"Master Damion,"  Manny began as Damion heeled his horse to the hilltop and lifted the binoculars to his eyes.  "We should ride back soon.  Your jet is scheduled to depart by ten thirty to arrive in New Port City by Council by noon."

Looking through the binoculars, Damion could clearly make out the old military base on the dockside of the harbor. Ships large and small moved in and out of port, or milled in the bay waiting their turn, but if he wasn't mistaken some of those shipments were being taken around the back of the base and smuggled inside in secret.  Old Farnworth was right.  Something was brewing down there.

Damion clicked his tongue and tugged lightly on the reigns of his thoroughbred stallion until the horse moved back beside Manny and his mount.  "All right, Manny, I've seen enough.  We are now equipped to address the council."

Manny's lopsided grin was almost roguish.  He was a boxer and Damion's servant and bodyguard, but it looked silly on him.  "My Lord, I don't know what you mean by 'we.'  Servants aren't allowed to a council of dignitaries."

"That's because they clutter up the room," Damion said in his most proud and joking tone.  Manny's brown eyes shone in anticipation.  "But we might find a way to smuggle you in as a lord and friend of mine."

Manny grinned.  "In that case, my Lord Prince, may I have permission to address you by your first name in New Port City?"

Damion laughed and heeled his stallion into a fast trot.  Manny followed.  "You always have anywhere."

"Begging your pardon, Prince Damion, but that wouldn't be a credit to you in most company, and I don't mind."

They had had this conversation before.  Damion let it drop and urged his horse into a gallop, lying low across his neck to pick up their speed.  Manny was not the horseman Damion was--he hadn't been bred to it as his servant--but he kept pace.

They raced down the hills and up the paved pathways to the back entrance of the capital city of Taravren, where they slowed to an elegant light trot.  Damion was not wearing his regimentals, but people in the street recognized him and some of them waved or called out.  He did not wave or call back.  That would have embarrassed them, but he let himself smile now and again, especially if his fans were girls.

"You'll break hearts someday, my Lord,"  Manny said with a grin, raking his hand through sandy blonde hair..

"So my dear mother keeps telling me," Damion commented.  "But there are only so many I can choose from, and most of those meetings are arranged."

"Well, I'm sure there'll be more than a few girls at the Council to practice with.  Relena Peacecraft will certainly be in attendance and she's eligible as the Cinq princess, not to mention former Queen of the World.  I distinctly remember her catching your eye a few years ago."

"On a video screen," Damion agreed loosely,  "and I saw her at Romafeller a few times after, but we've never actually met."

"Well, my Lord, you're eighteen now and a gentleman coming into your inheritance.  Now's the time for an introduction."

"Aren't you just full of advice today," Damion replied, but he smiled broadly.

The black spiral gates to the old palace were opened wide for them before them arrived and Damion trotted his horse through with little thought of it.  They rode through with the clatter of horse's hooves on cobblestone and circled around the fountains and enormous garden beds to the stables on the right side of the formal structure.  Damion dismounted easily, landing lightly on both feet, removed his riding gloves, and handed both the gloves and the reigns of his horse to two of three grooms who were ready and waiting before he could call.  He nodded to them, receiving smiles of appreciation, as Manny dismounted and handed his own horse over as well.

Manny took his riding coat and held open the door for him as they entered the palace from the side entrance.  One foot in the door and Damion was immediately accosted by servants with warm wet towels with which to wash his hands and face.  Wine was poured for him from a cooled flask, and also for Manny at Damion's insistence.   Manny handed over Damion's and his own riding coat to another servant and they were left alone for about four strides as they made for the stairs and Damion's quarters.

"My Lord Damion," a woman's voice murmured from beside the staircase.

Damion smiled and bowed to Clara Veron, the daughter and only child of Duke Veron, but he was not feeling it.  Multiple layers of pale red silk and chiffon sheathed her slim form in elegance.  It was a vibrant color, bringing out the brown in her eyes and dark hair, both shining in the yellow light of the foyer.  She curtseyed, ducking her head, and rose straight and graceful.

"Good morning, Miss Clara," he said.  "Can I help my Lady with anything?"

"I merely wanted to wish you well on your trip, Prince" she said, clasping her hands before her.  The loose, wispy sleeves of her dress concealed the backs of her hands, but not her fingers.  She wore only one ring, the signet ring of her family, amethyst and diamond on a gold band around the middle finger of her right hand.  Her gown was girdled in gold as well, and a necklace of amethyst circled her slender throat.  When she married, she would be a duchess, but he suspected she wanted to be a princess too.  "But I do not want to keep you.  I am sure you have preparations yet to make.  My Lord,"  she said in way of departure, and curtseyed again, slightly this time, and swept past him.

"She is a beautiful woman," Manny said when she was out of earshot. "Like a rose."

"A rose with many thorns,"  Damion muttered in return, but he wasn't sure Manny heard him.

In his rooms, Damion removed his riding clothes and donned his formal wear.  His coat was long, reaching to his knees, and pale blue like the sky.  Silver and gold scrolling worked its way up the sleeves and shoulders and the lapels in front were white silk.  He stood in front of a full length mirror with his arms at his sides as Manny adjusted the many cumbersome folds and clasps that completed the princely picture.  He stared into his own face, smoothing his statement, contemplating gray eyes and brown hair.  He had been told his eyes were like the morning, full of light and chill winter, and that he was good looking in general, but he tried not to think too much about it for fear of growing more prideful than was absolutely necessary.  As a final touch, Manny placed his silver coronet on his head, pinning it tight to his hair.  Damion always thought the thing looked strange, especially on a man, but it was a symbol, and he would be addressing a good number of important people as a Prince, even if he was a prince who would never be King.  It was likely he was overdressed, but first impressions were important and he was young.  A prince was not expected to meet others as an equal and make friends, but to impress others and form allies, better if they were subordinate ones, but he didn't think much of that either.

"All right,"  Damion said at last to Manny.  "Your turn."

Manny took a step back.  "I don't think so, sir.  I appreciate the offer, but seeing you now, though I have seen it many times,  I do not think I could carry off lordship, begging your pardon, Master."

Damion suppressed a sigh and nodded.  "All right, Manny.   If you insist.  We will keep our friendship strictly professional in public."

"Thanks, Damion," Manny said quietly, using his first name.  "It's a relief.  I mean, I've grown up with you, and we've always been best friends, but I'll always think of you as my master because that's what you are.  It was different a few years ago when we were still kids and everything, but you're an adult now and growing into your proper role and it's just not the same pretending anymore.  You understand?"

"I understand,"  Damion said simply, but with regret.  It seemed things were becoming more complicated the older he got.  "But you do know I'll never actually be a king, right?  Now that our nation technically doesn't exist due to Romafeller's decree, I shall be a prince forever."

"I know, and that's a relief too, if you'll forgive me, Damion.  I always dreaded the day of your coronation when I would probably be removed from your service, but it doesn't change everything."

Damion nodded.  "We'd better be going," he said at last, and Manny held open the door for him.

Relena was admitted to the council hall with a flush faced and racing heartbeat.  She was late, by a few minutes, but everyone else was already seated. Luckily, the council had not officially started and most people were still chatting amiably.  Members of the Romafeller Foundation mixed with government officials and retired military specialist.  It was a buffet of dignitaries, and though the dress varied, it was all formal.  Relena walked down the front aisle to her seat, a dignified spot for the Vice Foreign Minister and ex-Queen of the World.  Dorothy Catalonia glanced at her from the end of the row and smiled in that shrewd manner peculiar to her upbringing.  Relena was never really certain whether Dorothy actually liked her, merely respected her, or faked both.  She wasn't sure Dorothy did either, but she smiled warmly in return.  It never hurt to be kind. Besides, she had to sit next to Dorothy, so she might as well establish civility from the get-go.

"You are late, Miss Relena," Dorothy said in tones that might have been sweet if not for the underlying bite.

Relena did not reply, but set her clipboard on the desk in front of her and sat with a straight back in her seat.

Dorothy folded her arms as the presiding Chairman of today's council walked to the center of the room and stood behind the podium.  He coughed and raised his hand for attention.

The door Relena had just entered opened and a young man arrayed in royal garments walked into the room.  Heads turned away from the Chairman and toward the newcomer, surprise and admiration rippling through the room in quiet mutters.  Relena stared for several seconds, evaluating who she supposed was Prince Damion Ravineere of Taravren.  Terese's account of him had been right.  He was attractive, well built, and possessed a commanding presence.  His coat alone was probably worth a fortune and the coronet of silver resting on his forehead flashed like a star.  Every movement from the shift of his eyes to the way he moved his hands indicated aristocratic upbringing.

"Something caught your eye, Miss Relena?" Dorothy murmured on her left.

"Do you know him, Dorothy?"  Relena asked.

"We've met before.  A prince is one rank above a duke, but my grandfather and his father often spoke.  Like most royal families, his did not like the growing power in the Romafeller Foundation and their talks were often heated.  I don't really remember.  I was twelve at the time, and Damion was just a princeling.  He's grown quite attractive," she added,  "but I believe he's looking at you."

Dorothy turned her head away with a suggestive smile, but Relena jumped.  He was looking in her direction, but at her?  She looked at him directly and he smiled.  It lit up his face.  Quite unconscious of it, she smiled back.  Suddenly, he bowed before the assembly and asked a few words of pardon for being late.  An usher at the door directed him to the front row, coincidentally enough, to the seat beside Relena.

He sat beside her without looking at her directly, but as soon as the Chairman began to speak and there was some other noise in the room, he turned his attention to her.  "Relena Darilan, I presume?"  he questioned.  "I am Damion Ravineere of Taravren. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Likewise," Relena returned.  "I heard you were coming today."

He nodded and some of the formality seemed to slip now that introductions were over. "My father thought it was time I took some active interest in international affairs.  He is occupied tracking rumors of rebellion in Taravren and sending me seemed like a splendid idea, both as a delegate and a messenger."

Relena would have made a polite reply, but she was suddenly called upon to release an update of affair in space.  Smiling an apology to Damion, she rose and made her report, urging as always that more relations between the community of earth and the community of space were always needed.  "We must not segregate ourselves into two societies," she said.  "That is what has contributed to problems in the past.  It is imperative that everyone work to love and understand space, and not depend on me alone.  If I am truly a representative, than I must truly represent how the people of earth feel about the colonies."  She did not speak long on the Terra Formation Project, as that would have been time consuming and not an issue for this particular council, but she did mention the attitude and situation of space and was at length applauded for her efforts and allowed to sit down again.

Damion did not speak to her again throughout the rest of the council.  Relena was busy taking notes on what various delegates had to say on the situation of the world anyway, but she noticed that he occasionally watched her with an air of curiosity.

Finally, the Chairman announced Damion's presence and he rose to speak even as Relena had.  His speech was fluid and sure, with an air of training, she thought, because it was so flawless.  His words were not heart-winning, but they were engaging, organized and easily comprehended.  Taravren had been a small country.  There were rumors of disquiet but they were not the fault of the royal family or the governing bodies.  Taravren's current government offered its cooperation to the peace keeping forces of the Earth's United Nation as investigations into the matter were being undertaken.  Taravren thanked the council for their hard work, care and attention. He was applauded as he sat down.

Relena looked up and was surprised to see Heero on the balcony.  As Damion finished, Heero turned and left.

Relena gaze dropped and she smiled just as Damion turned to look at her.  He opened his mouth but was interrupted as the Chairman resumed the platform, but he held Relena's gaze with a gleam in his eye.

At half-past four the council was adjourned and everybody had more work to do.  As council members rose from their seats and began to mill about, Relena and Damion once more turned to one another.

"And what will you do now, Lord Damion?"  Relena asked politely.

"Well, I have to petition the services of various groups individually," he replied, and then looked directly into her face.  "And I would like to have dinner with you, if that is not too forward and you have no prior engagement."

She started.  Oh, right, he must be petitioning her.  Her gaze wondered to the balcony where Heero had been, but he was no longer there. "I have no private engagements," she said, nothing that couldn't wait anyway.  "What would you like to discuss?"

He laughed and leaned back in his chair, almost all manner of formality gone.  "Do you always work this hard?  I'm asking you on a date, Miss Darilan, not a business meeting.  I don't think you can really help me much in matters of a rebellion.  I'll go to the Preventors for that."

Relena blushed to her hairline.  Dinner with Damion?  Terese's voice in her head demanded she accept.  And her own voice seconded it.  It was time.  "In that case I would love to," she said with a little laugh.  "And yes, I do always work this hard."

He nodded, and immediately named a restaurant and a time.  "It's nice," he said, "but not this formal.  Can I pick you up or would you rather meet me?"

"Either," she said, "but it might be easier if I can just meet you."

He nodded, stood and bowed to her.  "Then I'll be waiting at 7:00, Miss Relena."  And he left.

Suddenly she realized everyone that still remained in the room had been watching the entire seen.  She rose a little awkwardly, embarrassed, and collected her things.  Damion was immediately accosted by everyone who knew anything about him, and also by people he apparently did know.  But they had had to wait until he was done with her.  And for the first time in a long time, Relena was able to slip out of a council room unnoticed.

Dorothy met her in the hall.

"Miss Relena and Prince Damion," she cooed.  "It is hard to say who outranks who."

"He outranks me," she replied, as if she cared.  "I am a Darilan now, not a Peacecraft."

"But you were once Queen of the World," Dorothy replied, "and Chief Representative of the Romafeller Foundation."

"What do you want, Dorothy?" Relena asked flat out, not meanly, but with focus.  It was easier that way.

"Nothing.  I think it's wonderful, but how will Heero feel about it?" she asked in those slow, over contemplative tones.

Relena's stomach fluttered and she looked down, but then she steeled herself.  "Heero has not made any move on me, Dorothy.  It's about time I stop wasting my time waiting for him.  He's obviously not interested."

"Wasting your time?" Dorothy repeated, smiling as Relena stalked past her, a little angry at herself for being so harsh, but feeling she meant what she said.  Even so, Dorothy's statement had been way too conniving for comfort, and she ought to have taken more caution.

Away from the city, Heero climbed the green slopes to where a solitary tree cast patches of shade over the grassy turf.  He sat down and folded his arms over his knees, staring toward the Cinq Palace rising from the center of New Port City.

Relena. Relena. Relena.

His brain was on fire.

He had gone to the council to observe Damion Ravineere, but instead he had stared at her for three and a half hours, transfixed in one place.  She had made him forget why he had come, and that had never happened before.  Why why why?  He had been fine until he saw her.

He felt sick to his stomach, like he was poisoned, and he was hot and sweating and he couldn't concentrate.

"I'm a soldier,"  he exhaled hoarsely, and felt something like tears in his eyes.  But they were not tears.  It was a strange sickness. He was dizzy and sick with desire, which made him feel more sick still.  He was not comfortable with this, whatever it was called. Carnal lust or love or obsession, he didn't know.  He did not understand any of it, and it was doing things to his mind and body.  He understood those things in relation to being human and being a man, but he did not know them personally or how to deal with them and did not want to.

He had never been so distracted in his life.

He didn't know if he wanted to kill her or sleep with her.

Oh God.  Sleep with her?  His brain was on fire.  He was sick.   He gulped in air and laid back on the grass.  Perhaps ordinary sleep or better yet, a good fight would clear his head.  There was the danger of dreams in sleep.  Perhaps he could sit in the Wing Zero and imagine a fight until the Zero System could sort this out for him.  But maybe that would be fruitless.  Relena was not the enemy.  He just wanted to possess her.

He was sick.  He needed an antidote, but he didn't know what to take, or if there was even a cure.

"Heero!"

He turned his head to see Duo climbing the hill and groaned inwardly.  He wanted to be alone.

"Hey," Duo said, dusting off his knees.  "This is a nice little place.  What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," Heero replied.  He wanted to say 'leave me alone,' but had no desire to speak much at all, and Duo likely wouldn't heed the request anyway.

"Did you get a load of that Damion guy?" Duo asked.  "I saw him after the Council.  Man!  I wish I was half that rich and good looking.  I mean, I'm not complaining, but that guy seems to have everything.  They even say he's nice."  He grinned.  "Hey, did you hear that he asked Relena out to dinner?  Everybody was talk..."

Heero sat bold right-up and stood to his feet before any rational thoughts could pass through his head.   All he saw were images.

"Ho, Heero.  Calm down," Duo said, pushing down on the air with both hands in a calming gesture.  "They're not getting married or anything.  I thought you said there was nothing between the two of you?"

Heero's head swam.  He couldn't think straight.  "I..."  he stuttered, walked past a shocked-faced Duo and ran down the hill.

"Heero!" Duo shouted after him  "What the hell, man?  What are you going to do?  Heero!"

He was back in New Port City and the Palace before he knew it.  The guards at the gates ignored him.  They were used to all the Gundam Pilots running in and out of Cinq all the time.

"Heero Yuy," a familiar voice called from behind him in the foyer.  Dorothy Catalonia.  He turned and knew he looked dangerous.  Dorothy was undaunted.  "Did you hear about Miss Relena and Prince Damion Ravineere?"  she murmured, and her eyes glittered.

"Yes," he said calmly from some dead place, but there was acid eating his heart.  "What do you know about it?"

Dorothy shrugged.  She was still dressed in her formal clothing, a black suit today.  "I asked her about it right after council.  I told her she might want to consider what you might think."

Heero felt as if the world was poised on the edge of a sword.  Everything seemed to zero-in on Dorothy's words and everything else was shrunken, black and dead.

"She said she should stop wasting her time on you," Dorothy finished with a bite in her tone, but all he could see were her lips moving.

wasting her time on you.

wasting her time.

on you.

you.

"Heero?"  Dorothy asked.

He shook his head and turned away.  "I'm fine," he said hoarsely.

But his world had dropped out from under him.  Everything had changed.  Everything.  And he was suddenly desperate again, desperate as he had not been since battles were the only thing that he considered his life.  And she had changed that.

She had believed him.

But she had wasted her time.

He wanted to kill somebody.  And it was Damion's face that came to mind.

He was feverishly sick.