Over the course of the next half-year or so, David and I formed rather a comfortable routine.

I continued to visit Athlum regularly, as I had before. His generals - while they still seemed unwilling to verbally endorse it - were willing to facilitate our relationship by making it easier for David and I to spend more time together privately when I was in Athlum. And David visited Celapaleis in return a few more times. By the third time he visited, he was able to schedule large chunks of time to be deliberately unscheduled.

He spent more nights in my rooms than in the ones I assigned him. In Athlum, I spent almost every night in David's quarters. We grew a little complacent, I suppose.

It was not entirely surprising, then, when I visited the Warrior's Honour and Edmund drew me upstairs to talk rather than merely into a quieter corner. The upstairs apartment was small and cluttered and Edmund shooed me through into a sitting area filled with trinkets and hung with a colourful riot of draperies.

"So," he said, pushing me into a seat, "only friends, hmm?"

"My apologies, but what are you talking about?"

"Brother dearest, don't try to talk your way around this. There are many eyes and ears in the castle, most of whom are very loyal and do not gossip, but I have my ways and you're sharing a bed with his lordship."

I coughed. "Ah, that."

"I knew you were smitten."

"Yes, very well, congratulations on your insight."

"You're a lucky sod. I could just spit with envy."

Edmund didn't sound nearly as jealous as his words might have indicated. I wondered how much of his public display of attraction towards David was genuine and how much was distraction from his true interests. Perhaps I needed to make some enquiries.

"Well, I'm not sharing, so I'm afraid you'll have to live with the disappointment."

"Hmmph." Edmund gave me an assessing look. "Fair warning, brother. Don't you dare break his heart. I'm serious; I'm fond of you but I will hurt you."

"Your loyalties are noted."

Edmund sighed, and then leaned forward across the table. "I'm not joking, and I wouldn't be the only one. David is adored across the Empire; you are liked but there are limits. If you tire of him - like you've tired of every single other lover you've had, and yes I know there have been many and don't make that face at me - you risk seriously undermining the stability of the Northwest."

"Why does everyone persist in thinking we haven't considered the political ramifications?"

"Alright then, answer me this: are you in love with him?"

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to answer that. I can't be certain what Edmund read in my face, but he exhaled as if relieved. "Good. I'll try to put a positive slant on any gossip that comes my way." He stood too, and offered me his hand. I took it, a little confused. "Well, darling, it's been fabulous to catch up, but I shouldn't keep you any longer."

Standing on the street outside, I felt distinctly wrong-footed by the whole experience.

That evening, as we sat by the fire in his rooms, I passed on my brother's concerns as information from a local agent of mine.

"Oh? Well, I suppose that was inevitable." He sipped at his wine. "What precisely does the gossip say? That we are over-close?"

"That we share a bed when I am in Athlum."

"Ah." He winced. "Well, that cuts directly to the quick of the matter."

"Lately we have not been especially discreet. I bear no ill-will to your staff about this."

"No, indeed. How far has it spread?"

"Not far, and my sources are attempting to-" what had Edmund said? He'd not promised to quash or undermine the rumours. "-to keep things from escalating."

"Well. How do you wish to act on this?"

He was looking at the fire, and I studied his profile for a moment, trying to tell if he was concerned or upset or - it was a possibility - happy that the truth was seeping out.

"If I thought it weren't likely to cause serious unrest, I wouldn't act on it at all."

He glanced at me, his feelings unreadable, and sipped his wine again. "Do you think our involvement likely to cause more unrest as gossip, or as admitted fact?"

I considered that. If we made some sort of public statement, before the gossips had a chance to concoct malicious reasons for our involvement, then we could diminish some of the more extreme speculation. It would alienate some conservative elements, however, especially amongst the Congress. More importantly, though, any such statement would link us together inextricably - it would make the relationship effectively permanent. We would have to be very certain of one another, we would have to formalise our positions with regards to one another's realms, and we would suffer intense and rather prurient scrutiny for a long time.

David set down his cup, and turned towards me, his mouth twisted wryly. "You would hate it, wouldn't you."

"Hate what?"

"Proclaiming our intimacy to the world."

I shook my head. "Not inherently. It goes against my instincts but - oh, hell. David, I am in love with you, I do hope you realise that."

He burst into laughter. I frowned; gracious, did he think I was joking?

"Sorry," he managed to say, "but you do manage to take the romance out of such declarations."

"I... ah, I suppose so. But what I mean is: I am not ashamed of being your lover."

"No, I understand." He composed himself, and then leaned in to bestow a quick kiss on my cheek. "You merely value our privacy. But I think we must relinquish it, a little."

"If we are doing so, do you suppose we should formally notify the other Lords of our involvement?"

It would make for an interesting Congress meeting. David being involved with a man would not, I thought, be a surprise to the various Lords, or at least those with a long enough memory to recall Rush Sykes. I had no idea if my own dalliances with men had been reported to the other Lords, however. David had been oblivious, it was true, but my own intelligence network did not baulk at reporting the sexual habits of my peers - even those I'd much rather not know about.

On the whole, I thought that our gender would be only a fraction of the problem. Bertrude and Olebeag would focus mostly on trade treaties and the complicated history between our lands. I suspected that, if they could be convinced we weren't going to cause civil war, they'd regard the whole issue as rather amusing. Lombard of Nagapur and Denevor of Baaluk were both rather conservative, but would ultimately be led by whatever example Ghor set. Ghor himself was a cypher; he might find it all hilarious or might decree the relationship an abomination. Paris, I thought, would likely be our staunchest defender, but his own personal history meant that his support would be unlikely to hold much weight.

David swirled the last dregs of his wine around in his goblet. "You know they will ask us our future intentions."

And probably not just in a political sense. "Is it so complicated? We would never seek to reunify our lands in any fashion. Nor would I cede any power over Celapaleis to you, or seek any over Athlum for myself."

"In other words, our personal involvement is indeed purely personal."

"Mm." I stared at the fire. "Should we be drafting some kind of formal political contract?"

"A contract-"

"Well, marriage isn't open to us, but a mutual contract would make our intentions-"

"-I understand." I glanced over at David; he was frowning. "It is a sensible thought."

He seemed hesitant, and it took me a moment to grasp why. "Ah, damn. My apologies, apparently I am ill-suited to expressing my feelings with any trace of romance tonight."

I took his hand, and he smiled wryly. "I do not think a contract clarifying our political intentions is necessarily that romantic, Robert."

"No, perhaps not. I would honestly rather a marriage."

His smile softened a little, and he squeezed my hand. "Say that to our peers and they'll believe you when you claim to care nothing of the politics."

"Well," and I shrugged, "I would."

"I am not certain I would. I cherish you dearly, but without there being a need to apportion any titles, rights or duties to you, and without hope of issue from the relationship, I'm not sure I can see the purpose of wedding you."

That stung more than I would have anticipated. "And you say I am devoid of romance."

He tugged at my hand, as if trying to pull me closer, but I sat firm. He studied me for a moment. "You're serious?"

"That I would propose marriage to you? Entirely so."

"I mean no insult, I assure you. I've long since ceased to think of my own potential marriage as more than a legal bond." He tipped his head to one side. "I would not have been willing to consider wedding someone for the sake of Athlum's succession, if I had expected it to require romance."

"Ah." I thought for a moment; I'd considered doing much the same if no better prospect presented itself. I couldn't argue the point, but it was distinctly unsatisfying nonetheless.

He pulled me towards him again, and this time I let him at least pull my hand to his lips for a kiss. "Actually, I find it more romantic that you would willingly admit to Ghor that we share a bed."

"Your definition of 'willing' is over-broad. And you think telling that scaly old bat about our liaisons is romantic?"

"Come now. You must know what is whispered about men like us, even in lands as tolerant as mine. It is womanish to lay with another man. It is a sign of weakness or depravity. And yet, for love, you propose to admit to such, and do so to a man you have spent half your life at odds with." He shrugged. "I find romance there."

"David, I do not think anyone regards you as weak or womanish."

He flashed an amused grin at me. "Few would openly say such things of us, I know. But Ghor cares little for our status, and while he has no particular desire to demean me, you are handing him another source of insults to use."

"He frequently calls me girlish already, and I do not anticipate his insults becoming much saltier." I allowed David to pull me sidelong into his arms this time, and he kissed me softly on the lips before pressing his mouth to the skin behind my ear. "Perhaps now you'll comfort me when he tells me I'm an idiotic fop?"

"I could not have envisioned comforting you for any reason, a couple of years ago," he said in a low voice, his breath tickling the edge of my ear. "But then, I couldn't have imagined how easy it would be to love you."

I swallowed, hard, my mouth gone suddenly dry.

"I find little to be truly ashamed of in our relationship. And nothing to be scared of."

Lady Irina's words came back to me then, and I laughed. "Now, that is hubris. I have it on good authority that all the ladies of the Northwest will be vexed at our withdrawal from the marriage market."

"I'm rather certain I can live with their vexation, under the circumstances."

"As can I." I turned, and kissed him gently. "Very well then. Let's cause a scandal."

Ghor examined the contract, line by line, occasionally grunting a request for clarification as he went, while David smilingly answered his queries and I attempted to look as though I did not expect any serious objections. Ghor shot me a rather indecipherable look when he reached the sections that clarified that, in the event of a dissolution of the relationship, David and I would require all major policy decisions relating to each other's realms to be first agreed upon by our advisors and then ratified by the Congress, if time permitted, for a cooling-off period of several years that would be lifted only when our peers judged us capable of being objective about one another. I admit; it was extremely over-cautious legislature. But I knew I could hold grudges, and putting in safeguards in advance seemed a sensible course of action.

"Very thorough," he said, stacking the papers back into order. "Marquis of Athlum, Duke of Celepalais, if you wish to have this contract entered into the official Congress records, I'll allow it."

"My thanks," I said, feeling the tautness of anticipation lift.

David smiled. "Our thanks, Lord Ghor."

Ghor regarded us both, and picked up the large pen on his desk. "Are you planning on making some kind of announcement?"

"Yes," I said. "Rather that that let the rumours build up."

Ghor eyed me, and then actually smiled. "Hmph. Olebeag may owe me a drink. I'd been speculating that you two were working on some sort of alliance."

David laughed, lightly. "Please, tell me that the Congress has not been speculating on our love lives."

"Ha. No, I admit I wouldn't have guessed that angle. This won't be an easy path for you; I won't pretend otherwise." He tapped the paperwork. "But this, this reassures me that you're not being headstrong fools on the matter. And I'm too old to care what form love takes, as long as you're ready to weather the storms."

He had a distinctly moist glint to his eye, the sentimental old bat. "We were fortunate in recent precedent. Most of these clauses were lifted directly from the marriage agreements between Royotia and Balterossa."

"And that detail will assist when you tell the rest of the Congress, I'm certain. Well, you have me in your corner, as it were. Lombard may sputter, but he'll be overruled. And I'll be sure to rely upon your memory of my benevolence when trade negotiation season rolls around."

Ghor was as good as his word; when I stood and announced to the assemblage of Lords that I was in love with the Marquis of Athlum, his countenance was set in such fierce approval that not one of the other Lords dared to even so much as comment. David set forth the terms of the contract we had agreed, and set forth the schedule we desired - they would need time to review the terms, but we would not wait long.

"I should note that, as head of the Congress, I have already signed my approval and agreement," said Ghor, to a murmur of mild surprise from the others. "Not that it should be needed; I scarcely see how these details are anyone's business but their own. However, they've seen fit to inform us, and to ask for the Congress to mediate if necessary. I suggest we reconvene tomorrow to accept the contract into our archives."

A series of nods greeted the suggestion. David and I spent the evening meal answering questions - some prurient, some pragmatic, some subtle, some presuming far too much - about our relationship. The general tone was wary approval of the existence of a contract governing the influence of our involvement, tempered with a certain amount of sly commentary on how predictable or not this development was to those who'd known us for more than a decade.

All in all, it was significantly less adrenalin-inducing to make public proclamations to announce our relationship. David was an excellent orator, and his people loved him. And, cynically, perhaps they were rather prepared for the idea that he would not be taking a wife; his populace remembered Rush Sykes, and while I did not expect to come out of the comparison as a clearly superior option, his memory was likely a blessing for me. Celepalais had, rather to my irritation, a slightly less enthusiastic response to the proclamation we made there; I comforted myself with the thought that my people were merely more cautious by nature than Athlumians.

There were dissenters, and those who called us deviants and catamites. They were, largely, shouted down or mocked into inconsequence without any official retribution or rebukes being needed. My brother, I'm certain, was responsible for the revelation of how much covert aid I had sent to Athlum after the Dissipation; I did not fully approve of being exposed as such a philanthropist, but the information effectively removed any opposing sentiment that lingered towards me in Athlum.

It is now several years later, and - as yet - David and I have not needed to draw the Congress into any of our disagreements. There have been no small number of those; he is more of an idealist than I, and my tendency to assume ulterior motives in others has driven him to genuine fury more than once. And, indeed, his irritating tendency to try and soothe me even in my most piqued mood has caused me to threaten to dissolve our relationship more than once. But we have prevailed, and our realms flourish side-by-side.

You may be wondering what David's commentary on all of this is. After all, you have merely heard my side of events, and I cannot be considered the most reliable narrator.

To that end, I can only say: I speak for myself, and not for him. Perhaps he would remember things a little differently; perhaps he would recount more of the pledges I have made of my affection, in an effort to embarrass me for his own amusement. Certainly I think he would dispute how high an esteem he is held in by all, out of modesty if nothing else. I think, though, on the whole, this account is close enough that he will have only the most minor of quibbles.

But he wishes to have the last word, so I will turn this pen over to him now.

- Robert Qubine, Duke of Celepalais

You are a sentimental, hopeless romantic, Robert. But that should be clear to everyone by now.

(To the hypothetical reader of this tale: never fear. I have always had the upper hand. He will agree to anything I ask if I threaten to cut my hair, after all.)

Of quibbles, I have only two: firstly, your people love you more than you think, Robert. And secondly: you overestimate my prettiness.

Ghor was right, much though I'm certain the assertion will offend you. Love is merely love; and in the hands of one as pragmatic as yourself, not so hard to steer around the obstacles life presents.

Come, the story is done; the scandal so old that it raises no eyebrows. I am not the man I was when you first knew me. But neither am I the man you describe at the beginning of this tale. Your attentions have changed me, irrevocably, and you have given me back joy.

Set your pen aside, and glory in your victory.

- David Nassau, Marquis of Athlum