be enjoying my ministrations. "If you're seen leaving, I'm certain you're capable of thinking of reasons to have been here."

"I was more concerned about avoiding suspicion in the first place."

He made a dismissive noise, and shifted his weight as if expecting me to be done. I pushed him back down with one hand, focused on trying to unknot a snarl I'd found.

"Nobody has combed my hair for me since I was a child," he said after a while.

"Is that so?" I said, distractedly. "You'd think you'd be better at getting the knots out yourself, then."

"There aren't usually such knots."

I snorted, and finally pulled the comb through the full length of his hair from root to tip a few times, admiring the shine of it in the lamplight. "Are you not enjoying this, then?"

"I... yes, very well, it's rather soothing." He tipped his head back, as I tossed the comb to one side. "Are you done, then?"

I kissed him gently in answer, then crawled back up to my place in the bed. A realisation struck me as I re-shed the few clothes I'd pulled on.

"David," I said casually, as if it were of no great import, "how do you think of me?"

He got into the bed next to me. "Currently? As a man who confuses me regularly."

"No, I mean, what name do you refer to me with? In your own thoughts?"

His expression shuttered a little, though he did his best to look unflustered. "As Qubine."

I was a little disappointed, though not surprised. If the circumstances of our youth had been reversed, I'd probably have become entirely accustomed to calling him Nassau. "Would you consider using my true name?"

"Robert," he said softly, as if testing the sound of it, and then shook his head. "It would be strange to become used to that. But it seems fair to try."