by Lady Bast
The days seemed to follow one another like a string of brightly coloured beads. Lost in their pattern, Trowa barely felt the time as it slipped by. His days were filled with discussions and visits to the market, sparring on the training fields and archery practise on the range, but more and more often, his set plans were interrupted by a summons from the Prince. On more than one occasion, he sat on a low chair behind Quatre's own seat of government in the assembly hall, listening to petitions as they were brought before the Prince.
During the day, the pretense for his presence was one of education - by witnessing the function first hand, Trowa would be able to form a clear opinion of government that might be of benefit in future trade relations - but at night it was a different matter entirely. At night Quatre would talk to him, discussing the cases he found the most difficult. Trowa did not offer opinions unless he was asked - he was well aware by the Prince's formal approach that he was little more than a sounding board - but sometimes, just sometimes, his opinion was wanted and his time in the hall was put to good use. On at least half of these occasions, Trowa was sure he was merely being tested, but Quatre appeared to listen nonetheless and once, while he was sitting patiently while a verdict was read, he was gratified to hear that it was a modified version of his own solution.
It was a small sign that Quatre was beginning to trust him. This pleased Trowa immensely. After all, he had taken great pains to cultivate that trust. He kept his private conversations with the Prince to himself, despite Duo's teasing curiosity, and was careful to show the proper respect. Although his position was equal to, if not above, Quatre's own, he offered the slightest of bows whenever they met, deferring to his authority within the city. He impressed upon Heero the need to do the same. Although the soldier's antics on the archery range had amused him, Trowa felt that it was best to pass them off as a reaction to the unfair imprisonment of Heero and his family.
Now was not the time to undermine the Prince's authority, Trowa decided. Since fear was such a driving force in Quatre's life, it was best to make him feel as secure as possible in his position. Relaxed and sure of himself, he would be more likely to grant favours. It was a philosophy that Trowa passed on to the servants at every opportunity. He stopped runners in the hall to impress the importance of perfect behaviour upon them even as he took great pains to learn their names. He visited the kitchens, praised the cooks, and told them the same. He shared his views with Rashid on the training ground and before long the complaints of the palace guard had dwindled to mere whispers uttered only in moments of great frustration.
There seemed to be a belief shared silently among the palace staff that Trowa had the matter well in hand. If he asked for patience and respect, they would offer patience and respect. Even so, Trowa knew that he was only borrowing time. If Quatre did not show a continual improvement, gradual though it may be, old resentments would flare and his attempts would be lost.
The responsibility he had taken upon himself was a much greater strain than he ever expected. He began to understand Quatre's fear. This, too, he used to his advantage.
"The farmer," said Quatre, distracting Trowa from his ruminations. "My surveyors tell me that their work was flawless and their documents seem in order, but he still insists that we are charging him tax on land that is his neighbour's. Selket-em-paf insists that there is no sign of the original records."
"Mmm...have you tried sending out a second team of surveyors? One who has had no contact with the first team?" said Trowa.
"Yes. Their results were the same."
"Then, without telling them, send out two more teams of surveyors at different times. Let each think that they are the only ones. Do not tell the farmers that you are doing so. If all their results are the same, they are probably correct."
"You think like Duo," said the Prince with a slight smile. "I can think of many solutions, but seldom think of duplicity."
Trowa shook his head, amused. "It isn't a matter of duplicity. It's a matter of letting everyone think their own opinions are the most important. If they think they are the only ones being consulted, they will not try to seek out and change the minds of others. The many teams of surveyors are only meant to guarantee accuracy." He paused, looking at the Prince from the corner of his eye. "Have each team make a sacrifice to Seshat before setting out."
Quatre snorted. "I don't believe that will make a difference. If they don't know their own craft, what use are they to me? And what do you know of Seshat?"
Trowa shrugged. "I spent enough time with Duo to know some of your gods. He told me about the building of a new temple once. Seshat is consulted for foundations and surveying, isn't she?"
"Yes."
"Then what would it hurt to have sacrifices made to her? If nothing else, it would make your teams feel more secure in their tasks. Even those who doubt the powers of the gods will approve of your sensitivity toward the beliefs of others." Struck by a sudden inspiration, Trowa licked his lips and continued. "Sometimes, being in power means giving others what they want. Although you might not believe in Seshat or her powers, telling one of her worshipers that he is no longer allowed to believe can wither his soul. Some people might be cowed, but some will resent your control. Most people are content with just some of what they want: their gods, their leisure time, their families. Give them these things and they'll feel they have some control over their own lives. They will agree with your other decisions and obey your commands."
Quatre glared at him suspiciously and Trowa was glad he had resisted the urge to draw comparisons with the Prince's current situation. "Don't you think they'll try to take advantage of me?"
"Treated fairly, most men can't be bothered to take advantage. They won't want to ruin a stable lifestyle. I have already heard whispers in the market about your dealings with the lands in your care. The merchants call you fair and admit to being less likely to try and defraud you." This, at least, was not mere flattery though Duo, not the market, had been the source.
For several minutes, the Prince sat in silence. Then he looked up, meeting Trowa's eyes with his own sharp gaze. "Very well," he said. "I will have a portable shrine brought when I commission the surveying teams and make objects of sacrifice available. They may worship her as they wish. I suppose it is a small enough thing," he finished, rubbing his eyes.
It was a curiously child-like gesture. More so since the admission seemed to age the Prince by several years. "You look tired," said Trowa.
He had meant the observation to be kindly, but Quatre frowned and eyed him with suspicion. "I am. The land disputes seem unending at this time of year."
"You shouldn't jeopardize your health for my sake," said Trowa. "I wouldn't think it inhospitable of you to choose rest over my company." Half expecting a curt dismissal - the Prince had never hesitated to brush him aside in the past - Trowa was surprised to find Quatre at a loss for words. He masked it well, disguising his uncertainty with a look of contemplation, but in his time spent with the Prince, Trowa had learned that sudden silences were often an expression of indecision.
"It...isn't necessary," said Quatre with deliberate care. "There will be time enough to rest later. I will have Het-Hori bathe and massage me. Sleep will come easily."
Quatre's tone suggested otherwise, but Trowa did not comment on it. Instead, he surprised himself by saying, "You should have one of the servant girls do it."
Although he had been waiting for an opportunity to confirm what Tetiun had suggested about the Prince's sexual preferences, Trowa had not expected to be asking Quatre himself, indirect though the question might be. The glare to which the Prince treated him was evidence enough that his comment was unwelcome. Nevertheless, Trowa did not back down, clinging to his air of innocence, and Quatre quickly brought his emotions under control, as though he was aware that he had let slip too much information. "Why would you suggest such a thing?" he said coolly.
Trowa feigned indifference and shrugged. "Don't men prefer massages from pretty girls and fulsome women? The women's quarters are empty, but I thought it might be a matter of preference. I understand that many men prefer a rougher stock than the nobility has to offer."
"The women's quarters are empty because I have found no woman to my liking, although it's none of your concern," replied Quatre crisply. "Het-Hori is my devoted servant. I trust no one else."
Trowa thought of Wufei and Anpu-nakht, recently returned to their quarters under guard, and wondered if the Prince really did trust his servant or if the massage would take place under watchful eyes. A memory stirred in his mind and Trowa could not resist chuckling. "Arsenic should be rubbed into the skin with short, brisk strokes," he said lightly.
Quatre was not amused. His eyes widened in horror. "What?"
"Something that was said on my first day here. A jest with a newcomer unaccustomed to having a personal body servant."
"But does it work?"
Though he managed to keep his composure, the strain in Quatre's voice and the fear in his eyes told Trowa that the Prince was very near to panic. He, himself, felt both humour and pity. On one hand, Quatre's need to fear seemed so irrational that Trowa couldn't help but be amused. On the other hand, he felt sorry for the Prince who had lost his trust in early childhood and more so for Het-Hori who remained a source of suspicion despite his loyal servitude. Of course, if the situation could be turned to his advantage, Trowa had no qualms about temporarily inconveniencing the Prince's servants.
"I'm sure I don't know," he replied. "I'm not Duo and never thought to ask about it. All I know is that I have never had any cause to suspect Tetiun and his service has been impeccable."
"You don't know, but it's possible?"
"I suppose. I know arsenic can be absorbed into the skin although it isn't nearly as effective as when it's taken by mouth." Trowa smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. "Don't let it concern you. If Het-Hori used his hands to rub arsenic into your skin, it would be absorbed into his own as well. I doubt very much that he would attempt anything so dangerous, even if he had reason to do so."
"Could...could such a thing be planted?"
"Not here. Rashid would never allow it, as well you know," said Trowa. "He's careful to have every incoming shipment checked for signs of tampering. Too much depends on his loyalty. You've seen to that yourself."
"Yes. I have." Quatre did not sound convinced, but after a moment's hesitation, he shook his head as if to free it of morbid thoughts. "Yes, I have," he repeated firmly, clasping Trowa's hand. "I am well protected now. We are both well protected. If anything were to happen to you, it would mean my ruin and the city would fall into the hands of my sisters' husbands. If anything were to happen to you, there would be severe repercussions in the Delta. We don't need any more skirmishes. It would be bad for both economies. If anything were to happen to you..."
Trowa had only half listened to the Prince's litany. His eyes were drawn to his hand, clasped in a trap of pale bronze. Quatre paused, noticing his interest, and quickly released him. "You are well protected," he said again. "For political reasons."
"Of course," replied Trowa, bowing his head.
"It's getting late. You may be dismissed if you like."
"Thank you. I've come to enjoy the habit of showering before bed, but I'd rather not wait too long or there will be no one there to help me."
"If such a thing happens, send your servant to wake up the attendants. They won't complain."
"I'm sure they won't."
"The guest showers are also very exposed," said Quatre awkwardly. "I'm afraid of someone trying to get to me by violating my hospitality. If ever you feel unsafe in the garden showers, you...you can ask for permission to use my private ones."
A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and Trowa bowed to hide it. "Thank you, Prince," he said, composing himself. "I will bear that in mind. In the meantime, have a good night."
"Thank you. You...have a pleasant night as well."
If the Prince had ever spoken those words, it had been a very long time since they last passed his tongue. Trowa pretended not to notice, thanked Quatre once more, then straightened and backed into the front room and from there stepped into the hall where Tetiun had been left to wait for him along with his usual complement of guards. Seeing his master approach, the body servant yawned and stumbled to his feet. "A late night tonight?"
It was an honest question and not a reproach. "Definitely, but well worth it, I think. Your Prince might even trust me."
"You could sacrifice to the gods you prayed to for such a rare miracle."
"Watch what you say. It won't take long for you to be sent back down to the kitchen. I think there might be much more to Prince Katrah-en than people give him credit for."
"Will you be thinking long, Master?" said Tetiun with the faintest of smirks. "I can walk in front of you if you like."
"Open your clever mouth again and I'll cut out your tongue." Trowa smiled as his servant pressed his lips together and made rubbing motions with his hands. "Yes. I do want a massage tonight. A long one. Full body, with the best of your oils. No arsenic." Treated to a raised eyebrow, Trowa laughed. "Explanations can come later. First, I want a shower."
The water coursing over his body had become a delight. Trowa could not remember why he had ever found it strange or disconcerting. He brushed his heavy bangs from his face as Tetiun stepped in once again to rub cleansing salts into his body. Having been treated to an account of his master's conversation with the Prince, his lips were pursed in half-hearted disapproval.
"I think you frightened him. He's sure to be angry."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. In any event, he won't harm me. I may be a prisoner of sorts, but I'm also a guest. Besides," said Trowa with a slight smile, "he's very attractive when he's angry. A little colour in his complexion that doesn't come from grease and powders does him good."
"Don't say such things out loud, Master. People might not think well of you."
"In this I don't care. Is it wrong to make a comment on another's health? Your Prince looks wan and tired. If a little anger revives him, isn't that a good thing?"
"That isn't what I meant."
"I know very well what you meant, Tetiun," replied Trowa, "and I'll say it again. Your Prince is very attractive." He waved in the direction of the shower attendants. "I don't think that these two...Subu and Nakhti, was it?" The servants smiled and bowed in confirmation, happy to have been remembered. "I don't think Subu and Nakhti will spread rumours about the Prince's important guest. I don't think my father would like that very much."
"Nor would the Prince."
Startled, Trowa looked up and between two privacy walls to see Quatre framed in the doorway. Behind him stood Het-Hori, cosmetic box in hand. He was perfectly composed in appearance, but radiated an aura of distress.
Quatre strode forward, gesturing to the attendants. "You two! More water! I will bathe in the guest showers tonight. And you!" he snapped, turning to address Trowa. "Repeat what you said about my appearance!"
Trowa's face burned as hot blood rushed to his cheeks. Nevertheless, he managed a cool reply. "I merely stated that you had been looking unwell and that your anger brought healthful colour to your face."
"And?" prompted Quatre.
"And that the colour of your anger suited you, making you very attractive."
"So you find me attractive? Even when I am angry?"
"Physically, perhaps."
"I'm angry now."
"Very angry," agreed Trowa. Very beautiful, he added silently.
He had not lied. For all that the Prince's anger could bring terrible punishment, the fire in his blood brightened his eyes with an inner light and warmed the copper of his skin. His hair was a halo of sunfire. Now, stripped of all ornaments except a simple kilt, he was raw energy trapped in the confines of mortal flesh.
Trowa stared, unmoving.
"Would you like me to stand in front of you now?" whispered Tetiun near his right ear.
Reminded of his nakedness, Trowa grabbed his body servant by the arm and pulled the young man between himself and the Prince. The servant swallowed a yip of surprise as his master's erection pressed against his backside.
"Very angry," repeated Quatre, "to hear someone speak of me with such disrespect. Does this excite you?"
Despite his words, the Prince gave no indication that he had noticed Trowa's arousal. Hoping for the best, Trowa did not reply. "Why do you ask?" he said instead.
"Because you infuriate me!" snapped the Prince. "You come to my chambers, eat my food, and drink my wine, then say things to upset me and make me doubt my servants. You speak disrespectfully of me before the men and women I must command and, by the order of the Pharaoh, I can do nothing to punish you unless I can prove that your actions are an act of aggression!"
Trowa's cheeks grew warmer as he held Tetiun firmly before him. "I assure you..."
"Enough!" shouted Quatre. Trowa winced. "Don't speak unless you're spoken to! The love of two men is against the laws of Ma'at. It cannot produce children, so it is unbalanced and unclean. To suggest that I return your feelings could destroy me if the priesthood were convinced to challenge me!" Quatre huffed, breathing heavily as he tried to regain his composure. "That is what you are saying, right? That you are attracted to men? to me? Is that why your servant doesn't bow?"
The Prince's frantic words and wild eyes caused Trowa's heart to race. The loss of dignity that Quatre had allowed himself only underlined the importance of his words. Nevertheless, he did not let go of Tetiun when he spoke. "Prince Quatre, I..."
"SAY IT!"
"YES!" shouted Trowa. He regretted the words the moment they left him, but could not stop them from coming. "I am attracted to men! I am attracted to men and you are the most beautiful man that I have ever seen. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
For a moment, the Prince stood silently - eyes blazing, jaw clenched - and then he seemed to melt with relief, the imposing stance of a noble son becoming the gangling image of uncertain youth. He stumbled forward, pushing Tetiun aside, and threw his arms around Trowa, burying his face in the crook of the taller man's neck. "I have been so lonely," he whispered in a choked voice.
Startled, Trowa stood dumbfounded, trying to ignore his erection, crushed painfully against Quatre's body. Finally, he wrapped his arms somewhat awkwardly around the Prince. "Are you saying that you also prefer..."
"Shh..." whispered Quatre softly in his ear. "If it isn't said, it isn't true."
"But I can say it?"
"You are a foreigner."
"I see," said Trowa, though he did not. "And if I were to say that I already knew? That someone else had told me so?"
Quatre stiffened in his arms, but did not pull away. "Then don't say it anymore. Words are power, but the words of princes are more powerful than the words of servants."
"If words are power, what is action?"
"Nothing but shadow."
They stood together in silence, the warm contours of the Prince's body arousing in Trowa a special delight and soulful longing. As yet unshowered, the scent of soured oil and human sweat was strong, but Trowa revelled in it - a distinctly masculine smell that contrasted pleasantly with Quatre's prettiness and the heavier perfume of myrrh that saturated his hair. Trowa could have stood there all night, simply absorbing the heat and the scent of him, if not for the erection that was becoming increasingly painful. However, a lifetime of caution forced him to push the Prince away and seek the shelter of one of the privacy walls. It was not the relief he had envisioned, but at least he would be able to think straight once again.
When he returned, the Prince was already showering. Subu poured water over the wall as Tetiun scrubbed him free of oil and grime. He cast an accusatory glance in Trowa's direction before turning away in a sulk.
"Don't be so sour," said Trowa as he passed, signalling to Nakhti. Mostly clean, he needed only a rinse which the servant was more than happy to provide. "Actions may only be shadows, but that's no reason for them to take place in public. If the words of one servant have power, then the words of two or three or four will have more power still and I, for one, am not about to give anyone reason to think I've assaulted the Prince of Nekheb."
"I suppose," said Quatre though his humour did not improve.
Trowa looked toward Het-Hori who watched from several paces away, his master's cosmetic box tucked under his arm, unused. "Why don't you use your own body servant?"
"I am afraid to."
"Your fear is unfounded."
"It was your suggestion!" snapped Quatre.
"It was a jest."
"Well, it wasn't funny!"
"No," said Trowa. "Apparently not." He turned to the servant and held out a hand. "Come and help me, Het-Hori. Since the Prince has taken my servant, I suppose this means I am to brave his dangers for him."
Quatre opened his mouth to protest, but, as chance would have it, Subu had already begun to empty his jar and the argument was lost in a torrent of water. Trowa tried to hide a smile as Tetiun nonchalantly signaled for the vessel to be refilled and began to strip the oil from the Prince's hair. Properly cleansed, he allowed Het-Hori to dry him and lead him to one of the benches to be oiled and massaged.
By the time the Prince arrived and seated himself on the bench next to him, Trowa had already been covered with a goodly amount of Quatre's own massage oil. The scent was lovely and subtle and no doubt very expensive. "Come to watch me die," he asked, not bothering to hide his enjoyment of Het-Hori's work. The young man had very skillful hands.
"I don't know," replied Quatre.
"I will prove your safety to you," said Trowa, "at least as far as your make-up box is concerned. You might be surprised at the number of people who are loyal to you despite your belief that they all want you dead. Het-Hori's a good servant. You shouldn't throw him away over unfounded fears."
"Even so, I think I will wait and see."
The Prince watched intently as Het-Hori finished his ministrations and waited several minutes more to see if Trowa would show signs of illness. Although he had allowed himself to be wrapped in a fresh kilt, he did not bother to have Tetiun massage him or paint his face and the servant sat quietly on the floor looking, at least to Trowa's trained eye, phenomenally bored. Painted, oiled, and dressed, Trowa smiled at Quatre and even accepted some dates from a small bowl that Het-Hori carried with him. When he did not die on the spot, Trowa bowed his head respectfully. "Do you believe me now, Prince?"
"Yes, I suppose," replied Quatre. He sounded only partially convinced "It's late and I'm tired. My suspicions are always worse at night. Everything will seem better in the morning, I'm sure."
"I'm sure it will," replied Trowa. The deep loneliness he sometimes noticed in the Prince had surfaced again and had brought with it an almost childlike sadness. It drew him in, making him want to ease the pain. It was a dangerous question - there was no knowing how the Prince would feel tomorrow - but Trowa asked it anyway. "Would you like me to walk you back to your apartments and rub oil into your skin? You should have something done. Rashid tells me the dry season is worse than ever this year."
"That is servants' work," said Quatre.
"But you can trust me," said Trowa. "I won't endanger myself or you because of the Pharaoh's decree. Call it courtesy if you like."
Quatre did not smile, but his eyes cleared and he seemed less troubled and weary. "Alright," he said. "I accept."
Strands of sun-bleached hair curled around his fingers as Trowa brushed them away from Quatre's neck and rubbed the last of the oil into the paler skin about his hairline. The rich smell of sandalwood enhanced the natural warmth of his brown body and it was only with great strength of will that Trowa managed to prevent himself from biting playfully at the Prince's ear. Although Quatre had made it quite obvious that he would not reject such attentions, the Prince's moods were unpredictable and Trowa refused to put himself in so vulnerable a position until he was absolutely certain that his desires were shared. The eroticism of the massage, while unsatisfying, would have to do for now.
He slid his hands lightly over Quatre's shoulders and stroked his cheek gently as he flicked a lock of hair away from the Prince's eyes. They were closed now, his face smooth and unlined as if in sleep. It was not until Trowa withdrew his hands completely and pulled up the light linen sheet that they opened.
"Are you leaving so soon?" said Quatre, sitting up.
Trowa smiled. "Soon? It's very late."
"I was...I was hoping you would stay until I slept. Duo used to stay with me quite often."
"Duo's gone." The Prince's face twisted into a grimace of pain. For a moment, Trowa cursed his words, but he did not offer an apology. It was the truth.
"Do you think I don't know that?" said Quatre sadly. "He was my best friend. At least, I thought he was my best friend. Was I supposed to give him free reign in the city? He killed my father!"
"Whom you loved dearly."
"My father was very powerful."
"And you loved him dearly."
Quatre fell silent for a full minute before speaking. "That isn't the point. He was here, helping me speak to my father, getting me the advice I needed, for years! Now I don't even know if I can trust the advice I was given. If he killed my father, why would he help me? Was it even my father?"
"I can't answer your last question," said Trowa kindly, sitting on the edge of the couch, "but I don't think that Duo would have cheated you. He did care about you, no matter what you believe. If you truly wanted to speak with your father, then I'm sure that's what he tried to do. Whether or not he was truly successful is another matter."
"I want to hire another magician, but I'm afraid to find out that their answers are different and that Duo was lying to me all of this time."
"Why do you even need another magician?" said Trowa. "Your father taught you everything he knew, didn't he? Isn't this enough? You should be able to take what you've learned and apply it as you see fit. Ghosts are things of the past and should be allowed their rest."
A wild fear welled up in the Prince's eyes. "But I have to talk to him! I'm no good at politics...I never have been! I won't know what to do!"
"How do you know you're no good at politics? Did your father tell you this?" Trowa needed only to see the look in Quatre's eye to know that he had guessed rightly. He sighed. "I think you would manage much better on your own, but in any event, it's too late to decide anything tonight."
"True. I should send a letter to the temple in Kom Ombo anyway to let them know that Duo is being returned to them. Perhaps they will offer me a replacement and I can decide then if I want to hire another," mused Quatre. "Although it will take quite a long time. I don't know what I'll do until then."
"You might surprise yourself," said Trowa, smiling. He rose to leave, but stopped when the Prince grabbed his wrist.
"Please. Stay. Just a little while longer."
"I'm not Duo," said Trowa.
"You're too quiet to be Duo," replied Quatre with a wry grin. "Too tall and too thin as well."
"What would you have me do?"
"Lie down with me until I sleep."
"And if I fall asleep myself?"
"Stay here. No one will think anything of it. I'm often in conference until dawn. Tetiun will share a pallet with Het-Hori. They've done it before."
Trowa tried not to think of the circumstances under which this might have occurred. Instead, he thought about the Prince and how much he wanted to accept the offer. Both his own interests and those of his friends relied on his becoming close to Quatre, but to move too quickly could only put him in a dangerous position. He cast a glance at Tetiun and Het-Hori who sat silently in the shadows, nearly invisible as a servant should be. "I want these two to bear witness that you asked me to stay and that I did not impose myself upon you," he said.
Quatre looked toward the servants. "Well, did you or did you not hear me make my request?" he said.
"I did," said Tetiun, quick to serve his master.
"I did," said Het-Hori, somewhat warily.
"And I insist on sleeping on top of the sheet," Trowa persisted. "I am not yet comfortable with this arrangement."
Quatre nodded. "If you wish. Het-Hori, bring a second sheet in case Prince Trowa is cold."
"And if you sleep before I do, I am returning to my own chambers. I should not be expected to be here in the morning."
"Alright," said Quatre, stretching himself out on the couch and sliding over to give Trowa more room. Despite this, the space was narrow and Trowa found it necessary to partially wrap himself around the Prince both for his own comfort and to keep from sliding off.
Het-Hori spread crisp linen over him, its cool texture a welcome contrast to the warm body pressed against him. Despite the flimsy sheet between them, the Prince had managed to fill the hollows of his body and it came as a surprise to Trowa how well they fit together. He said nothing though; Quatre had already closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling with deep, regular breaths. Trowa did not think he was asleep just yet, but he was certainly in a lull and he was not willing to disturb it. Instead, he closed his own eyes and felt the rhythm of Quatre's breath and blood: the latter a distant pulse against his own skin, the former a hot breeze against his neck.
He knew that he was dreaming when the gentle wind shifted and soft lips pressed against his collarbone.
"The Prince of Nekheb" copyright A.C.Smith (aka Lady Bast), 2002. Send comments to asmith@ican.net Please do not repost or print (other than for personal use) without permission. The Gundam boys and all their paraphenelia belong to whomever currently holds the rights...I'm just borrowing them for a while. No infringement is intended, really. Really really. Please don't sue me, I have no money. If, however, you have a burning desire to hire me and PAY me money to write this kinda stuff, feel free to track me down.