"M-m-mm, Wilf," she said sleepily. "Ready for more?"
"S-Sweet, thraggling Universe," he mumbled. It was all he could manage before she rolled toward him, threw her leg over his hip, and smothered his mouth with her wet—crazy wet—lips.
A long time passed before either of them said anything sensible at all.
"How in the name of Voot himself," Brim asked as dim morning light glowed through the window, "can you sit here naked in bed with me and say you are going to marry him? I mean, how?'
Margot smiled impishly, resting her back against a pillow. "Watch my lips," she said. "I... am... going...to..."
"Universe!"
"Oh, Wilf, for crying out loud—which you are going to make me do before long—I don't love him.
You certainly must know that, by now. I'm just going to marry him. That's all."
"That's all? Universe, Margot. I mean..."
"I know what you mean, Wilf," she said. "And even if my life isn't my own to live as 1 choose, I don't intend to give you up. My wedding to Rogan LaKarn won't produce a marriage—a partnership is more like it. He doesn't want me. He's got somebody else, too, you know. A couple of somebody elses, in fact."
"Well, that's not my case, Margot," Brim replied. "You know I want you—I've just never wanted to own you. Or anybody else, for that matter." He looked her in the eye. "But I xaxtdamned well want to make sure nobody else gets to make that claim, either."
"I understand," she said, nodding her head. "Universe knows I feel the same way about you."
"That's good," he answered, "because there is something else." He was talking very seriously now.
He'd given the matter months of thought on blockade duty and was quite ready to discuss it in a Universe of detail. "What I need—all I need," he went on emphatically, "is to know that I'm the one special person in your life—permanently. I need that relationship—because I need you."
She looked him in the eye. "You have that already, Wilf," she said. "It's one of the few parts of my life they can't control with the excuse that royal duty calls for it." Then she took a great breath and put her hands on her stomach, staring down into her lap. "But will you still believe in that relationship when this belly of mine is swollen with his child?" She looked up and pursed her lips. "That, Mr. Brim will be the true test for us both. And it will happen. They'll expect heirs immediately after the war."
Brim closed his eyes and winced. "Heirs," he repeated, emphasizing the plural form of the word.
"Ouch."
"You didn't think it was going to be easy for either of us, did you?" Margot asked. "Listen, Wilf, in the not too distant future, I'm going to have to encourage you to find yourself some...ah... temporary sleeping companions. Either that or you'll end up like a celibate lots of the time. And it's my bet that if I ask for something like that, I'll eventually lose what little I have of you."
Brim started to protest, but she continued before he could speak.
"This love we think we share will have to be so terribly strong it can fast through quite a bit of adversity, especially now that I'm permanently reassigned to Avalon. Just trying to see each other is going to be xaxtdamned difficult. It was no easy matter getting a berth aboard Queen Elidean so I could be here for your ceremony today. And I am required to return with her when she casts off early this evening." She laughed resentfully. "After my little spying sojourn to Typro, Uncle Greyffin IV is doing everything in his power to keep me safely within the Imperial sphere on Avalon. At least until I produce that heir."
Brim nodded and smiled gently. "1 guess we'll spend a lot of our lives skulking, then," he said.
She sighed and took his hand. "I should dearly like to find some nicer words, Wilf," she said, looking down at her manicured nails. "But I suppose it is precisely what everything boils down to. Turns out it's commonly accepted practice among us of the so-called ancienne noblesse, if that's any help. Otherwise, we'd have royal marriages falling apart all over the Empire. Can you live with something like that?"
"Can you, Margot?"
"I asked you first, Wilf Brim," she laughed quietly. "But, yes. I can live with it." She looked him full in the face. "I've spent a lot of time weighing the question of 'us'—and now I'm ready to commit." She grimaced. "I can't find a nice war of putting this, but it's got to be said. Rogan and I have been together—that way—a number of times since you and I first made love on Avalon. And never once has it changed the way I feel about you. Not even when it was especially good." She pursed her lips and squeezed his fingers. "Life is going to be damned difficult over the long stretches we'll be apart. But the most difficult times of all will come when we do see each other and cannot touch."
Brim nodded. That made abundant sense. "How long before the wedding?" he asked.
She took a deep breath and frowned. "Sometime during the summer season in Avalon," she said. "I shall have to set the actual date soon after I return."
"And until the wedding?" Brim asked.
"Until the wedding—and after the wedding—we'll skulk, Wilf Brim, just as we're skulking now.
Whenever we can be together." She smiled (and frowned). "The more we practice, the better we'll be—at skulking as well as other, more interesting activities. Starting right now." Her eyebrows raised and she smiled salaciously. "It's still more than two metacycles before Cousin Onrad presents your decorations, and I need you. 'Like a king fulfill then my life!/Fill my unsatiated soul/ With all the bliss of paradise!"'
Miraculously, the morning continued to hold fair—though telltale cloud formations promised an expeditious return to more conventional meteorological fulsomeness not too many metacycles hence. The dying world had almost become placid by the time Brim stood at attention in dim midday light. Behind Headquarters Plaza, flags rustled crisply in the chill breeze From the corners of his eyes, he could see ranks of Blue Capes lined on either side as far as they'd cleared the melting snow—representatives from the hundreds of organizations comprising Gimmas Haefdon. He smiled to himself. Margot was among them somewhere, watching, sharing the moment with him, as were Borodov and Ursis. The two Sodeskayans stood to his right, with Borodov in a center position as befit his great seniority. Nearby, a single rank of ratings—including Barbousse—waited for their own decorations.
Distant thunder from a lifting warship momentarily drummed his ears, then faded into the yellow-gray sky. Someone in the formation sneezed. Another coughed. He smelled the nearby sea as it tossed itself to vapor on the jetties and boulder-protected causeways. At last, the main doorways to headquarters were thrown wide by white-gloved Imperial Marines. They moved in perfect unison—a professional honor guard, if Brim had ever spotted one. He wondered idly how the beautifully attired escorts would face up to a day's terror on blockade duty. Presently, a military band yerked out one of the brassy war marches from nearby Glamnos Grathen, then Crown Prince Onrad emerged from the building. He was followed by a number of high-ranking naval officers, including (Gimmas Haefdon's commander, (the Hon.) Rear Admiral Dianna C' J' Herrish, Vice Admiral Eug'enie Drei'ffen, commander of the Sixth Battle Squadron, Star Admiral Sir Gregor Pendi, Admiral of the Imperial Fleet, and First Star Lord Beorn Wyrood!
Brim was stunned. He had trouble even imagining such an assemblage, much less seeing one—especially walking toward him. For a moment, his knees felt more than a little weak. Then the feeling passed in a wave of relief. These sage visitors from the Admiralty had little interest in any of the Truculents as persons. Rather, they were using the little ceremony to personally address the commoners of the Fleet. He took a deep breath, then smiled inwardly. If admirals really had that sort of need, then Wilf Brim was glad for an opportunity to assist—after all, they'd brought him a long way from the Carescrian ore mines.