Douglas nodded slowly. "I thought… we'd have the same choir my father chose for my Coronation. They sounded fine."
"Bit weak on the descants, and the main tenor isn't nearly as good as he thinks he is, but yes, they'll do. Who's going to be best man? It can't be Lewis now."
"No; it can't be Lewis. I thought maybe Finn Durandal. He was my partner for years, after all, and it might help to make things up with him for not being chosen as Champion."
"Yes, the Durandal. Good choice. He'll look good, he always does, and it'll play very well with the media. Maybe I should have Emma Steel as my maid of honor… If we can persuade her to leave the sword and gun behind. Any thoughts as to where we should spend our honeymoon? I hear the Sighing Mountains on Magellon are very lovely this time of year."
"I thought perhaps the Black Lakes on Hali," Douglas said diffidently. "They've become quite the place to be, and be seen."
"Oh yes, sweetie! Hali! Gorgeous scenery, and lots and lots of the very best people for us to look down our noses at."
And then they stopped, and looked at each other for a long moment. In the three days since the Neumen riot and its aftermath in the House Infirmary, Douglas and Jesamine had spent a lot of time together, making a great public show of togetherness, but there were still a great many things they hadn't said. Things that needed to be said, now, if only so that they need never be discussed again.
"We can still make this work, Douglas," Jesamine said finally. "We can be happy together, as King and Queen. As husband and wife."
"We're really very well suited," said Douglas. "We have a lot in common, we work well together… It doesn't matter that you don't love me."
"I do… care for you, in my way. You're a strong man, brave and true, with a good heart. Trust me, you don't meet many like that in show business. We'll make a good partnership. And I want to be Queen. It's what I've always wanted. And you'll make an excellent King. It doesn't matter that you don't love me."
"But I do," said Douglas, quietly, miserably. "I do love you, Jesamine. That's the problem."
"Oh God," said Jesamine. "Douglas… I didn't know. This… is going to complicate the hell out of things, isn't it?"
"Probably," said Douglas. "I love you, Jes. And Lewis is my best friend. Do you see now, why—"
"Of course, yes. No wonder you… How long have…"
"I loved you from the first moment I met you. I just looked at you, and knew you were the one. The woman I'd been waiting all my life to meet. The only woman I ever wanted to give my heart to."
"Oh Jesus, Douglas; are you saying… you never loved anyone before me? Surely there must have been other women in your life before me? I mean; you were a Paragon, a Prince… the Empire's most eligible bachelor. I saw you on the gossip shows, with girls on your arm…"
"Oh yes," he said, looking at the floor between his feet so he wouldn't have to look at her. "There were always girls. Pretty girls, even beautiful girls. It's amazing how attractive being the only heir to the Imperial Throne can make a man. Some mothers did everything but smuggle their daughters into my bedchamber. And there have always been women desperate to bed a Paragon. Any Paragon. They even chased after Lewis, bless his ugly face, though he was always more… particular than me. I never had to go to bed alone, unless I wanted to. Some of them I even liked. But none of them ever meant anything. I never loved any of them; because I could never be sure any of them loved me. Loved the man, and not the Paragon, the Prince. You must know what I'm talking about. You're a star. A diva. Have you ever been in love, Jes?"
"Oh darling, I'm famous for it," said Jesamine, fighting hard to keep her voice light and easy. "Six marriages, twice as many official partners, and more lovers than I feel comfortable remembering. I never had to deny myself anything, so I never did. And it can get really lonely on the road, traveling from one theater to the next… I was a real tart in my younger days, falling in love with every pretty face or nice tight little arse that came along… I was fond of them all, at the time, but… I can't honestly say any of them ever meant anything to me. None of them ever mattered. There's never been anyone in my life as important to me as me." She laughed, just a little shakily. "God, that makes me sound so shallow. Douglas; you're a very impressive man. I'm just a star; you're a legend. You deserve someone better than me."
"I don't think I could stand to meet anyone more impressive than you," Douglas said dryly. He finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, and each of them saw compassion in the other. Douglas sighed, quietly. "I guess we're stuck with each other, Jes. We're going to be King and Queen. We should be proud."
"Yes, we should. It's a great honor."
"It doesn't matter that you don't love me."
"Oh Douglas…"
"Why Lewis, Jes? Why him?"
"Oh hell, I don't know. Perhaps because… he's so unimpressed with who and what I am. Because he's brave and honorable. Because… you always want what you know you can't have. It doesn't matter. It's over. Time to move on."
"I have to be able to trust you, Jes."
"You can, Douglas."
"Lewis is a fine man."
"Yes, he is."
"I was always proud to call him my friend. But I think everything will be better, once he's gone." Douglas rose to his feet, crossed over to the dressing room table, picked up the Crown and put it on his head. He looked briefly into the mirror, his face calm and empty, and then he turned his back on what he saw. He walked over to the door, opened it, and then paused there to look back at Jesamine. "I'm giving up my only real friend to marry you, Jes. Don't ever let me regret it."
Lewis Deathstalker sat alone in the only chair in his empty apartment, staring straight ahead of him, not really thinking about anything, waiting for it to be dinnertime, so he could eat a meal he didn't want. The room was silent, still, with nothing to look at or distract him. Even the walls were bare. The few belongings he'd brought with him were mostly still packed in a crate in the next room along with the mattress that served as a bed. Lewis stared at an empty wall, not thinking, only feeling. When he'd eaten as much of his dinner as he could, he'd drop the disposable plates into the atomizer, go back to his chair, and sit and wait for it to be late enough for him to go to bed, so he could escape into sleep, and leave his life behind for a while.
How could everything have gone so wrong, so quickly?
He didn't have much to do as Champion anymore. Douglas had seen to that. Anne had called, in the King's name, to tell Lewis his presence as Champion was no longer required at the House, and it seemed all his other duties had been suspended. So all that was left was to sit in his chair, and sometimes think about just how badly he'd screwed up his life. All the things he once took for granted, all the things he used to live for; all the honorable underpinnings of his existence had been swept away, and he didn't know what to do anymore. He had betrayed his best and truest friend. Not physically, perhaps, but in his heart. He loved Jesamine Flowers, the woman, not the star, but she was going to be Douglas's bride, and Queen to the Empire, and even to love her in silence and from a distance was a kind of treason. He'd never thought love, when it finally came along, would be like this. A pain he couldn't bear, a need he couldn't ease, a woman he couldn't have. Dishonor and disgrace. But then, that was Deathstalker luck for you. Always bad.
Ask Owen. Ask Hazel. Wherever they were.
Lewis sighed, deeply, and looked slowly around his room for something to do, something to interest him, for a while at least. So he wouldn't have to think, or feel. He supposed he could go and unpack his belongings, but he couldn't seem to work up the energy. It wasn't as if there was anything important in the crate. He'd never been one to collect… things. Never had the time, or the interest. His work was his life. Or at least, it used to be. His eyes drifted on, across the empty room, and he wondered how he could have lived so long, and still have so little to show for it. His gaze finally settled on his computer terminal and monitor, sitting on the floor by the single polarized windo
w. He supposed he should check to see if there were any messages. It wouldn't be anything important. Anything that mattered would come through his comm implant. But there might be something. Something to occupy him.
He rose slowly, tiredly, from his chair, like an old man, and walked over to squat down on the floor before the terminal. He hit the message function, and the screen lit up. Just the one message today, from the fan who ran his tribute site. Lewis frowned. Tim Highbury didn't usually bother him directly unless it was something important. Maybe he'd tracked down some new bootleg operation, making money off Lewis's name and reputation. Lewis always shut them down. He took his good name seriously. Besides, the last set of knockoff action figures had looked nothing like him. He made the connection, called Tim's private number, and the monitor screen immediately cleared to show the face of his truest fan and supporter. It was a young face, barely out of his teens, but Tim had been running the tribute site with frightening enthusiasm and efficiency ever since he was fourteen. Lewis smiled at him. It was good to know there were still some things he could depend on.
"Hello, Tim. Good to hear from you. What's up? Running short of funds at last?"
"No," said Tim. "It's not that." His voice was high and uncertain, and he couldn't seem to meet Lewis's eyes. "It's not the money, Lewis. It was never about the money. You know that. But I'm afraid… I'm going to have to shut down the site. Your site. In fact, it's already done. I'm sorry."
Lewis just stared at him, lost for words. He wasn't sure how he felt about no longer having his own tribute site. On the one hand, he'd never been entirely comfortable with having a site at all; it encouraged too much of the fannish adoration he'd always found so embarrassing. But on the other hand… if there was one person he'd thought he'd always be able to rely on, it was Tim Highbury. Tim had always believed in him, understood him; stood between Lewis and the obsessives who would otherwise have made his life a misery. Before Tim had come along, Lewis had had to employ a screening system for his calls, and change his address every six months, to be sure of getting some privacy. And now… there was something odd about the way Tim was acting. He looked… not so much upset, as… disappointed.
"What is it, Tim? What's happened? Has someone been putting pressure on you, over the site?"
"No! It's not that. Well, not exactly. It's just… it isn't the same anymore. People don't feel the same about you. Not since the Neuman not. It's all changed. It isn't fun anymore. I'm sure you'll find someone else to take over the site. Run it for you. For people who still believe in you. I'm sorry. I can't do it anymore. I have to go now. Good-bye."
His voice was all over the place. He was almost crying when he finally shut down the connection from his end. Lewis stared at the blank screen, almost in shock, and then shut down his screen. Tim had given up on him. His oldest, truest fan. Lewis hadn't thought it would be possible to feel more alone, more isolated and abandoned; but in this as in so many other things, he had been wrong. He got up and slowly walked back to his chair. His legs were unsteady, and he all but collapsed into the chair as he sat down again. Was it just the riot? Or could word about him and Jes already be circulating? No; it couldn't be that. Even a hint of such gossip would have had his place surrounded by journalists by now, baying for a statement. Could Douglas have simply put out the word that Lewis was now officially persona non grata? It wouldn't have been like Douglas, but then, he'd never been betrayed so badly before. But no; again that kind of rift between two such important people would have been meat and drink to the gossip shows. So why had Tim abandoned him?
His comm implant chimed in his ear, and Lewis sat up sharply as Douglas's voice came to him on his personal channel. Douglas sounded as calm and authoritative as always, but somehow… impersonal.
"Hello, Lewis. Sorry to bother you, but I have a job that needs doing."
"Hello, Douglas. Don't worry; you didn't interrupt anything important. What can I do for you?"
"I need you to go over to the Court, and check on how preparations for the Wedding are going. They're way behind schedule, and I can't get a straight answer out of anybody as to why. I can't spare the time to go over and yell at them myself, so I want you to do it for me. Feel free to kick whatever arses you consider necessary, to get them up to speed again. Talk to you later, Lewis. Bye."
And that was it. Lewis chewed the words over slowly, not sure he liked the taste, or what it signified. His first thought was that this was just makework, something to keep him busy. And a safe distance away from the House, and Douglas… and Jesamine. Anyone could have coped with such a simple problem. Hell, Anne could have sorted it out on her lunch hour. And asking him to ensure that the Royal Wedding ran smoothly could be seen as rubbing his nose in it… Except that that would have been petty. Douglas was many things, but petty had never been one of them. So, was there something… important, significant, happening at the Court right now that Douglas needed Lewis to investigate? Something Douglas couldn't afford to notice officially? Some threat, some dispute, some underhandedness that Douglas couldn't discuss openly? God knew there were enough groups and individuals who'd seize on any chance of disrupting the Wedding. Lewis remembered the suicide bomber at the House, considered how much damage a transmutation bomb could do at the Wedding, and shuddered despite himself. Only one way to find out what was going on at Court: go and see. So he went.
He was actually feeling pretty good by the time he got to Court. Good to be doing something again, something that mattered. The Court itself was full of people running back and forth on urgent errands, all of them apparently far too busy to stop and talk with him. Lewis strolled slowly around the great hall, getting the feel of things, looking and listening and saying nothing, while everyone else gave him plenty of room without actually acknowledging his presence or very existence. It soon became clear to him that while there was a lot of shouting and waving of arms going on, not to mention a hell of a lot of bad language, nothing much was actually getting done, because no one could agree on what needed doing first. Everyone had their own agenda and deadline, and no one was prepared to back down for anyone else. Projects were left unfinished or only half done because some other section leader would come along and commandeer the workforce for their own half-done or unfinished project. Lewis sighed, metaphorically rolled his sleeves up, and got stuck in.
When in doubt, go to the top. Lewis searched out each section leader in turn, and talked politely and earnestly. When that didn't work, he grabbed two handfuls of their shirtfronts, slammed them up against the nearest wall, and glared at them till they whimpered. He explained how much better it would be for everyone if they stopped arguing and fighting with each other and started to behave in a civilized and cooperative manner, and everyone he talked to nodded eagerly, and didn't stop nodding until he took his hand off his swordhilt. Or, in extreme cases, their throats. Lewis then assembled all the section heads together in one place and explained how unhappy the King was with their lack of progress. And how unhappy that made him. He went on to explain that if they couldn't or wouldn't do their job and get things running smoothly and back on schedule in very short order, he would personally see that they were all buried in one big communal grave (probably but not necessarily after they were dead) and see how their seconds-in-command did as section leaders. Everyone agreed to be much more civilized in future, and send the King's office regular progress reports to prove it, and Lewis sent them all back to work with smiles and encouraging words, a promise of a substantial bonus if they came in on time and under budget, and a good kick up the arse to help the slowest moving on his way.
And that should have been that.
Except… Lewis couldn't get over how frightened of him they'd all been. All right, he'd played his part to the hilt, complete with menacing stare and heavy breathing, because they wouldn't have taken him seriously if he hadn't, and he'd been quite prepared to slap a few heads if that was what it took to get their attention, but some of them had started sweating the moment they
recognized him. Some of them looked like they would have run away if they'd dared. If he hadn't known better, Lewis would have sworn they were actually taking his threats seriously. That they really believed he would kill them if they didn't do what he said.
Which was… disturbing.
Lewis took up a position on the raised dais, beside the King's Throne, and looked out over the Court again. There was a lot less shouting and carrying on going on now, and rather more constructive effort, but no one wanted to look at him. In fact, people were going out of their way to avoid even having to come close to the dais. Lewis was honestly baffled by this. He was used to respect, he felt he'd earned that in his years as Paragon and the King's Justice, but this… this wasn't respect. It was fear. They were acting like some wild animal had come into their midst, one that might go mad and attack them all at any moment.
Lewis looked around until he spotted a journalist, doing an on-the-spot commentary to his camera floating before him. Lewis stepped down from the dais and headed casually towards him. People scattered to get out of his way. The journalist looked around sharply, took one look at Lewis bearing down on him, broke off his commentary, and headed straight for the nearest exit, his camera bobbing along behind him. Lewis increased his pace. The journalist glanced back over his shoulder, saw that Lewis was catching up, and broke into a run. Lewis sighed, drew the thin throwing dagger from the top of his boot, took careful aim and let fly. The dagger snapped through the air, caught the journalist's flowing sleeve, and pinned it firmly to the wall. The journalist was jerked to a sudden stop, and almost fell. He was still tugging furiously at the sleeve and the dagger, cursing and swearing and blaspheming, when Lewis finally caught up with him. The journalist straightened up, flashed Lewis a desperate and entirely unconvincing smile, and set his back firmly against the wall.
"Sir Deathstalker! Sir Champion! Wonderful to see you! Looking good. Yes. Aren't we having absolutely marvelous weather?"