Dion smiled.

Kamil grasped hold of the lapels of his coat, half teasing, half earnest. "Don't look smug. Tell me you've never seen her spirit. Tell me she doesn't come to you. The king she gave her life to protect."

Kamil's manner changed; she was serious, thoughtful. She looked, once again, into the garden. "The only thing I wonder is, why wasn't he with her? They loved each other so much. They were parted in life. I can't imagine that they would remain apart after death. ..."

Dion shut his eyes against the sting of sudden tears.

"Don't!" he said.

Kamil shifted her gaze to him, saw him pale and shaken. "I'm sorry," she whispered remorsefully. "I'm so sorry ... I didn't mean . . . Oh, my darling! I love you so much. I want only to make you happy."

"You do! You will!" he said fiercely, harshly, his passion overpowering him.

It was growing darker in the garden. Storm clouds covered the moon; snow began to fall again, hard and thick, sticking in their eyelashes, melting on their skin. Laughing, they turned and, arms around each other, clinging together, they slid and stumbled on the slick stones of the path, returning to Dion's bedroom, to warmth and darkness and exquisite happiness.

Outside, in the night, the snow fell, soft and cold.

Afterward, they lay in the dark, her head resting on his chest talking.

"Astarte wants a child," said Dion. "That's all she wants from me. If I gave her that, she'd be happy. Her mother would be happy. The whole damn galaxy would be happy. As if it's any of their business."

"You can't blame them, Dion," said Kamil. "Think of the up-heaval and confusion and near disaster they've gone through. The people are grateful for this respite. They want it to go on. Your child is a future for them, a future they can look forward to with hope. It would give them a sense of continuity."

"I know," said Dion. "I understand. I truly do. Believe me, I'd like nothing better than to give them what they want. We've tried, God knows. But I don't want to think about that. Neither do you. Not here, not now."

But he did think about it and he continued to talk about it. It was so comforting to talk about it' She listened, though it was uncomfortable for her, because she knew he needed her to listen.

"We've been to every doctor imaginable. We're both healthy. Absolutely no reason we can't have a hundred royal heirs. They say it's stress. Or maybe space travel. Or maybe space travel's good for us. She won't be artificially inseminated; it's against her religion. Something about the Goddess blessing only true unions of mind and body."

Dion sat up, his back to Kamil. He ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair, dark and blood-colored in the moonlight. "There can be no thought of divorce. It would mean war. And I won't let the deaths of millions pay the price of my happiness."

"I know, Dion. I understand. I don't expect it." Kamil sat up with him, leaned against him, her arms around him, her cheek resting on his bare back. "We talked about this before. Remember?"

He smiled ruefully. "Yes-the night I told you I couldn't keep my promise to marry you. I thought you'd despise me. Maybe I hoped you would. It would have been easier. . . ."

"Despise you?" Kamil smiled. "For doing your duty? I am the daughter of a ruler. I know that duty to the people comes first. That was the earliest lesson my parents taught me. What was our love, what was our commitment, compared to the commitment you had made the people?"

"I could have wriggled out, Kamil. There were ways."

"Then I would have despised you."

He put his arm around her, kissed the silver hair.

"This is all I want," she told him. "This will be enough."

Dion sighed and lay back down, drawing her down with him. His expression grave, troubled, he stared into the darkness, into the moonlight reflected off the snow, shining on the ceil-ing. The silver light came and went as the clouds raced past. Shadows slid over Dion, hiding him from her sight. Kamil lay listening to his quiet breathing, the beating of his heart.

The shadows slipped past. His face, pale and strong, like carven marble, emerged from the darkness. Kamil was reminded suddenly and chillingly of a dream, the first night she'd met him.

They strode into battle together, as had been the custom in her land in ancient times. He the warrior, she his shieldmaid, guarding his unarmed side. Together they fought and fought well, vanquished foe after foe. He was the leader of his army, his flowing red-golden hair a bright banner that was always in the vanguard.

And then they met an enemy beyond belief, a dreadful wave of evil and darkness that crashed into them, beat on the shield. Dion fought, held his enemies at bay, sword and body covered with blood, his own and that of his foes. But wounds and exhaustion overcame him. He slipped and fell. His enemies towered over him, moved in for the kill. Kamil stood before him, held the shield as best she could, offered him a chance, a brief respite. The enemies struck blow after blow, shattered her shield arm, drove her to her knees.

Behind them, the army wavered, the bright banner they had followed dimmed by darkness. Kamil fell, but the shield lay over Dion, over them both. They looked at each other and in that moment knew that they could lie together in the darkness, safe, hidden, and their enemies would ride over them. Ride to victory, destroying those who came behind. Already they could hear them, crying out in despair, shouting for their king.

He looked at her and saw she understood. Rising, he threw aside the shield and cried a challenge to his foe. His army surged around him and he led them forward, and the last she saw of him was the flowing bright hair, shining on them like a new-made sun. And he vanished. And she lay in the darkness, alone.

Kamil began to cry, softly, against her will. She gulped, held her grief inside, though the tears burned her throat. Hoping he wouldn't notice-for how could she explain?-she tried to ease herself out of his grasp, to wipe the tears away, but he felt the wetness on his skin and turned immediately to her.

"Hush, don't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, misunderstanding. He was serious, remorseful. "I was the first lover you've had, wasn't I?"

She pressed her face against his arm, unable to stop the tears now, unable to speak to correct his mistake, then thinking that perhaps he wasn't far from wrong.

He was silent, stroking her hair, then said, his face flushing, "Somehow, I hadn't expected ... I mean, I thought .. . here, on this campus ..."

"Oh, Dion." Kamil raised her head, looked at him, managed a tremulous smile. "How could you imagine there would be anyone else? I love you ... only you."

He held her close, crushing her to him. She clasped him tightly, fiercely, their bodies crowding together, as if they could overcome the flesh that was a physical barrier to their souls' joining. But flesh compensated by giving them pleasure.

Passion stirred. They teased it a moment, then relaxed and lay back, content to enjoy the simmer before the burning.

"We've talked about me too much," he said. "Tell me what you do every day, what courses you're taking; tell me about the people you talk to, who see you every day; tell me where you go, what you think ..."

"I don't go anywhere, except to class," Kamil said, laughing slightly, warm with pleasure at his interest. She snuggled near. "It was hard for me at first. I was far behind all the others. Our people don't believe in formal schooling, you know. And so I've had to work hard to catch up. But I love it ... now."

"Now?" He looked at her.

"I was homesick in the beginning. That . . . that was a hard time. You were just married . . . and I couldn't help but be jealous. Not of her, exactly. I wasn't afraid that you would love her more than you love me." She put her hand on his lips, stopping him when he would have spoken. "I never doubted you. I was jealous of her time with you, of knowing you two were loving, touching. . . ."

"Touching, maybe," said Dion grimly. "Not loving."

They were both silent. The moonlight disappeared. The wind rose, the storm returned. Bits of ice pelted the window-panes.

"Don't stop talking," he said abruptly. "Keep on. I want to know. I want to be able to picture you in my mind. What do you eat for breakfast? Do you fix it yourself or go to the cafeteria?"

"Oh, Dion!" She laughed.

"I'm serious." He made it evident with a kiss. "Tell me."

She told him. She told him every part of her daily routine, told him about her classes, what she was studying, told him about the professors, about the people she knew, about the books she was reading, her dislike of philosophy, her love of mathematics. She told him what she ate for breakfast.

He lay very quiet, very still, his breathing soft and regular. She might have thought he'd fallen asleep, except she could see his eyes, wide open, staring into the darkness and seeing not darkness but seeing her, walking through her day.

She thought of his day in comparison-the crushing responsibilities, the life-and-death decisions, the person he had to become, the king she'd seen tonight, so different from the man holding her. She was remorseful. She didn't often give in to self-pity, but sometimes, in the evening, when the air was soft and fragrant with the scent of the roses and she saw young couples walking together, she felt sorry for herself.

After this, no more. There was no self-pity in his expression, no regret. Only an inexpressible sadness that brought the dream-image of the warrior back to her. She banished it hurriedly, afraid she'd start to cry again.

"And what," Dion asked, the first words he'd spoken in a long time, "is the point of all these studies in astrophysics and quantum mechanics? What do you plan to do?"

"Can't you guess?" she asked, flushing.

He propped himself up on one elbow, intrigued by the sudden air of mystery. "You don't plan to give your life to the church, do you? Become a nun?"

"Of course. That's it!" Kamil said, pulling playfully on his hair. That started a scuffle which ended with her breathless and laughing, pinned up against the headboard.

"Tell me the truth," he mock-threatened, pretending to be stern. "Tell all, lady. I command you."

"You'll laugh at me," she protested.

"You didn't laugh at me when I said I wanted to be king."

"No," Kamil returned softly. "I didn't laugh."

He kissed her and this time the passion was too strong. It was some time before they returned to what they had been discussing Kamil was achingly, sweetly, drowsy in his arms.

"No more trying to change the subject," he said, his voice warm and husky with the pleasant tiredness. He yawned, kissed her gently. "Tell me about your plans. And don't fall asleep. I won't waste this night in sleep."

"It's almost dawn. I should go soon, before anyone sees me."

But she made no move to go. The thought of leaving this rumpled warmth, of hurrying, cold and shivering, through the halls to her own empty room, darkened her heart. "I made the decision last holiday. I'd gone home and there was a visitor. Tomi Corbett. You remember her?"

"The captain of that cruise liner Lady Maigrey pirated and flew into Corasia. Yes, I remember Corbett. What was she doing on your planet?"

"My father met her during the battle, when the fleet was forced to fight its way out of the Corasian galaxy."

"That's right. I'd forgotten. He took some of his troops over to her ship, in case it was boarded. Funny, I hadn't thought of her in ages."

"They became good friends. He invites her to visit every year, when she can get leave. She's a colonel in the Royal Space Corps now. She says you and General Dixter helped her."

"She deserved it," Dion commented quietly. "So you met her . . ."

"Yes." Kamil plaited the sheet beneath her fingers. "She was telling me about the Space Corps Academy. And, well, that's what I want to do. I want to train to be a spacepilot. Like Tomi. And Lady Maigrey."

Dion said nothing.

"I know what you're thinking," Kamil went on, truly believing she did. "You're thinking I don't have a chance. And I know how hard it is . .. what an honor to be chosen. I know that millions apply and only a handful make it. But my professors say my grades are high enough-I've got a straight 4.0. And I took the practice entrance exam already and my score was one of the highest. A candidate has to have influence to get a commission, but," she added with a breathless little laugh, "I'm friends with His Majesty the king and I thought he might-"

"Well, he won't," said Dion.

He pulled his arm out from beneath her, sat up in bed. Throwing back the sheets, he stood up, his back to her, and reached for his robe. "I might as well sign your death warrant. "

Kamil stared at him, startled, unable to speak. She felt as if he had thrown the snow in her face.

He tied the robe around his waist, turned back to face her. "I can imagine how exciting Colonel Corbett made it all sound. Glamorous, heroic. I've seen how glamorous and exciting it is. I've seen men die out there. I've heard their screams. ... I still hear them sometimes. I won't lose you, Kamil! I won't!"

You don't have me, Dion. The words came to her mind, but they never passed beyond. It was the duty of the shieldmaid to guard her warrior from hurt, not inflict it. But her plans and hopes were hard to give up. They filled the emptiness of her nights.

She climbed out of bed and went to him, holding out her arms. She was shivering. He took hold of her, enveloped her in the robe, wrapped it around them both.

"Stay here at the Academy," he said. "Stay here where it's safe. Where I can come and be with you."

"Can you?" She looked up at him, eager, yearning. "Can you truly come?"

"Yes, I promise. I've been thinking. I've endowed this Academy. I hold an honorary degree. I could be a guest lecturer, offer to present a series of lectures on-"

"Love," she suggested, teasing.

"No." He smiled. "That lecture is for one alone."

"I do love you!" she cried suddenly, clinging.

"And I you!"

They held each other fast in the darkness that was rapidly brightening to a sullen, stormy dawn.

"I have to go," said Kamil. Gathering up her clothes, she hurried into the bathroom.

Dion walked over to the windows, pressed his right hand against the chill glass. The scars ached dully; the coolness against them was welcome. He stood staring out into the snow-laden garden. He wouldn't have been surprised to see Maigrey walking the paths. He found himself hoping to see her again.

"Do you understand?" he said to her. "Perhaps not. You and Sagan loved, but love wasn't enough for either of you. Your ambition, your pride were too important. You couldn't reach for the crown without dropping the rose. I have the crown. I have what you sought. I want the rose now, too. I don't ask for it all. I know my duty and I will do it." His fist clenched. "But surely I've earned this much happiness!"

A hand touched his arm, a cheek leaned against his shoulder.

"Is she out there?" Kamil asked quietly.

Dion shook his head, flushed, somewhat abashed. "No. No one is out there."

"But they soon will be." Kamil was dressed. She lifted the hood of her fur cloak, raised it up over her head.

"You can't go out in the snow," Dion said, suddenly understanding her purpose.

"Why ever not?" She looked amazed, waved a deprecating hand at the drifts. "This is nothing compared to what we have back home."

"I know. I was there," said Dion dryly. "But for one thing you'd leave tracks in the garden. Someone would see them. We should behave with dignity, at least."

Kamil blushed, lowered her head.

"Princess Olefsky." Dion took hold of her hand, led her formally to the bedroom door, through it, and out into the headmaster's main living area, with its massive bookcases and strange curios. Reaching an outer door, Dion started to open it.

"My guard will escort you to your room."

Kamil hung back. "Oh, Dion, are you certain?"

"I trust these men with my life, Kamil," he said quietly. "On a daily basis. I can trust them with my honor."

She looked at him, looked at the closed door, and shook her head.

"We'll be careful, discreet," he said to her. "But I will not sneak around. I am, after all, the king."