Matthieu’s second tour on the SDC-19 was under his proper name and new rank of Lieutenant Junior Grade. The original crew members didn’t refer to him as Sims once; the new 2nd pilot Lieutenant Hardiston, new 1st engineer Lieutenant Commander Jesse Niemeyer, and new courier Lieutenant Brett Hughes demonstrated their complete ignorance of his former role, asking him more than once where his first ‘undercover’ tour had taken him.
This courier loop covered 54 planets, several of which Matthieu was eager to see. He reveled in the sights, smells, and sounds of Mirabilis again.
Although he was fêted by the Demesnes embassy, he felt uncomfortable listening to the complaints of the Ambassador’s Lady Doreen Brighton, that she and the ladies of her small retinue couldn’t go abroad without their corresponding men. Matthieu commiserated with her and sent a private message home to Father to have Grandfather consider limiting placements to this post to a maximum of five years.
Although he mock-grumbled on board about not visiting all the planets he wished, Matthieu assured his shipmates he would take his share of shore leave, but that was all.
“Father would have my ears if he thought I took advantage of being Imperial just to frolic away extra leave time,” he joked with the other junior officers in the mess. “I’m to be treated like everyone else unless traveling to a planet’s surface, and then the embassy has to baby me for security reasons.” He did miss taking regular shore leaves with the various crew members, but being an Imperial Son meant he had to let the ambassadors and their staff treat him to what they were able to produce as Imperial standards.
He did make it to Manuvia, where Father had had the foresight to send a lady ambassador. Like most people in the L’Oreal Duchy, Lady Ashley L’Oreal was considerably enlightened with regards to sexuality and warned him outright that many women on the planet ‘collected’ foreigners. “They will display your picture on their datanet sites and describe your every move in bed, so tell your friends before they embarrass themselves unduly.”
Matthieu warned Lieutenant Hoffman and Sergeant Braxton before they left to find some fun for the evening. When they returned to the ship the next day, Matthieu laughed to find that Lieutenant Hughes had printed out the sexual exploits of the two men for the crew’s delectation.
By the end of their tour mid-March, Matthieu was considerably disenchanted with women in general. Even the ladies attached to the embassies he visited seemed to see him as nothing more than an Imperial stud, just a source of genetic material and symbol of government, instead of a real person with real achievements already under his belt. His gratitude to be home, anticipating his homecoming with family and friends, knew no bounds as he shuttled the crew to the planet, with the sun just beginning to caress the bright jewel of the Urban District.
This time Vic had arranged for Matthieu’s homecoming party at Bradley Manse, where the wine literally flowed from two chilling fountains. There were perhaps fifty people between the ages of Theo’s most-recent eighteen and Samuel’s twenty-two. Matthieu ended up spending the night after passing out sprawled helplessly on an arm chair.
At least Duke Harold, Vic’s oldest brother, made sure he was served his Dry-Out with a considerable amount of water before being invited to breakfast. The servant helped him into the shower, where Matthieu took half an hour to recover before he could shrug on the clothes Vic had scrounged up for him.
“Your Sentinels are good,” Vic said, helping Matthieu put on his boots.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I know at least three people took vids of you snoring in that arm chair and being ported to a room. But no one has any evidence of it this morning.” Vic snorted.
“Yeah. Awesome men, Sentinels,” Matthieu slurred. “God, why did I get so drunk?”
“I don’t know, but after breakfast I’m headed to class. See yourself out whenever you like; you know the house as well as anyone.”
Vic pulled him into a standing position from the bed. “Give those boots a good stomp, and let’s go to breakfast.” Matthieu groaned a bit but complied.
◊ ◊ ◊
Matthieu’s next lecture to the Imperial Protocol Academy was over attitudes toward women on other planets, comparing them to the changes Sinclair Demesne had seen in the decades since Grandfather had wed Grandmother. “I don’t see our society changing as drastically as the oldtimers have it. The sexual mores on every planet are different, sometimes so radically different that I’m glad most of our subjects ignore the conditions on other planets.
“That they subsequently concern themselves so much with the Imperial Family’s sexuality is problematic, but we are honorable men and women. Regardless of our sexual exploits, not a one of us would use our sexuality to hurt or dishonor another person.
“What concerns me most is we as Imperials have a real need to show our people that ladies’ traditional duties are the least of what women can accomplish. Grandmother’s stellar example draws the most attention, naturally, but since Aunt Elizabeth has shown herself so capable as our Representative to the Galactic Assembly, and Aunt Anne’s brilliance in directing the Stargate Project has become unremarkable, I relish the day any of you Imperial ladies could take any assignment that pleases you, despite the attitudes of everyone else on the planet.
“What matters to me is that you achieve beyond your own imagination in whatever discipline you decide to pursue. That is your highest duty, in my eyes, and I will support you to the best of my abilities.”
Theo led a discussion then about the attitudes the Clan had toward having the girls achieve as much or more than the boys, a discussion that lasted for at least three days. Rowena Bradley gave Matthieu her personal thanks for it at one point. “Although the boys have treated me with considerable authority, I was tired of having Bernard reinforce my commands at times. Now I actually feel as if I’m his equal in their eyes.”
Matthieu gave her a hug. “Now if I can only find a lady as capable as you, I’ll be happy.” She laughed and told him never to tease an older lady, giving him a traditional coquettish glance and fluttering her eyelids at him. He laughed and bowed low, taking his leave of her.
◊ ◊ ◊
Matthieu met up with his friends in their usual northeastern spot at the Industry Ball, and the parade of ladies began. Between waves, he and Vic tried to decide if these smaller balls were good because they had more of a chance to get to know the ladies, since they weren’t so crowded, or if they were bad because it seemed to be the same Urban District socialites over and over, trying to gain maximum exposure.
The party had started pretty much as usual, with a bit of a flurry as gossip of a few embarrassing or scurrilous incidents made the rounds. Bored way too early, Matthieu danced with relatives, duchesses, and ministers’ wives between the socialites, just to get a break from the shark-like smiles of interest.
Since Kayla had recently turned sixteen and been presented at this ball, he made sure to dance with her and compliment her on her gown while warning her about the men. Her mellow brown coloration from Gerard and aristocratic facial features from Elizabeth, combined with the creamy silk gown designed by Andrés, drew stares from both men and women, the latter gossiping steadily over why the young princess had refused facial paint altogether.
“I’m quite glad you decided not to wear make-up. You already look like a goddess, and so many of the ladies wear so much paint it’s almost a symbol of how shallow they are.”
Kayla grinned at the subtle suggestion that she wasn’t superficial. “I agree. I’m young and have nothing to hide. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to figure out which men aren’t shallow. Do you have any suggestions?”
“I’m sorry, but most men are as much a mystery to each other as they are to the ladies.” He grinned at her bark of laughter but decided he had to give her some kind of guideline as to a man’s perspective.
“The older men may be more established, less insecure, and more interested in attaching themselves to an honorable lady, but they may also have the means, experience, and determination to try to swindle an Imperial into a marriage contract. I’d say dance with anyone you please, but perhaps you should consider men no older than twenty-one, and plan to date them with every care in the world for how they might fit into our family. You never know if one will steal your heart away with his integrity, but it takes time to judge whether they’re as honest as they make themselves out to be.
“Besides, I hope you’re not in a hurry to attach yourself. You know I’ll need you in my government in some capacity, so your future husband will have to bear the burden of his wife being more important than him. I hope you find one who doesn’t think of it as a hardship.” He gave her a twirl, noting her glowing anticipation of that future.
She settled back into the pattern, gazing full in his face. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me. All of it. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you decided not to wait until the Masquerade Ball for your presentation. Perhaps all the ladies, seeing you in all your glory, will stop wearing so much paint and attract us with their personalities. You could have started a fad.” They laughed, finished out the dance, and Matthieu escorted her to his group of friends, pleased when Samuel asked her for the next dance.
Several dances later, he bowed low to Duchess Winger, who chatted while dancing but thankfully said not a word about his previous interest in her granddaughter Karen. He thanked her for the dance and headed to the refreshment tables at the south end of the ballroom.
Picking up a glass of punch, he decided to wander up the western promenade as the last rays of the sun shone over the distant wing to illuminate the ballroom. Peering out the window into the courtyard, reminiscing about how different it used to look before the Attican bombing, he noticed a brief flash of a violet and gold sleeve in the sunlight. Three young ladies were in the shade of the damascened column that represented the Redgrave Duchy, having what looked to be a deep discussion.
Matthieu realized he had never met any of them before, so he headed for the nearby window. He gazed out at the courtyard as he listened in to see if they were intent on their discussion, or if they would possibly like to dance.
His subtlety was for naught. They quieted immediately as he approached to contemplate some of the three-dimensional artwork Aunt Anne had had built for the southern quarter of the courtyard. They were all lovely structures, sculptures of metal and stone, that demonstrated unusual properties such as haunting resonances when there was a wind, or shadows that changed throughout the day and the seasons, morphing into unique silhouettes of animals or facial profiles.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” one of the ladies offered. Startled out of his brief reverie, he looked at them, smiled, and introduced himself.
They were the gracious Stella D’Angelo, the lovely Belinda Lynx, and the quiet Miriel Makov. All three were in their early twenties, University students, and infrequent attendees at balls; Matthieu soon discovered it was because they were generally too busy with their intellectual pursuits.
“Well, then, I would be remiss if I didn’t offer you all a dance,” he proposed jauntily. “I’m sorry I don’t have any straws for you to draw, so perhaps you can decide with whom I should dance first.”
Miriel said to her friends, “I’m not a very good dancer, so feel free.”
Matthieu raised his eyebrows. “Then it sounds like you need the practice most.” He finished his punch, set it aside on the nearest small serving table for that purpose, bowed to her, and offered her his hand.
She was a reasonably good dancer, but she didn’t talk much at first, doing the demure-damsel routine until he caught her eye with his best smile. She smiled back, blinking a bit when he continued to keep his eyes on her unpainted face instead of ogling her body. “I’m curious as to why you were drinking punch,” she finally offered.
“Ah, there’s a story,” Matthieu said with a grin. “I just returned from a tour, and my friends all seem to think parties with dangerous quantities of alcohol are just the thing I need. I thought I would give my system a few days’ rest from the excess.” He grinned deeper as she chuckled.
“Odd, my brother never does that anymore. Party, that is,” Miriel explained. “When he comes home from an assignment, the first thing he does is soak in the tub for a few hours.”
Matthieu laughed. “I did that, too. Who is your brother?”
“Lieutenant Commander Fidel Makov. I believe he had a part in a few of your training cycles.” She gave him a proud smile.
“He did. He was awesome. He really whipped us into shape. Granted, I wasn’t the worst of the bunch, but he did have to direct some pointed comments my way on occasion.”
“I can imagine. He loves it, loves training the cadets and ensigns, but he mock-complains when he comes home. Since he’s usually smiling when he does, I know he doesn’t really mean it.”
“Or perhaps he does really mean it and only smiles because he’s so happy to be home,” Matthieu replied. “I know I tend to have a silly grin on my face those first few days.”
Miriel looked puzzled. “Surely this could only have been your second or third tour.”
“My second. Still, the pattern’s probably set in stone, now. Soak for hours, get ridiculously drunk, grin like a loon for a few days, wander the Imperial Palace grounds to enjoy solitude on a planetary surface that has comfortable gravity, go to a ball. At least I’m breaking the pattern by not drinking again tonight.” At her laugh, Matthieu decided he had spoken enough about himself, so he asked about her.
“I study history and economics at University. This is my fourth year, but since I have a double-major, I’m not worried about graduating precisely on schedule.”
“That’s a good idea. My brother Theo’s just started University, but he only takes two classes because his regular duties are extensive.”
Miriel looked thoughtful. “I understand. It’s not easy being Royal. I can hardly imagine what it’s like to be Imperial.”
“Indeed.” The dance ended then, so he escorted her to her friends and took Stella out for a spin.
By the time he had danced with them each four times, with occasional breaks sitting in the window seats now that the sun had set, Eric Lauder found him. “Ho, Matthieu! Where have you been all night?”
“Wearing down the family crest with these lovely ladies.” Matthieu rose from the window seat he shared with all three. “May I make you known to these three brilliant University students?”
He introduced everyone as Eric smiled and kissed hands. Eric asked Belinda to dance, Stella excused herself, so Matthieu sat with Miriel once more to finish their conversation on the necessity of import tariffs versus the advantages of interstellar investment in the Demesnes.
They were still talking when Vic and a lady showed up, so much so they barely noticed him. When Vic finally asked, “Matthieu, don’t you work hard enough as it is? Must you drain brains at a ball, too?” Matthieu rose to introduce Miriel Makov to his best friend.
“I’ll have you know I’m interested in a wide variety of topics, my man. Miriel is studying business, too, if you care to chat—”
“Economics,” Miriel corrected him. “Economists are scientists, studying the behavior, data, and context of business. Businessmen deal with money, goods, and services. Economists are analysts.”
“Though there is a huge overlap,” Vic agreed. “I do believe you were in one of my classes last semester. Professor Pekin?”
“Yes. I was very impressed with the book. Very comprehensive.” And Vic and Miriel were off. Matthieu interrupted them long enough to say he was going to dance with Vic’s lady friend.
When they returned, he insisted that Miriel dance with him again. Near the end of that dance, he asked, “Would you like to go out this week? Or is your class schedule too pressing?”
Hesitant, Miriel blinked as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “A weekend, perhaps,” she answered quietly. Charmed by her modest ways and intelligence, Matthieu promptly asked her for a date that next Friday.
Stella and Belinda had two gentlemen with them in the window seat at that point, so Matthieu and Miriel walked the promenades and made arrangements for their date before a Makov watchman came to collect her. With a kiss on her hand, he bid her a good evening, then wandered toward the Pavilions on the north end, spoke with a few family members, and headed back to the Imperial Palace.
As he climbed in bed, he thought about Miriel. An educated lady. An analyst, even. Being a Makov was bound to throw a hell of a lot of people for a loop, but at this point Matthieu didn’t care.
She was attractive, though no raving beauty, but what did that matter? And she hadn’t spread a single piece of gossip the entire night.
And Lieutenant Commander Fidel Makov was her brother. He certainly upheld the honor of the Demesne despite his family name, long associated with political upheaval, blackmail, and treason. Matthieu was interested in getting to know her as a person, though he did wonder what she would be like in bed as he snuggled a pillow in his arms.
◊ ◊ ◊
After presenting two more Imperial Protocol Academy classes that week, as well as spending a great deal of time with his grandparents and parents, Matthieu also spent some time visiting the other parents. Uncle Christian’s oldest son Devon and Aunt Sophia’s second child Jacob had joined the Academy, so Matthieu spent one evening with Aunt Marie and uncles Brian, Stefan, Evan, and Josef, parents of all the younger Imperial children, catching up with their lives and describing how well the Academy was going. By that time he felt he had earned the weekend to himself
Matthieu had Miriel picked up by a Sinclair watchman and delivered to the Blue Swan Restaurant that Friday, where he had reserved a table at the window overlooking the pools and live swans paddling therein. They spoke some about their siblings but avoided the topic of families in general. Their biggest conversation was over improvements that could be made to the Empire, everything from infrastructure in the duchies to the Urban District itself.
Tonight Miriel’s medium-length brown hair wasn’t just down, but swept forward in intriguing folds to frame her face and her hazel eyes. It made her seem like she was looking down from a position over him, as if she were above his body. Matthieu’s back-brain dwelt on that notion for quite a while as they tossed ideas back and forth on how they would rate the most critical public works and allocate funds to them.
At the end of dinner, when he asked her if she wanted to go to the Imperial Palace, she looked at him long and thoughtfully while she finished her drink.
“It would be nice to see the place some day, but frankly, you have a reputation now. And I do not,” Miriel emphasized, looking him straight in the eyes.
Damn. “Well, visiting the Imperial Palace doesn’t imply anything but a visit nowadays, does it?”
“It depends on who notices you there,” she said frankly.
“What would you prefer to do, then?”
She gave a miniscule snort. “I would like to see the Palace. I’m simply saying I prefer not to do so of a night.”
“Would you like to come by tomorrow, then? The weather’s getting so much nicer, and the earliest flowers are coming out,” Matthieu crooned. “Do you like horses?”
Her rich, low laugh intrigued him. “I sure do. I used to help the grooms break them when I was younger, back in the duchy. The small tasks, not the hard work.”
He called for more drinks as they spoke for another hour. When he had the watchman drive them to her home at the Makov mansion, he gave her a kiss on the cheek and thanked her for dining with him.
Miriel laughed again. “Am I not the one who’s supposed to be thanking you?” She slid out of the car before he could reply.
◊ ◊ ◊
Matthieu kept trying to catch up to Miriel, but she had selected the feisty Glimmerwings for her mount, while he had taken out Shadowbeast. He would have thought his stallion an easy match for the filly, but the Beast began giving him problems because two of the newer mares back in the stables were just coming into heat.
Once they had left the stables and picked a direction, she asked if they had to stick to the paths. “No, we can ride just about anywhere we like,” he replied. Grinning, she had kicked her horse with a loud whoop, and he had seen nothing but the back of her since.
Miriel didn’t care that she knew nothing about the Imperial Palace grounds or riding paths. She rode every which way, jumping everything from shrubs to some of the more recalcitrant and deeply-embedded stones. An hour into the ride, they made it to the meadow of the game fish pond, where she broke into a gallop, and he tried to catch up once more.
Suddenly, she headed for one of the short, decorative white fences separating the pasture around the pond from the more heavily-forested areas blocking the Imperial Grounds from the lonely stretch of highway separating the area from the entire Urban District. Matthieu shouted, “No!” and Miriel turned Glimmerwings away, heading back to him at top speed.
“Why did you make me stop? The branches are pretty high.” Breathing deeply, she sat back in the saddle to rest, radiating exhilaration like pure sunshine.
“There are some Sentinel traps in that area of the woods. That’s why we have the decorative fence, to remind everyone not to wander there.”
Mesmerized by the joy-powered dynamism of her features, Matthieu stared at her, staggered by the contrast between her current ebullience and her previous cool, collected demeanor during the Industry Ball and their date last night. It unnerved him more than a little that she was barely winded after such a hectic ride; he decided he no longer wondered how the myths of centaurs came into being.
Mindful of the horses, he slid off Shadowbeast and started to lead him to the pond for a drink. Glimmerwings was more than ready to rehydrate, so Miriel cantered her up to the pond and dismounted with a bounce.
“God, that was fun!” She beamed as Matthieu approached, holding tight to the reins as the Beast immediately went for the water. “I haven’t been able to ride like that for three years.”
“Why not?”
“Too busy to go back to the duchy,” she explained. “The duke transferred Father to his manse here in the Urban District a year after I started University.” She had mentioned last night that her father, third cousin once removed from Duke Cyril Makov, was his head chamberlain and her mother the duke’s budget analyst.
Matthieu gave her a roguish smile and a bit of a leer. “Just let me know whenever you want a ride, and I’ll send a ground car for you immediately.”
Miriel grinned fiercely, half in exasperation at the subtle sexual innuendo and half in appreciation for the actual offer, before she turned to check Glimmerwings for any problems.
He knew now why love was portrayed as an arrow strike, for his heart nearly stopped at the vibrancy of her features when she flashed him that grin. He almost thought he could see a glow around her entire body, radiating her spirit, her essence, the purity of her soul, her health, her joy. He had to lock his knees to keep from falling upon them, enthralled at her sudden luminous splendor as she ran her hands over the horse’s legs.
Coming out of his trance, he unhooked the sack of fish food he had brought along. They threw pellets to the fish as he explained how much they had to feed them in winter. “They only get one sack today, though, so they’ll start going for the skeets and other insects that land on the water.” Miriel spoke about a lake in the Makov Duchy that had to be seeded with algae pellets for the Terran fish stock when the winters were too bitterly cold.
Once they put away the horses, Matthieu took her to see the Western Courtyard and its free-flowing gardens. They found Roman, David, and Domenic collecting eggs for the cooks. David mentioned in passing that Grace was teaching the other girls chemistry in the kitchens today.
After inspecting the rabbits in their hutches and the pheasant hatchery, Matthieu led her further along the cliff to a small grotto, set rather high, while describing how the former Imperial Preserve had had a beautiful glen and grotto.
Miriel pointed. “What’s that?”
Matthieu reached in to draw out a gilded crystal angel. “At the old grotto, family members had several items they placed there for symbolic reasons. It was kind of like the heart of the realm in a sense, representing our hopes and dreams. Aunt Sophia had a gilded angel there to declare the space sacred.” He let her examine it before putting it back in its spot.
When he turned back to her, she looked very thoughtful. “What is sacred?”
“In general?”
“No. To you,” Miriel specified.
Matthieu reached out to cup her face. “The joy I saw as you rode that horse.” Moving closer, he gazed at her stunned expression and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers to murmur, “The power, the purity of your mind and spirit.”
He kissed her gently while wrapping his arms around her. “The gift of your presence,” he whispered, looking into her soulful eyes while he smoothed back her hair. He gave her a deeper kiss as she melted in his arms.
Leaning his forehead against hers, he said very softly, “Miriel.”
“Yes?”
His gentle laugh came from some deep reservoir of joy he had long forgotten. “I just wanted to say your name. Miriel. It almost sounds like the word ‘miracle’ to me.” She erupted in giggles, then, and he drank them in with a bliss that knew no bounds.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t think of a corresponding word for your name. ‘Matthieu’ doesn’t even come close to anything. Pathew? Wrathew? Hathew? Sorry,” she apologized again as he snorted in amusement.
Matthieu’s mindfulness, down to his very soul, was captured when she put her hand to his face. “How about just ‘you’?” As he blinked, she said, “You. You.” Then Miriel kissed him back.
He felt like he was the center of the universe, at this pinpoint of time and space and lips, as if the knowledge of the cosmos was his for the asking. This was the miracle, indeed, the ability to pull the subtle energies of an otherwise indifferent world into the realm of matter and light, to shower them upon another. This was love.
Eventually breaking it off, Matthieu couldn’t help the raspiness of his voice. “I think I should take you home now. You can’t imagine how much self-control I’m exhibiting at this moment.”
Miriel disengaged herself from his arms with a dreadful look on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“No. No.” He captured her hands. “Not sorry. Never sorry. Just because I want to pick you up in my arms and lay you gently upon the earth and make love to you like there’s no tomorrow doesn’t mean either one of us should feel sorry about it.”
They stood that way for some time. Finally she swallowed heavily. “Yes, I think I should go home now.”
When they reached the Makov mansion, Matthieu gestured for his Sentinels to come with him. He walked hand-in-hand with Miriel to the door, which was opened by a butler immediately upon their approach.
“Would you like to come in for a bit?” she asked. “I don’t believe you’ve ever met my parents, have you?”
“I haven’t. That would please me immensely.” He squeezed her hand.
She led him from the main foyer through two hallways to a wing off the back of the house. “Our apartment isn’t centrally located, but it’s nice and quiet,” she explained humbly.
They entered a small parlor with only two seating arrangements, a regular conversational grouping and the two occupied arm chairs by the windowside table. A Sentinel had slipped inside but left almost immediately. As Lord Lucien and Lady Nadia Makov rose from a game of chess, Matthieu met them properly, greeting them with a few charming phrases.
Miriel’s brother Fidel came out of what might have been the study. “Well, if it isn’t a land-lubber,” he crowed with delight, coming to give Matthieu a few claps on the back and shake his hand.
“Hello, sir. I hope you are well,” Matthieu began.
Fidel shook his head. “No need to sir me unless we’re on duty or in a Service environment.” His face lit up. “I’ve been waiting to hear about that air car landing you performed at the Birthday Bash in person for a while now. Rich Jeffries boasted about it so much that you would’ve thought he was the one to make the landing!”
Matthieu laughed and eyed him. “I’m curious. How old are you?”
“I’m thirty-four. I made lieutenant commander when I was twenty-seven,” Fidel said with a grin. “I’m up for commander soon.”
“Yes.” Lady Nadia beamed. “We were so proud. He has made us proud enough for a dozen sons.”
She put her hand on Miriel’s shoulder. “And our surprise baby Miriel makes up for a dozen daughters. She’s always been our miracle child,” Nadia stated with great pleasure.
Miriel’s eyes met Matthieu’s with a small, enchanting smile, though she bit her lower lip charmingly, to keep from bursting into giggles again, no doubt.
“Indeed.” Matthieu grinned at her with all his heart before turning back to her parents. “It’s been an honor to meet you both, but I should be going.” They parted with many wishes to see him again.
Miriel led him out of the parlor to the hall where his Sentinels stood, patient as ever. Matthieu took up her hands. “You miracle,” he said sweetly.
“Miracle you,” she replied, intent upon him though her face was serious.
As his heart swelled, Matthieu knew he couldn’t afford to kiss her, or he would lose any semblance of composure. So he drew each hand to his lips for a kiss to her knuckles before asking when she was next available for a date.
“I only have six days of leave yet,” he reminded her. “My twenty-first birthday party is the last day, next Thursday. Will you at least come to it? You can bring your brother,” he emphasized.
Breathless, he watched her consider it all. “I think I could get enough done to see you Tuesday, too, if you like.”
“Yes. I would really like that a lot.” He was able to breathe again. “Dinner again?”
“That would be great.” Miriel gave him another heart-stopping smile.
He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her again in front of his Sentinels and the open parlor door. At her starry-eyed look, he could find no words to express himself any better than that, so he simply cupped her face briefly with both hands before leaving.
He strode with his Sentinels to the ground car, humming the tune to a love song.
◊ ◊ ◊
That night, Matthieu sat through an unbearable state dinner, trying his best to keep his mind on the discussions at the far end of the High Table with the Galactic Assembly Representatives from four different planets. It seemed Father had talked Grandfather into a new reparations scheme for the Atticans, but the only real major change Grandfather was willing to allow was for galactic agricultural products or such things as fertilizers to be permitted to enter the Attican Empire at the four mining planets, and refined metals instead of ores in payment to exit.
Everything would otherwise remain essentially the same. Empty trade fleets were allowed to enter to pick up Attican goods, they were inspected thoroughly by troops from one Demesne ship always on duty at the wormhole, and they had to offer every item for auction in the neighboring star system. The trade fleets were allowed a percentage of the sale as their service fee, and all other monies were immediately transferred to the Demesnes.
The four Representatives were bitching about how troublesome and ineffectual the system was. “The turnover of trade convoys at Salvadori is so high because all the bidders at the auctions are so stingy. The cargo fleets almost never cover their costs,” the Salvadorian Rep claimed. “And the expense of servicing and policing them has become a sub-economy of its own. I know there’s bribery and black marketeering going on, but none of our agencies can figure out how it’s happening.”
Matthieu fretted over the notion. He definitely wanted to see the entire $3.3 trillion dollars left of the reparations to be concluded in Grandfather’s or Father’s lifetime, because he didn’t want to have to deal with the Atticans during his reign.
Yet for all his education, for all the discussions he had dragged his grandparents and father and ministers and other political appointees through over the years, he still felt woefully ignorant about interstellar economics. Everyone was so mired in their own perspectives that he felt the situation needed a review by fresh eyes.
When he made that realization, a glimmer of an idea came to him. He kept his mouth shut and listened hard.
So Matthieu spent most of Sunday morning with Father, Grandfather, and Phillip, trying to figure out how to approach the topic. The Imperial scions were walking the formal gardens of the Eastern Courtyard with the Emperor after breakfast.
Most of the time was spent in companionable silence, for Grandfather had designed the gardens for contemplation as he took his exercise of a day. They took the labyrinths and paths at a decent pace and in a looping pattern to end up at the Lotus Gazebo, a very large structure halfway to the cliffs that included several sturdy chaise lounges. They settled into seats as Matthieu opened the refrigerated cabinets set inside the inner walls to serve up some drinks.
“I understand you had a date yesterday.” Grandfather grinned as Matthieu handed him a bottle of water.
Since he knew they would want to know everything, Matthieu spoke about how he had met Miriel, describing their two dates in-depth and at times virtually word-for-word. He also spoke extensively about how much he admired Miriel’s brother Fidel, and all his interaction with the lieutenant commander during his training cycles. The older men listened closely and asked very few questions.
Winding down, he spoke quite honestly about his concerns. “I know Grandmother and Renee insist we treat others according to their own behavior and not of their relatives. But if it becomes generally known I’m dating a Makov? What do you think will happen?”
“I don’t mind that you’re dating her, not in the least, son,” Father said. “What I’m concerned about are your intentions. Is she Empress material?”
“Yes,” Matthieu said forcefully. “Most definitely. She’s the only lady I’ve ever met who puts me in mind of Grandmother, of how her mind works and of the duties she has performed over the years.
“And although economics has been slandered as a science for centuries, I had a thought last night that’s been building in my mind ever since.” He described the complaints of the Galactic Assembly Representatives.
Deciding now was the time to brave his idea, he sat forward to show his serious intent. “So I wondered, if I had to select people to look at the situation with new eyes, who would I choose? The two people who instantly came to my mind were Miriel, and Vic Bradley.”
Looking over their passive faces, Matthieu wondered, “Could we perhaps arrange some kind of science project with the University professors, in which we could release a heavy but limited amount of the data on the reparations scheme to them, asking that they gather a small, select set of students to brainstorm for solutions? It could be like a thesis project, doing original research along with the professors, and they will surely be given equal credit for any proposals for improvements. Most important, it would also be giving Miriel, Vic, and perhaps some other people they trust the opportunity to prove themselves capable of handling possible Imperial appointments some day.”
Phillip began to laugh. “God, I could have used you on Rendel. Annette’s brother Christopher is managing the transition to the new High Governor well enough, and he was instrumental in beating the overall management of the planet into shape, but it’s because he has the ability to draw on intellectual resources, evaluate them for utility, set them into action, a dozen other superb managerial qualities. You put me very much in mind of him.”
As Matthieu basked in the praise, Father said, “I do like your idea, but I’ll have to consult with some people, such as the Economics Advisory Commission, before we pursue it, if we do. What do you think, Father?”
Grandfather simply said, “Do it.” He sipped his water as his eyes twinkled at Matthieu.
Phillip said, “Speaking of Christopher Breton, I was wondering if you would consider elevating him to the Peerage. Being a Ward of the Realm has been quite useful for him, but the scope of assignments he could take when he returns could use the power of a peerage.”
“Not only that, I’m considering giving the Bradleys their own Warrants,” Grandfather informed them. “Even Rowena, since she has graciously offered to remain in the position until every Imperial descendent is well-educated to their duties, or until death takes her. To think we could have her good guidance and influence impacting the Empire for untold decades gratifies me immensely.”
A watchman approached to announce it was time for lunch, so they headed back to the East Wing along the most direct route. As they were walking, Grandfather put his arm across Matthieu’s shoulders.
“I know you’re mindful about considering the perspective of others, but I’d like for you to review the Sentinel files on Duke Makov before you pursue Miriel much further. After all, I was raised relying on his grandfather, but then I subsequently and personally executed his father, and Phillip’s Fight Brothers killed his youngest brother that gruesome Midwinter nineteen years ago during the fireworks display. Since Miriel and her family live and work in Makov’s household, they’ve been subjected to unusual stresses.”
Matthieu thought about that offer. Should he focus on Miriel first, and then consider the panorama of influences on her life, or should he look at the broad picture and evaluate how events had shaped her?
“Thank you, Grandfather,” he said gravely. “Let’s see how the rest of this week goes before I start perusing Sentinel files. I don’t want anything therein to cloud my judgment.”
“Very wise. And very considerate of you,” Grandfather approved.
◊ ◊ ◊
Tuesday evening, Matthieu showed up at the Makov mansion with a huge bouquet of flowers. They weren’t roses, but there were fifty of them, one from every single duchy, from a small yellow butterbell to the central glorious white canolus, towering high and proud. The butler once again opened the door before he had reached it, ushering Matthieu and his Sentinels immediately to the salon at the front of the building.
Duke Cyril Makov strode in, his Duchess Arnita holding his arm but lagging a little behind him as if he were towing her along. At seventy-seven years of age, he was quite hale, demonstrating the vigor of a much younger man.
“Your Highness.” Duke Makov bowed low as the duchess curtseyed. “Welcome to my manse. How are you this evening?”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Matthieu gave him a half-bow before holding up the flowers. “I’m a bit nervous, as you can imagine. I hope Miriel will like them.”
“I’m certain she will.” Duchess Makov smiled, gliding closer to examine them and touch them gently. “A lovely arrangement, to be sure. Gentryman’s work?”
“Ah, no, I had Grandmother’s social director design it. I don’t know whom she assigned to perform the arrangement,” Matthieu admitted.
“Fidel tells me you were the best student he ever supervised.” The Duke’s voice was polite but his eyes were beady. “I daresay your career will be cut short like your grandfather’s, though.”
“As well as Uncle Phillip’s was,” Matthieu replied steadily. “I’m certain my Imperial responsibilities will land on my shoulders entirely too soon. I intend to take advantage of my career to learn our defensive capabilities thoroughly. Since I’ll be the galactic interface of the Empire someday, I can do no less.”
The subtleties of this conversation were unnerving. The duke’s use of the phrase ‘cut short’ definitely referred to his father Andrei and his brother Zachary. Matthieu had not only reminded the duke that he had accomplished relatives like Phillip to guide him, he had responded with ‘responsibilities’ and ‘defensive capabilities’, hopefully showing the duke he knew his own strengths even as they spoke of Grandfather’s inevitable demise. Thankfully the butler showed Miriel into the room.
As Matthieu gloried in her demure but pleasant visage, he unfocused his eyes, trying to see that aura again. As a result, he noticed Duke Makov making a subtle sign to the butler as Matthieu offered her the flowers. More than a little unnerved, he focused on Miriel again and ignored the others.
“You look lovely.” He put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her temple as she took the wide-mouthed vase.
“What a glorious arrangement! Look, there’s even a cerise parrot nest.” She pointed to the spiky, mid-sized flower. “From the southern forests bordering the Gottlieb Duchy.”
“Yes. I asked them to include a flower from every duchy so I could give you the world.” He emphasized those last words; Miriel looked up with a bright smile and a firm blush.
He had her out the door very quickly after that. Duke and Duchess Makov actually escorted them to the entrance, to be framed therein for any outside observers, no doubt.
Once in the back of the ground car, he pulled her into an embrace and whispered, “I saw the duke make a gesture to the butler when I handed you the flowers. It makes me wonder if he’ll have an eavesdropping device placed on them.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she murmured sadly. At Matthieu’s raised eyebrows, Miriel leaned in to whisper almost inaudibly in his own ear, cheek pressed against his.
“Our apartments have always been bugged. At this point I suspect every article of my clothing has, too, for the laundresses spent all day fussing over my wardrobe yesterday while I was at class, Mother said.”
Matthieu took up her hand for a kiss. “I think I’m going to start scrubbing like crazy behind my ears.” Miriel’s eyes showed incomprehension. “Since I’m enjoying the whispering,” he offered as a distraction to his true message, giving his Sentinels across from them one quick, significant glance and a small finger signal. One gave a single, tiny nod, and touched his wrist phone.
During dinner at the Silver Maiden, both Matthieu and Miriel made sure to talk about insignificant matters and serious subjects they would be willing to have heard by spies. They were in a semicircular booth, though, which gave him a chance to get some nice snuggles in between courses, as well as nuzzle her ear between whispers. The other diners made no bones about watching a Sinclair and a Makov on an intimate date, staring at them openly as the couple tried to ignore the attentions.
When they made it to the ground car, Matthieu threw himself in the back with a half-sprawl as the watchman closed the door. “God. How are we going to do this?”
“Do what?” Miriel gave him a suspicious glance.
“Conduct a romance with everyone on the planet staring at us.” He drew his hand through his hair. “You don’t want to go to the Imperial Palace of an evening so you don’t get a reputation. I’m so sorry for that.
“If I had ever suspected my past relationships would have given you such apprehensions, I don’t think I would have been so flagrant about them,” he stated in all honesty. “Since you don’t want to be at the Palace of an evening, we otherwise have to go out in public.”
“Or stay at Makov Manse,” she pointed out. “We could walk the grounds. I’m sure the duke’s servants won’t approach us, especially with your Sentinels along.”
“That would be fine,” he said without enthusiasm before looking her straight in the eye. “Would you allow me to assign you a Sentinel detail?”
Miriel’s mouth parted in astonishment. “What would they do?”
“Anything you ask, but at a minimum they would stand outside your apartment and escort you to class or anywhere public. If we’re going to be dating, it doesn’t even matter if I’m on tour in four-month stretches; people are going to want to interfere with your life. Having Sentinels will minimize that.”
“I see.” Miriel brooded a bit. “Yes, if you wish, I think I would like Sentinels.” Gazing at him seriously, her voice was wary. “But wouldn’t that be like a… public statement?”
“It sure would, which is why I asked.” Matthieu smiled. “You’re the first lady I’ve ever met who could potentially take on the role of Empress someday. We may not work out, but until then I want us to have the freedom to explore a relationship without you being hassled.”
Miriel’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she abruptly turned her head away. He immediately scooped her up in his arms. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” he asked fervently.
She shook her head and buried her face against his chest. They had arrived at the Makov mansion and had been sitting in the driveway for a good five minutes before she said, face still tilted down, “It’s not easy being a Makov.”
Matthieu gave that a few seconds of thought. Lifting her face by the chin, he stared into her soul. “It’s not easy being a Sinclair. It’s not easy even dating one.
“Consider my family. Renee, the future Empress, abducted because of a small mistake. Andrés, a spouse, abducted because of a small mistake. Denise, a lover, abducted through no fault of her own.”
He kissed her forehead. “I see the potential in you even this early, so I want to do my utmost to keep you safe. Especially since everyone will wonder why a Sinclair would date a Makov, given our family histories. We could do a lot of good in the Empire if we show everyone we’re willing to ignore the past and consider the needs of the future,” he stated firmly.
As Miriel continued to stare at him, suddenly intent but still with that aura of despondency, Matthieu finally asked gently, “Are you willing?”
“To ignore the past and explore the future? Yes. I just don’t want to… be a burden.” She appeared to want to say more, but she pressed her lips together as if to forbid herself any further speech.
“Then let me carry you for a while. If I’m not strong enough to handle it, then I’m not the man I think I am.” He gave her a soft kiss.
The next kisses grew passionate for a while, then tender, then they simply nuzzled each other’s faces for a long, intimate time. The sweet moment only concluded when one of the Sentinel’s wrist phones bleeped. “Code 31, check.”
“Check,” Major Chamorro said to his wrist phone.
“What does that mean?” Miriel wondered.
“Sentinels must check in at uneven intervals,” Matthieu explained. “It’s just a routine; you can ignore anything you hear from a wrist phone. If you need to know something, your Sentinel will be sure to tell you.”
He turned his attention to the major. “Would you see if some Sentinels could be assigned to Miriel immediately? We’ll even wait until they get here, if that’s possible.”
He knew it was not only possible; with all the clues given to his agents so far, especially since one of his Sentinels had had an open line on his wrist phone to Sentinel Command for the entire date because he had used the word ‘crazy’ and given a signal, he was positive the Sentinels were already lined up and awaiting his decision.
So Major Chamorro went through the routine of calling Sentinel Command, describing with no codes whatsoever that Prince Matthieu would like a close detail upon Lady Miriel Makov to begin immediately, please. The new Sentinels showed up in less than three minutes, which would no doubt give Duke Makov a great deal to think about, Matthieu thought wickedly.
Everyone but the driver got out of the ground car, entered the house, and proceeded immediately to Miriel’s parents’ apartment to get everyone introduced to each other and explain the arrangements in nice, loud, commanding voices. Fidel wasn’t there, so Matthieu made certain Miriel’s Sentinels knew to expect him.
He gave her a parting hug and kiss right in front of her parents. “The party on Thursday will start with dinner at 19:00. Get all your studying for Friday done before then, please.”
“I shall,” Miriel assured him. He gave her a final kiss, bid her parents a good evening, and left.
◊ ◊ ◊
Matthieu consulted with half a dozen people before the party Thursday night. Father said he would brief all the adults, and Matthieu made sure to tell Theo how to brief their friends for the upcoming debacle.
“Remember, you, Vic, and Eric are the only ones to know about the scanner. Everyone else, just tell them I look to be really serious about Miriel, so they had better treat her with the utmost respect at all times.”
“Got it. Vic and Eric in person, the rest over vidphone. I can’t wait to meet her, myself.” Theo grinned.
Matthieu grinned back. “Well, I’d like to think I can get away with monopolizing her time tomorrow night. But it would really be a relief if you three can keep an eye out on her while I’m on my next tour,” he said seriously. “Even if you just call her on occasion, ask if she wants to come over for a ride on the weekend. I’ll tell her that’ll be the perfect time to consult with you about any security issue.”
“Got it. Don’t worry; we’ll take good care of her. She can come for rides and get to know the family.”
With a considerable amount of pity, Theo mused, “Grandmother has created the Imperial Palace Compound as the most comfortable yet secure prison ever known. To think your Lady Miriel would turn to this prison as a source of freedom is really quite sad.”
“You can’t believe how joyful she was on that ride. She made me think of a caged bird, finally allowed to fly.” They both sighed and shook their heads.
At 18:30 on Thursday, Matthieu and Theo were in the foyer to the discreet entrance, greeting friends from the line of Palace ground cars sent to collect them. Half of his extended family was already there, along with several of his friends and their dates, when Miriel and Fidel’s ground car released them under the portico to the entrance.
Matthieu noticed and immediately turned back to his friends Samuel Norris and Melanie Sideris to make another comment, when the loud blatting sound of the entrance’s scanners caused six Sentinels to rush to the Makovs immediately. Miriel froze in shock.
A Sentinel turned off the alarm. “My lord, my lady. Please step over to the security room.” He indicated the door with his hand.
Fidel growled, “Certainly, but what is this about?”
“One of you has a surveillance device,” the Sentinel proclaimed. “Please come this way.”
Fidel looked at Miriel, who began crying. He gently put his arm around her and escorted her to the room.
Matthieu shoved people aside to get to the room. “Let me in, let me in, dammit!” He tried to shake the two Sentinels off his arms at the open doorway.
“Your Highness, you aren’t allowed in the room,” Colonel Blavatsky stated quite loudly.
Matthieu stared at Miriel, wishing with all his heart he could hold her, when one Sentinel finished hand-scanning Fidel and immediately discovered the bug sewn into the collar by the first button of Miriel’s elegant dress. “Looks like one of the new Vegan 4F80’s.” She tried to stifle her tears as the Sentinels spoke about sending her straight back home.
Matthieu called into the room, “Miriel? Tell me what size dress you wear.”
“26,” she said, choking back tears.
“Colonel, please find someone in the Palace who wears size 26, and ask to borrow the nicest dress they have,” he commanded.
Since the Sentinels had been primed to collect all that data since yesterday, it took Colonel Blavatsky about ten seconds to announce, “Princess Renee has some size 26 clothing in her leftmost closet.” He typed for about twenty seconds. “The valet is bringing an appropriate dress for Lady Makov.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” Matthieu smiled at Miriel, who was coming out of her tears. “I don’t know who did this, but they had better not do it again,” he then rumbled with considerable anger.
“I’m so sorry, Matthieu.” Miriel was drooping under the emotional weight of the incident.
“Don’t be. May I enter now, Colonel?” When allowed, he went directly to the secure vidphone and called Duke Makov.
He was finally transferred to the duke. “Your Grace, there has been a security incident.” Matthieu described the events. “I hope you can find the spy in your household; I would hate to think your own clothing has been compromised.”
“Indeed. Thank you for notifying me, Your Highness,” Duke Makov said solemnly.
“Would you please have someone see to the rest of Miriel’s wardrobe?”
The duke nodded, gave his assurances, and signed off.
The new dress was there by then, so Matthieu commanded the Sentinels who had to remain to turn their backs while Miriel changed clothes, and he left the room.
In the foyer, he made sure to describe the actions taken, especially of his report to Duke Makov, in a good, loud voice, even as a few more aunts and uncles were arriving. At one point, he caught Fidel’s eye and noticed his twinkling smile and wink. By the time Miriel left the security room, clad in an elegant blue silk dress too short to be considered a gown, Matthieu approached her with good cheer, attached her firmly to his arm, and started the crowd toward the State Dining Hall.
The party was a blast. Renee had had the High Table set with a buffet selection of foods and beverages, so everyone sat wherever they wanted at the lesser tables.
Matthieu’s friends took turns teasing him for sticking to softees; he replied with a few self-deprecating remarks, finally saying he was having too good of a time to kill any further brain cells. Miriel snorted softly, eyes crinkling.
They moved to the Crystal Salon, where Matthieu had a small stack of gifts. One box held brownies in small, self-sealing packets; apparently Grace’s chemistry lessons were successful.
Kayla said, “When we taste-tested the final batches, we couldn’t tell the difference between them, so we packaged them up for you to take on your tour. You should be able to slip one in your pocket for whenever you need a snack.”
After Matthieu thanked everyone for the gifts, Grandfather stood, instantly drawing everyone’s attention. “I have a final gift for you, Matthieu.”
He moved to the rather open area by the bar. “Lord Bernard Bradley, Lady Rowena Bradley, will you please approach?” As the Bradleys came to stand before their Emperor, Grandmother and Father came forward, too.
Father gave a small speech to announce the Bradleys had more than proven their dedication to the Imperial Family, and as such, they were henceforth to be given warrants as Wards of the Imperial House of Sinclair. As everyone cheered, Grandmother presented their warrants, and Father had them each kneel for their oaths to Grandfather. More cheering followed, and the party grew rowdy as the youngsters turned on some modern dance music.
Matthieu brought Miriel with him to congratulate the Bradleys, who were surrounded by the older generation of Imperials. He turned to bow to his grandfather the Emperor. “Thank you, Sire. Truly a priceless gift, to acknowledge my friends’ contributions to our family.”
“I’m glad you’re pleased. It was truly the best gift we could think of.” Focusing on Miriel, Grandfather’s smile turned charming. “Would you be so kind as to introduce me to this lovely lady?”
Matthieu presented Miriel to his grandparents, Father and Renee, and then to the slew of adult family members at the party. They laughed, chatted with all the children, learned some galactic dance moves from Father and Renee, and eventually found themselves on a distant settee alone.
“I’m sorry about not warning you about the security incident, but I had to set everything up in such a way as to throw it all in the duke’s face while making him think we were protecting his interests, too,” Matthieu said.
Miriel gave him a precious smile. “It took me a while to realize it was a set-up. I asked Fidel about it, and he said he thought that was what happened. Thank you so very much.” He gloried in her smile until she said, “I can only hope he does actually have my wardrobe fixed.”
“Surely he would. I virtually gave him an Imperial command to do so.”
She gave him a piercing glance. “A good attempt, but you worded it rather vaguely. Also, knowing the duke, it probably served to warn him he would have to purchase his spyware from a more distant planet.”
Appalled that he had missed that, Matthieu swallowed his chagrin. “I suppose having been raised to think of surveillance devices as protective equipment is much easier than being raised to think of them as weapons directed against you.” He stared into her eyes as she nodded.
“I’ll be sure to have clothing for you whenever you visit, then. I asked Theo to call you often when I’m gone and offer to have you come ride whenever you wish, so I’ll see to having a set of riding clothes, at least. When you do come over at those times, feel free to tell Theo about any concerns you have of any kind.”
“I will. Thank you,” Miriel’s tears welled up briefly before she blinked them back. Matthieu got some good snuggles in, then, as well as a few discreet kisses as they spoke of his upcoming tour and her classes.
They arranged for her to send messages to the Imperial Palace exchange, which would automatically forward them to him according to the SDC-19’s schedule, and he would reply directly to her University account. “I don’t want video messages. No privacy on courier ships.” Miriel nodded understanding.
Fidel came forward to say it was getting late. Matthieu told him, “Feel free to discuss anything with Commander Jeffries. Anything at all,” he emphasized.
“I will, Matthieu. I’ll also remind her Sentinels to scan her wardrobe frequently,” Fidel said with a significant look. Matthieu thanked him, had them make the rounds with him, and escorted them to the discreet entrance.
He took Miriel into his arms for a final kiss. “Thank you so much for sharing my birthday with me. When is yours?”
“May 33rd, which is the last day of this semester. I believe I should look into renting a house for the summer, perhaps with some of my friends,” she decided.
“Excellent.” Matthieu got that final, delightful kiss before turning her over to Fidel. “July 24th won’t come soon enough.”