NationStates Jolt Archive

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The Old Quarter of New Rome
Pantocratoria
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The story of Prince Franz Josef II, crown prince of the city state of Lesser Manupitania was intriguing: the young man had not succeeded in finding a wealthy match for him in his own region, so he had come to New Rome to find a suitable partner. Despite his Germanic accent his French was impeccable, and although nobody had ever heard of a city state called Lesser Manupitania they dared not call him on their ignorance. For the last several weeks he had wavered between the richest heiresses he could approach, notably Mademoiselle la Comtesse d’Eclesie and her friends at the Imperial Court. And while his search had so far been in vain his attentions were readily accepted by the Comtesse d’Eclesie, or Marie-Louise as her Christian name was.

Marie-Louise was twenty years young, very pretty and very wealthy. And in her own mind she was not merely good-looking but far more attractive then the other women around her. She was confirmed in this pleasant delusion by the fact that she had become a very wealthy heiress and also by the fact that the older she grew the less dangerous she became to men, and the more freely they could associate with her and avail themselves of her suppers, soirees, and the animated company that assembled at her house, without incurring any obligation.

The house of Mademoiselle la Comtesse d’Eclesie was one of the most agreeable and hospitable in the Old Quarter of New Rome. In addition to the formal evening and dinner parties, a large company gathered there every day, supping at midnight and staying till three in the morning. Marie-Louise never missed a ball, a promenade, or a play. Her dresses were always of the latest fashion and her smile reserved for all whom she thought deserved it.

But in spite of that she seemed to be disillusioned about everything lately, telling her more intimate visitors that she did not believe anymore in the existence of love. When speaking like this adopted the tone of one who has suffered a great disappointment, like a girl who has either lost the man she loved or been cruelly deceived by him such as the Madame de Montmanuel, who had been Prince Andreus' mistress until she had been recently dumped for some foreign girl - rumour had it that she was not even human!*

Fortunately this recent melancholy did not prevent her from amusing herself and neither did it hinder the people who came to her house from passing the time pleasantly. Her visitors amused themselves with society gossip, dancing, intellectual games, and bouts rimes, which were in vogue at the Mademoiselle la Comtesse d’Eclesie. Only a few of these young men and women, among them the newly introduced Prince Franz Josef II, entered more deeply into Marie-Louise's melancholy, and with these people she had prolonged conversations in private on the vanity of all worldly things, and to them she showed her album filled with mournful sketches, maxims, and verses.

To Franz Josef, Marie-Louise was particularly gracious. He had confessed her early disillusionment with life, and offered her the consolation of friendship as one who had himself suffered the rich mans burden. When she had showed him her album. Franz Josef had sketched two trees in the album and wrote in French:

"Rustic trees, your dark branches shed gloom and melancholy upon me."

The gentlemen assembled at her house one particular night were all young, wealthy society men, who formed a special set which Louis Andreus, le Chevalier de Saint-Michael called les notres or ‘ours’.. This group of people, consisting almost exclusively of diplomats, had its own interests which had nothing to do with war or politics but related to high society, to certain women, and to the unofficial side of the service. That night, Marie-Louise and les notres received Prince Constantine as one of themselves. From politeness and to start conversation, they asked him a few questions about the army and the battle in Syskeyia, and then the talk went off into merry jests and gossip.

It was said that Prince Andreus had expelled all Knootians from New Constantinope, and that there had been some spies and agents of Galadriël among them; but this rather unconfirmed story was told chiefly to introduce the Despots witty remark. As the Knootians from the city were deported to the harbour, where a boat was waiting for them, the Prince had told them "Rentrez en vousmemes; entrez dans la barque, et n'en faites pas une barque de Charon."* It was also said that de Montmanuels Legion would cost him eight hundred thousand ducats, and that Monsieur le Marquis de Demetriville had spent even more on his uniform, but that the best thing about any expected action in the Atlantic was that Monsieur le Duc de Montmanuel himself was going to don an even more expensive uniform and ride at the head of his armoured division without charging anything for the show.

"You don't spare anyone," said Marie-Louise at the gossiper after having listened in for a minute or so. "Monsieur de Montmanuel est ridicule, but he is also a hero and is doing a wonderful job defending our fellow Catholics from the Turks. What pleasure is there in being so caustique?"

"Ah, here you are!" she added as she spotted Franz Josef who had been listening quietly in the very back of the room. “Speak of the sun and you see its rays!" and she smiled amiably at Franz Josef. "The Ladies were just talking of you," she said with the facility in lying natural to a society woman. "We were saying that your nation’s army would be sure to be better than Monsieur le Marquis de Demetriville's Legion."

"Oh, don't talk to me of my army," replied Franz Josef, kissing his hostess' hand and taking a seat beside her. "I am so sick of it."

"You will, of course, command it yourself after your coronation?" said Marie-Louise, directing a sly, sarcastic glance toward the gossiper. The latter, with Franz Josef's presence made so explicit, had ceased to talk, and his face expressed perplexity as to what Marie-Louise's smile might mean. Franz Josef's personality immediately checked any attempt to ridicule him to his face.

"No," he replied Franz Josef, with a laughing glance at his untrained body. "I should make too good a target for the enemy, besides I am afraid I should hardly be able to command a tank like the good Duc de Montmanuel in Syskeyia."

"You know, Your Royal Highnes, such knights as you are only found in romantic novels," she replied. “If only you would command your own army.”

"What knights? What do you mean?" demanded Franz Josef, blushing.

"Oh, come, my dear Prince! C'est la fable de tout Neo Roma. Je vous admire, ma parole d'honneur!"*

"What is 'the talk of all New Rome'?" Franz Josef asked, unkowingly.

"Come now, Prince, you know!"

"I don't know anything about it," said Franz Josef.

"I know you were friendly with several other Ladies since your arrival in our country, and so..."

"No, madame!" Franz Josef continued in a tone of displeasure, "I have not taken on myself the role of anyone elses knight at all. But I cannot understand the cruelty..."

"Qui s'excuse s'accuse,"* said Marie-Louise, smiling and waving her finger triumphantly, and to have the last word she promptly changed the subject.

The society talk went on like this for hours, with Franz Josef mostly listening quietly to what was being said. As the first hours mast midnight rang, the assembled had drank more wine and as usual the subject of conversation shifted to more informal subjects, especially when Marie-Louise and the other women had separated themselves for entertainment in an adjoining room.

"But the best of it was," one said, telling of the misfortune of a fellow diplomat, "that the Imperial Chancellor told him flatly that his appointment to Sakkra was a promotion and that he was to regard it as such. Can you fancy the figure he cut?..." All laughed as he continued. "But the worst of it, gentlemen, is that he now suffers exile to that dreadful place, and all while this anonymous Don Juan is taking advantage of it!"

"Tell me about that!" said another with a wide grin, thereby confirming the identity of the anonymous lovers.

"Oh, you Don Juan! You serpent!" cried several voices.

"Monsieur, you do not even know," said Louis Andreus turning to Prince Constantine, "that all the atrocities of the Reich are nothing compared to what this man has been doing among the women!"

"La femme est la compagne de l'homme,"* announced the self-confessed lover with a respectful smile and Louis Andreus and the rest of "ours" burst out laughing. Prince Constantine, however, was forcing a painful grimace on his own face that seemed more like he had a severe toothache then genuine fun. Noticing this off key response, Franz Josef frowned and decided to look into his responses more closely as he quietly poured himself another wine.

"Well now, gentlemen," Louis Andreus said standing up, "Prince Constantine is our honoured guest tonight, and we ought to entertain him as far as we can, with all the pleasures of life here, and I beg you all to help me.” He smiled at the Prince. “You should see the attractions of New Rome beyond its politics!” he pointed to various men in the group. “You can undertake the theater, I society, and you” – he turned to the gossiper – “you do the women of course.”

"We must let him see Amelie, she's exquisite!" said one of "ours," kissing his finger tips.

"In general we must turn this quiet prince to more humane interests," said Louis Andreus with a seriousness that could only be taken in jest. Again, Constantine forced a smile but Franz Josef now noticed a hint of perspiration on his forehead as the nobleman shifted his eyes around like a hunted animal.

"Very well. I shall scarcely be able to avail myself of your hospitality, gentlemen, but it is already time for me to go," replied Prince Constantine looking quite explicitly at his watch.

"Where to?"

"To the Emperor."

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Well, au revoir, Prince Constantine! Au revoir, monsenieur! Come back again to dinner," cried several voices. "We'll take you in hand."

As the prince left the room to say goodbye to the hostess, Frans Josef followed him quietly into the hallway.

“Excuse me, Monsieur le Prince”, he said politely, “but would it be possible for me to have a… personal audience with you one of these days? You may know about the purpose of my stay here, and I would like to speak to you about some matters of state, if you would care to oblige?”


-This is of course our favourite Sidhe Countess Marian of Armenstar from the Resurgent Dream :)
-French: "Think it over; get into the barque, and take care not to make it a barque of Charon."
-French: "Woman is man's companion."
-French: "It is the talk of all New Rome. My word, I admire you!"
-French: "Who excuses himself, accuses himself."

The Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator was not simply a palace. It was a complex of palaces, isolated in its own little world, with its own woods for hunting, huge gardens in a number of styles, and a variety of sporting grounds, encircled by high stone walls. It was guarded by the magnificently uniformed Varangian Guard, fair-skinned giants of men of Scandinavian stock, and was home not only to the Imperial Family but to thousands of courtiers, servants, pages, heralds, and other staff. This palatial island, this little world, was in the centre of the city of New Rome, a city of teeming millions, and yet it could've been hundreds of miles away.

Prince Constantine was a native son of this world, and yet he was alien to it. He wasn't content to be isolated from Pantocratoria beyond the imposing walls of the gilded cage. To an extent the feeling of belonging and yet not belonging had been with him for years, and had motivated him to enter politics at a young age. As he sat back in his lavishly decorated office in the Imperial Family's wing of the main palace, these feelings resurfaced. The next name on his meeting list was that of Crown Prince Franz-Joseph, and Constantine had felt even more alien amongst les notres at the party the other night than usual.

Making his way into this complex on a charming evening under a bright night sky was a man dressed as one of them: Franz Josef of Lesser Manupitania was wearing what was supposed to be a dress uniform of the Manupitanian military - elaborate yet elegant, with a certain Teutonic martial quality to it that reminded the viewer of a Lavenrunzian design. Those 'lesser' men and women paid their respects as he strode towards his personal audience with Prince Constantine. 'Crown prince' Franz Josef, ironically, was himself born as an alien to the world of nobility and splendour, unlike Constantine. But for him it was a desirable world - a world in which he could only aspire to play his role best he could. And the common-born Knootian was playing a role - perhaps only more so then everyone else on the gigantic stage of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. But for these differences the two men had something in common: they both had a secret and they both had to be a man they were not. And tonight, his role would be to preserve his secret while exposing the secret of his host.

When he arrived at Prince Constantine's apartments, he was immediately escorted into a private waiting room. A waiting room by the standards of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator was an ostentatiously decorated affair, with chairs which were more pleasing to the eye than to the occupant. The Prince's principle private secretary informed him of Franz-Joseph's arrival.

"Your Highness," said the secretary, returning from Constantine's office into the waiting room. He held open the office door. "His Highness will see you now."

The crown prince nodded appreciatively to the secretary and entered Constantine's office with a congenial smile on his face and his hand extended. Small details were important - and he made sure to pay attention to every little non-verbal sign the Prince might give.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Franz replied.

Prince Constantine made his way over to a small liquor cabinet, and took a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He poured Franz Joseph and himself a drink, and made his way back to the desk. He offered him the drink.

"So, monsieur, what did you wish to discuss?" he asked.

"Well", the Franz Joseph began, "My request for an audience closely related to the purpose of my visit to Pantocratoria."

"I had thought that purpose was Mademoiselle d'Eclesie..." Constantine smiled, taking a sip of his brandy.

Franz Joseph returned the smile and mirrored Constantine's little sip. Looking seriously, he replied: "Mademoiselle d'Eclesie is charming and I am most grateful for her hospitality and friendship, but she has not what men like us need, if you understand what I mean."

"Oh?" Constantine asked. "Mademoiselle has rather a lot of things, inheriting her father's estate at such a young age."

"True", Franz Josef replied, "Yet for all her charms it is not just the material gain that I am after. The interests of Lesser Manupitania are at stake, and of course there are... personal interests one may have." He smiled again. "I observed that, last night at the party, les notres also offered their services as matchmakers."

Constantine snorted faintly as he reflected on les notres, whom he found to be a bunch of hopeless gossips without very much to their merit.

"Oh yes?" Constantine asked.

"I must say I found it a charming enough evening, yet the frivolous pursuit of women was not that which drove me to Pantocratoria. In fact I thought a serious man, a man like yourself, would be able to help me."

Would it be so hard for him to just say it? Constantine set his brandy glass down and reclined in his chair a little.

"Help you how, monsieur?"

"Well, yes Monsieur", he said. "I am looking for a suitable partner in Pantocratoria, you see, and I would think an honourable man such as yourself would have the experience to assist me, if you would care to oblidge. I would be very much indebted."

"I thought you just said it wasn't the frivolous pursuit of women which drove you to Pantocratoria, monsieur?" Constantine asked.

"We have a saying in Lesser Manupitania, monsieur," the crown prince seemed to think for a moment, "That to seperate the hens from the rooster is a grave business, and I see it as such."

Constantine briefly contemplated whether Franz Joseph suffered some sort of mental disease which prohibited him from ever getting to the point. He furrowed his brow.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, monsieur. I'm not much one for poultry analogies."

"Poultry is very important in my country, monsieur, I beg your forgiveness", the man replied. "And I hope you will forgive me for the... akwardness, but I will venture to be frank. Pantocratorian society women... they are very pretty and often very suitable but I have found it to be difficult for me to gauge them..." his voice trailed. Franz Joseph looked a bit embarrased.

"I'm afraid I'm not a very good matchmaker myself monsieur." Constantine said apologetically. "My brother in New Constantinople has always had a good deal more success with ladies than I. Certainly with more ladies than I, anyway."

Franz Joseph grinned. "Perhaps, Monsieur, this would make you especially suitable. If I only wished to explore the carnal desires of Pantocratorian women then perhaps les notres would help me. I was more interested in your own... experience, as it would appear to match more closely my own preferences with regards to women, if I may be so frank to observe this."

"Oh?" Constantine asked, a little bemused. "What are your preferences with regards to women then, monsieur, because I have to confess that I'm still rather in the dark."

"What I am looking for in a woman is a companion, a friend if you will." he replied. "A woman who would... understand my natural needs."

"Erm..." Constantine blinked a little. Maybe Franz Joseph's preferences were close to his own after all. "Do you mean... well... hmm... what, what sort of... woman would understand your... needs, monsieur?"

Franz Joseph leaned forward a little towards the desk, bringing their faces closer together. "A friend", he said again more softly. "One who will be my companion."

"I... uh..." Constantine stammered. "And you said, Mademoiselle d'Eclesie doesn't meet your criteria?"

"No", the crown prince said almost in a whisper.

"So..." Constantine replied nervously. "Why do you think I can help you?"

Franz Joseph smiled and leant a little closer. "Monsieur", he said with an inflection in his voice that ranged somewhere inbetween begging and patronising, "I think you are perfect... to help me. If you would oblidge, your eyes... your views on this matter interest me greatly as it could aid me in my... my search."

Constantine leaned back further into his chair, as if he was physically intimidated by Franz Joseph.

"I'm not sure I can be of the sort of assistance you're looking for, monsieur." he finally replied. "Not that I'm not flattered... that you came to me for my opinion."

Franz Joseph just smiled, seemingly intent on letting Constantine stutter on a little more.

"It's just that I'm..." he continued to explain. "Already, erm... advising a friend along similar lines... and I feel that while I'm assisting him, well, that it wouldn't be fair... on either of you... to split my attentions between your two, erm... cases."

Franz Joseph smiled sexily, looking into Constantine's eyes as he spoke with understanding. He spoke with understanding. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Constantine nodded. "I'm not available. For advice of this nature."

"Well, then I know enough monsieur," Franz Joseph said congenially. "And yet, I still thank you for hearing me."

"Not at all, monsieur." Constantine replied. "And if I were you, monsieur, I would... be very careful whom you asked for advice about so serious a topic here. Very careful."

Prince Constantine retired to his apartments at ten o'clock, just as he did every night. By ten thirty, he was secluded in his inner chambers, with all of his attendants other than his personal bodyguard now locked out. They were now "off-work" until the morning, and made their way to the various common rooms in which the servants socialised and entertained themselves whilst off duty. On the inside, Constantine was beginning to see to his own evening's entertainment.

Already dressed in his pyjamas with the assistance of his staff prior to ten thirty, Constantine sat on one of the lounges in his inner chambers, and poured out two glasses of champagne. He sipped at one and eagerly awaited the opening of the door in front of him. After he had drunk half the glass, the door opened and he set his champagne flute down on the table. He almost leapt to his feet, and broke into a smile, biting his lower lip lightly as he did so. A broad-shouldered, fair-skinned Norwegian man entered the room, having just returned from the gym in the Headquarters of the Varangian Guard in the compound.

"Erik!" Constantine announced gleefully. It was the only time of day he felt comfortable letting himself out of the rigidly formal shell he had patterned for himself after his father.

"Hey, kid." Erik said, barely looking at Constantine as he set down his gym bag. No other commoner would dare address Prince Constantine, or any other child of the Emperor, so casually. Erik was in his late thirties, had blonde hair, and as one might expect from a lieutenant in the elite branch of the already elite Varangian Guard, looked strong enough to pull wild beasts apart with his bare hands. He was imposing to say the least.

"I'm happy to see you." Constantine added hopefully, his smile fading a little.

"Me too, babe." Erik smiled back, closing the door behind him and locking it. Constantine bounded over to him and threw his arms around him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Erik was still sweaty from the gym - Constantine by sharp contrast had just been freshly bathed in rose-scented water (which, strangely, wasn't an affectation by the standards of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator). Erik chuckled and kissed Constantine passionately, before shoving him off playfully. A playful shove from a Varangian was enough to send Constantine back several metres and almost to the ground. "Sheesh, I'm barely in the door! I stink, I'm going to go have a shower, then we can get to that business, eh?"

"Fine..." Constantine said, picking himself up and trying to look composed. "But I have so much I want to talk about..."

"Not just talk about, I'll bet." Erik joked back.

"No, not just talk about. But hurry up, I want to tell you about that weird Crown Prince from Manupitania, I had the oddest meeting with him today..." Constantine said.

"Sounds boring." Erik yawned and made his way towards the Prince's bathroom.

"It isn't, I promise!" Constantine protested.

"Then why are you waiting until after the shower to tell me?" Erik asked. "Why not come along and tell me during it?"

A suggestive smile spread across Erik's face, and Constantine nodded enthusiastically, before following him into the bathroom.

Hours after their shower, Constantine and Erik lay in the Prince's bed. Erik lay flat on his back, and Constantine lay halfway between his side and his stomach, his head on Erik's chest. He idly ran his fingers over Erik's physique and his thoughts wandered to politics, as they often did when he was lying awake late at night.

"So, your birthday is coming up soon, kiddo." Erik observed, squeezing Constantine's backside underneath the covers.

"Will you stop calling me kid when I'm twenty-one?" Constantine murmured softly.

"Nope." Erik said, pinching Constantine unexpectedly, which elicited a gasp and then a muffled giggle.

"Good." Constantine replied. "Although, I will be a man, you know..."

"Nah!" Erik teased. "Not to me you won't be."

"Aww..." Constantine started to pull himself up to protest, but Erik ruffled his hair dismissively and guided his head back down. He lay there silent for a few more minutes. "I wonder whether the Emperor will start trying to marry me off to some... tedious German speaking princess."

"She'd be in good company." Erik teased back. "Go to sleep."

***

The following invitation was issued to the courtiers of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, as well as visiting foreign noblemen and women:


Dear __________,

You are cordially invited to join His Most Catholic and Imperial Majesty the Emperor and family in celebrating the twenty-first anniversary of the birth in the Purple Room of His Majesty's beloved son, His Imperial Highness the Honourable Prince Constantine.

His Highness' birthday celebrations will be held in the Purple Room and its adjoining apartments in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator on the 28th of April, at six o'clock in the evening. It is His Majesty's sincerest hope that you are able to attend.

Yours very humbly,

M. le Chevalier du Plains-Demetrine
HM the Emperor's Principal Private Secretary of Court Affairs

OOC: Everybody with a noble visiting Pantocratoria is welcome to have that noble attend Prince Constantine's birthday party when it is posted in one or two posts time - please RSVP by telegram!

The Purple Room was a cavernous bedchamber, draped in purple velvet and silk. The floors were a light purple marble. The room featured one large bed (purple, naturally), behind which hung the Emperor's coat of arms, and overwhich hung a purple canopy dripping with gold and silver lace. Around the bed were railings made of ornately cast silver, with a small set of gates to admit a few people around the bedside. Beyond the railing to the purple walls there was enough space for several hundred of people to stand. The room harked back to a Byzantine tradition whereby the children of the reigning emperor were "born in the purple", sometimes literally being born in a purple room. Its sheer size also harked back to a French tradition - the Empress gave birth in public, before anybody who could fit into the chamber. It was therefore the very same bed twenty one years ago that the late Empress Theodora gave birth to her second child, Prince Constantine, in front of a recorded crowd of two hundred and twenty three courtiers, twenty members of the Imperial Parliament, two bishops, thirteen foreign ambassadors and sixteen members of the press. The turn out for Constantine's birthday was more modest.

Waitors weaved their way through the guests in the Purple Room, handing out glasses of champagne (or any other drink on request). Courtiers buzzed and gossipped and did whatever it was exactly they were supposed to do. The Emperor was by Constantine's side, greeting Monsignor Hugh de la Morée, an elderly priest who was a former leader of the United Christian Front and now served as Pantocratoria's ambassador to the United Nations.

"...and it does my heart well to see this day, Your Highness." the Monsignor concluded. "You are the future of our party, monsieur."

"Thank you, Monseigneur." replied Constantine, smiling and nodding politely. He knew the Monsignor thought that Constantine should assume the leadership of the Loyal Christian Front sooner rather than later, despite his tender age, and the old priest had always been of great assistance to him in the party room.

"Sire, monsieur." the Monsignor bowed to each man before making his way across the crowd to speak to some old friends.

"Ah, how nice of you to join us, Monsieur." the Emperor said, addressing Prince Basil and Princess Jacqueline, only just arrived.

"I apologise for being late, Your Majesty." Basil replied, bowing to the Emperor. Jacqueline curtsied, and the Emperor broke his usual form long enough to give her a friendly wink.

"Happy Birthday, Constantine!" Jacqueline said, congratulating the birthday boy.

"Thank you, Madame." Constantine smiled back. The meeting and greeting had gone on for a while already, and looked set to go on even longer. After he had finished speaking with his aunt and uncle, the next guest was presented, and then the next, and so on.

Duke Bel ap Liam entered arm in arm with his wife, the Duchess Eiliries ni Beaumayn. Behind them trailed Sir Graendithas ap Gwydion and his trollish wife Lady Alitranna ni Fiona, Sir Norroar ap Dougal and his boggan wife Lady Stoiries ni Daireann, Sir Cruril ap Fiona and his pooka wife Lady Ravamorel ap Eiluned, and lastly Sir Thoroar ap Liam and his human wife the Lady Blanche-Thérèse ni Fiona. The party bowed to the Emperor and Bel smiled to Andreus I Capet and his son. "It is an honor to be here, Your Imperial Majesty, Your Highness."

"Thankyou so much for coming, Your Grace." replied the Emperor. He turned to his son. "You know Monsieur and Madame de Ganasit of course."

"Of course, thankyou both very much for coming, Your Graces." said Prince Constantine to the ambassador and his wife.

"May I introduce, Sir Graendithas and Lady Alitranna," the Emperor started. His memory was quite precise, and he never forgot a face. "Sir Norroar and Madame Stoiries, Sir Cruril and Madame Ravamorel, and Sir Thoroar and Madame Blache-Thérèse."

"It is an honour to meet you all." smiled Prince Constantine. He glanced across the room at a pair of Varangians snapping to attention as their officer, Erik, inspected them, before his eyes settled back down on the Danaan ambassador. "Have you settled into the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator yet, monsieur?"

Renée Badeau, Princess of the Blood, and daughter the Duc de Badeau entered the Purple Room dressed for the occasion in what was the height of fashion, which complimented her small figure. Behind her was man who seemed to miss the memo on what to wear. His mute brown hair was tied back into a long braid, his robe no form to it and was of gray wool. Visible was a sword at his waist. His expression - he had none. This was her Cassieline guard Ancel, and a priest in his own right.

The D'Angeline woman smiled as she approached the Emperor and the Prince. Renee curtseyed before both of them, very low. "Your Imperial Majesty, Your Imperial Highness, Monsignor de la Morée what a pleasure it is to be here to celebrate such a most wonderful occasion. May I introduce my Casseline bodyguard, Ancel nó Cantrel." At being introduced Ancel bowed lowly to the men. "He does not speak much. It is not his way. Forgive him" Renée explained.

(ooc: this is, of course, after TRD is done. didn't mean to interrupt.)

Bel smiled. "We've actually been settling in rather well, Your Highness." His face shone radiantly, turning towards the Emperor. "Your Majesty's courtiers have truly made us feel at home."

Graendithas inclined his head politely, his expression remaining relatively calm. "It is a pleasure, Your Highness."

Alitranna nodded faintly, her face remaining quite expressionless. "May you have many future joyful anniversaries of your birth."

Norroar gave a dour yet preternaturally beautiful smile. "Happy birthday."

Stoiries smiled at Constantine knowingly, following his gaze towards Eric oh so briefly. "This is simply a delightful party, Your Highness. I am sure that it will prove a most delightful diversion. My husband never wants to leave his work."

Cruril grinned at Constantine. When he smiled, his whole face seemed to light up ever so brightly, animated by a simple yet passionate zest for life. His beautiful features, shimmering with silver radiance, seemed utterly and graciously at ease as he beamed delight at the young man. "I do hope this day goes well for you, Your Highness."

Ravamorel grinned and swung her squirrel tail around slightly, wrinkling her nose cutely and tilting her head up at Constantine. "Well, Your Most High Highness, I've been at this party for a couple hours and except for the fact that there's no walnuts, and every party just must have walnuts, I must say that it's the event of the year. Honestly, Your Highness, you should have had a birthday last year. It might have saved a fortune on hats."

Thoroar laughed lightly as he listened to the Pooka woman. "Happy birthday, Your Highness." he said unoriginally.

Blanche-Thérèse smiled lightly. "As my husband says, happy birthday."

"Hats?" Constantine asked, arching an eyebrow at Ravamorel's statement. He smiled back in delight at all the smiling faces - who didn't enjoy the company of sidhe? It was certainly the sidhe whose attentions he was enjoying the most.

"Thankyou all very much!" he replied. "I hope that you'll join me later on once all the guests have been welcomed..."

The Emperor gave Constantine a sidewise glance, disapprovingly noting that his son was essentially telling some guests that he was getting sick of greeting the other guests. When the Danaan guests had gone off to mingle with everyone else, Princess Renée and her bodyguard were greeted by the pair.

"It is a pleasure to see Your Highness." said the Emperor, acknowledging her politely. "Monsieur, may I introduce Mademoiselle de Badeau, Princess Renée?"

"Your Highness," Prince Constantine acknowledged politely. When Renée introduced her bodyguard, he acknowledged him as well, although the Emperor did not. "Monsieur nó Cantrel. It is an honour to meet you."

"You look lovely this evening, mademoiselle." said the Emperor with the hint of an approving smile.

Ravamorel opened her mouth to answer when Cruril pulled her away. "Now, now, my love, His Highness has other people to greet." Begging the leave of the Emperor and his son, the Danaans began to mingle with the rest of the party,

She bobbed again, "Merci, la Majesté," Renée said allowing a blush to come to her cheeks. "You are most kind. My cousin, King Dandre de la Courcel of Terre DeAnge sends his deepest regrets on not being able to attend." Renée would have said why her cousin (actually second-cousin) was not able to attend, because he is nursing a recent knee surgery, but King Dandre had told her not to let it be known that he was not well.

Ancel was looking at the guests, inspecting them more like it. He bowed again when Prince Constantine addressed. Ancel also had a secret he did not wish most to know. He was a mute, he had limited speech but preferred to keep quiet and do what his profession did best: watch and guard those of Elua's blood.

"I do wish you a splendid and wonderful fête and many more to come," Renée said to Constantine. She looked back to the Emperor, "And I wish you many more years of a prosperous rule, Monseigneur." Again she curtseyed too both of them.

She found the prince handsome, but he seemed rather disinterested in her, and for a D'Angeline, who were born with beauty, found this quite odd. Renée would need to talk to prince later to figure him out.

“Monsieur le Prince de Couronne Franz Josef de Manupitanie Petiotet Mademoiselle la Comtesse d’Eclesie!”, it was announced as Marie-Louise and her new foreign friend strode in together.

In-between greeting as many people as possible they had been talking. Just as in a dream when all is uncertain, unreasoning, and contradictory, except the feeling that guides the dream, so in this intercourse the words themselves were not consecutive and clear but only the feeling that prompted them. Marie-Louise spoke to Franz Josef about her life and doings, of how she had suffered in melancholy, and of how she was fonder than ever of Theodora de Subeita, the daughter of the Duke of Subeita, and how Theodora was in every way better than herself. In saying this Marie-Louise was acknowledging Theodora's suitability as a candidate for Franz Josefs marriage overtures, but at the same time making a demand on Franz Josef that he should, all the same, prefer her to Theodora and to all other women. Now, especially after having seen many women in New Rome, she felt that he should tell her so afresh.

Franz Josef calmly answered Marie-Louise's words, telling her how it had been for him to meet ladies at dinners and balls in New Rome.

"I have quite lost the knack of talking to ladies," he said. "It was simply dull, despite the exquisite nature of Pantocratorian society."

Marie-Louise looked intently at him and went on:

"You should meet Theodora, she is so splendid," she said. "How she understands the burden of nobility! She truly was born to be a loyal wife. She can see straight into the soul of a man….”

"I have come to reply upon your great judgement, mademoiselle. I am truly honoured by your profound insights," Franz Josef replied, "Yet… since my arrival in New Rome I have been torn. There is a feeling burning inside of me, a voice telling me that my home country will go to pieces without me. Everyone was pulling his own way before I left. But my father succeeded in uniting them all. You see, he doesn't say that we ought to oppose this and that. We may be mistaken. What he says is: 'Join hands, you who love the right, and let there be but one banner- that of active virtue.' "

Marie-Louise would have had no doubt as to the greatness of Franz Josef's idea, but one thing disconcerted her. "Is any lady close enough to perfection to be the wife of a man so important and necessary to society ? How is someone elected for such an honour?" She wished to express this doubt to him about his high demands. "And what modest Lady can really decide whether she is really more suitable for such a task than all the others?" she asked herself, and passed in review all those whom Franz Josef met recently.

"Do you know what I am thinking about?" she asked after reviewing several candidates. "About your family. Would they approve of you marrying a Comtesse or a Baronne now, do you think?"

"A Comtesse?" he repeated, and pondered, apparently trying to imagine his homelands opinion on the subject. "They would not have understood... yet perhaps they would."

"I love you awfully!" Marie-Louise suddenly said. "Awfully, awfully!"

"No, the King would not have approved," Franz Josef continued after reflection. "What he would have approved of is a family life. My father is always so anxious to find seemliness, happiness, and peace in everything, and he would be proud to see me marry a woman that I should be happy with.”

"Yes, I should think..." Marie-Louise began.

"No, it's not that. I never leave off loving your exquisite style, Mademoiselle. And one couldn't love it more, but this task of mine is something special.... Yes, of course-" he did not finish because their eyes meeting said the rest.

"What nonsense it is," Marie-Louise suddenly exclaimed, "about honeymoons, and that the greatest happiness is at first! On the contrary, when one truly knows a person it is the best of all. If only you did not go away! Do you remember how we quarreled? And it was always my fault. Always mine. And what we quarreled about- I don't even remember!"

"Always about the same thing," said Franz Josef with a smile. "Jealo..."

"Don't say it! I can't bear it!" Marie-Louise cried, and her eyes glittered coldly and vindictively. "Have you not already met Theodora at the ball last week?" she added, after a pause.

"No, and if I had I shouldn't have recognized her."

They were silent for a few seconds. Then suddenly turning to one another at the same time they both began to speak. Franz Josef began with self-satisfaction and enthusiasm, Marie-Louise with a quiet, happy smile. Having interrupted one another they both stopped to let the other continue.

"No. What did you say Mademoiselle? Go on, go on."

"No, you go on Monsieur, I was talking nonsense," said Marie-Louise.

Franz Josef finished what he had begun: "I only wished to say that actions that have successful results are always simple ones. I’ll find someone here quite soon. I just have not met her."

"Yes."

"And what were you going to say Mademoiselle?"

"I monsieur? Nothing. Only nonsense."

After this little scene, Franz Josef and Marie-Louise arrived in front of the Emperor and the Prince. Franz Josef bowed and Marie-Louise curtseyed, wishing His Highness a happy birthday. The Maniputanian gave the birthday boy a special smile before the two moved on for the next couple - two aging Pantocratorians - to be presented.

A final time Renée curtseyed before the Emperor. "Excuse me, Monseigneur, but I appear to be holding up the line." She smiled at the three men. "It was an honor to meet you."

She looked to Constantine, "And a very happy birthday to you, Monsieur le Prince. I hope many more wonderful, blessed birthdays come your way."

Renée politely left so the Emperor and prince could mingle. It was also chance for Renée to mingle with nobility from far and wide.

ooc: sorry for my delay. I had to go pick up my grams from the hospital and take care of her for a little while.

After everyone had had a chance to socialise for a few minutes, one of the sets of doors into the Purple Room opened, revealing a long hall being used as a dining room for the evening beyond. A small string orchestra gently played in the corner of the hall, to serenade the guests as they took their seats at the long table. A particularly impressive chair sat at the head, and an almost as impressive one sat on the opposite end. The larger chair was obviously the Emperor's, and the other was reserved for Constantine. The rest of the chairs ran along the sides of the table and were obviously for the guests. Each setting had already been laid out with magnificent matching china and the finest silver cutlery, and ice carvings of mermaids, centaurs, fairies and the like decorated the table as feature pieces. The guests started to make their way to their seats, as did the Emperor and his second son.

A magnificent meal was then served of the very finest in Pantocratorian cuisine - all manner of peacocks, suculent meats in rich sauces, Greek salads, crêmes, gateaux, and so on. It was accompanied by the very best wine, of course, and Prince Constantine had been encouraged by the occasion to consume rather more than he usually would. By the time the feast was over, he was rather more inebriated than he usually allowed himself to become, but nobody was likely to be too hard on him for it - it was his twenty-first birthday after all! Nevertheless, he settled down as the Emperor stood to make a toast.

"I would like to propose a toast." the Emperor stated rather redundantly, holding his glass of champagne in the air. "To my son, Constantine. Twenty one years ago today, I had the privilege, along with more than a few of some of you here today, of seeing you come into the world. You were so small... although naturally your mother didn't think so. That day feels like yesterday to me, and to see you now, fully grown, a man... it is incredible. And yet, undeniable. What a man you have become, Constantine! Just twenty one, and already you are a respected leader in Pantocratorian society, a former minister, and now the deputy leader of your party, and none of this through my doing or even my urging. You are an insightful author and thinker, and you're a fantastic driver, although what you see in the hobby is beyond me."

There were a few chuckles. Constantine had an enormous collection of sports cars - they were his only real hobby. The Emperor had always disapproved, and was making a rare joke, although one couldn't tell it by the expression on his face.

"You all know Constantine as a prince amongst men. I am honoured to know him as my son. I have watched you develop into the man you are today, and twenty one years on, I am proud of you, very proud, and prouder still to have the distinction to call myself your father. Happy Birthday, Constantine." the Emperor concluded, his voice sincere, a hint of emotion in his eyes. Constantine's eyes were moist - he wasn't crying but he felt on the urge of doing so, and his cheeks burned red with embarrassment as a result. It was so rare his father showed affection towards any of his children, especially either of the two boys, and when he did it moved Constantine deeply. "To His Imperial Highness, the Honourable Prince Constantine Porphyrogenitus!"

The guests held up their glasses and toasted to His Highness.

Constantine finished yet another glass of champagne, which the guests seemed to be veritably pushing on him. No sooner had he finished it than Princess Jacqueline, Constantine's aunt, appeared holding two more glasses, one which had her lipstick on it and which was already missing a few sips of the sparkling wine, and the other which was untouched and if anything, overfull.

"Are you going to hang around up here with us boring old people all night, Con?" she asked playfully. Although she was in her mid-forties, she was still very attractive, and she really didn't seem like one of those boring old people.

"I suppose not..." Constantine replied, taking the glass of champagne and looking over to some of les notres, who had been pestering him to accompany them for a little while now. Seeing his chance, Louis-Andreus now again approached the Prince.

"Monsieur!" he said with only a slight slur due to drink. "We have not yet presented our gift to you. It would be a great honour if you would care to accept he... it now." With a wide grin he extended his free hand (the one not holding a glass of red wine.) With Jacqueline egging him on, Constantine took a few gulps and sighed, before handing her back the half-empty glass.

"Do I look like a maid?" Jacqueline asked with mock indignity, before laughing and waving Constantine off.

"After you, monsieur." Constantine said, offering his hand.

Les notres had all assembled in one of the smaller rooms of the palace, which has been decorated with all sorts of celebratory elements: little Pantocratorian flags, balloons, and garlands spelling out ‘happy birthday’. In the middle of the room, a large star-spangled box had been placed with a ridiculously large pie on top.

As Constantine entered, all started to sing ‘Bon anniversaire’ in unison, raising their glasses to him. Everyone seemed absorbed by the festive mood, and one by one the men leered towards him to congratulate him, the smell of alcohol emanating from their mouths as they paid their respects.

One of the last to congratulate the prince was Franz Josef, who had thus far been standing quietly in the back He was one of the few who did not smell of drink (but instead of a fairly pleasant cologne that seemed rather unfamiliar to him). As he pressed hands with him their eyes met briefly, but then the Manupitanian was gone again.

“And now, one last applause for Monsieur le Prince tonight!” said Louis-Andreus. "They say that love is like an hourglass, with the heart filling up as the brain empties…”

“As the glass empties you mean!”, one of them jeered, to the laughter of all. Louis-Andreus laughed as well, and it took a while before everyone was composed enough again for him to resume his little speech.

“We all know and deeply respect Prince Constantine's contributions to our great nation. But I think it is time that our Prince ceases his terrible, terrible neglect of half the subjects of the Imperial Crown! We will no longer stand for it!” All faces turned to the prince as they were booing in jest.

"Monsieur, I would hardly be doing my party a service by pandering to the half of the citizenry who vote socialist, would I?" Constantine replied in mock protest. He had no idea what Louis-Andreus was talking about, but thought it was a witty reply anyway. "I suppose you're going to give me something by Marx or Engels or somebody. Lucky me!"

“For shame!” the man replied. “To think of socialists when one could be thinking instead of that half of Pantocratoria which is refined and soft and willing!”, he decreed in reply. “It is high-time to empty the brain and enflame the heart, monsieur.”

“Can I have a drumroll please?” Louis-Andreus then asked looking out over the crowd..

“Drumroll! drumroll!”, the others echoed excitedly as a tambourine-man began to roll. Suddenly the star-spangled box sprang open and…. something… came jumping out of the pie.

“Amelie!” some shouted as the gorgeous blonde appearance smiled radiantly into the room, covered in whipped cream from the pie, covering her cute round face, her peachy-white shoulders and her firm round breasts that peeked audaciously at Constantine. Smiling naughtily, she rubbed her finger over one of her brests, scraping off some of the whipped cream. She then slowly inserted her finger into her mouth, pursing her red lips around it while looking at Constantine the whole time…

Constantine forced a chuckle, although he was genuinely surprised and a little horrified. He thought "Amelie", if that was her real name, must be quite uncomfortable, covered as she was in sticky whipped cream - the thought of being covered in whipped cream himself made his skin crawl. Of course, he knew why they had given him a girl covered in whipped cream, and that only made things worse.

"I uh... don't know what to say." Constantine said, feeling the blood rush to his face.

But the words were lost in the jeering of the nobles and diplomats around him. The girl, meanwhile, was putting on quite a show showing off her two treasures using both of her hands to knead them like dough. Now and then she would play around again playing with some of the whipped cream and licking off her finger suggestively. Louis-André smiled at the Prince exitedly and gave him a small push in the back to direct him closer towards his birthday gift.

Constantine resisted the push a little, but stepped forward awkwardly. He was afraid, not of what the girl would do to him, but of what les notres wanted him to do with the girl. He wondered whether his elder brother had ever been given a girl in a pie for any of his birthdays.

"She's... covered... in erm... sticky cream." Constantine offered, it being quite obvious that he didn't want to touch her.

Bursting open the soft carboard of the box, Amelie stepped forward, directly towards him whilst smiling sexily and wiggling her hips sensually, extending her ams and putting them around Constantines neck. "Happy birthday, Con." she whispered as her very pretty cream-covered nose touched his.

Constantine's face curled up in distaste. He hated the feeling of the whipped cream on his neck and now his face. He was being made fun of, he decided. He was too well behaved for the tastes of these spoiled drunks, and they had decided to humiliate him by having some prostitute rub whipped cream all over him. No doubt they expected him to thank them for doing so as well. And the impertinence of the girl only added to the insult. Yes, even Constantine found her a little attractive, there could be no doubting her physical qualities, but her wanton behaviour, calling him not even by his first name, but by a diminutive, and the whole tacky, bawdy display...

Amelie kissed Constantine on the mouth, smearing more of his face with the cream. By reflex and by virtue of the fact he didn't know what else to do, Constantine kissed back, his cheeks burning red. But after a couple of seconds he snapped, he just couldn't stand there and continue to be embarrassed like this. Raising his arms, he took a hold of Amelie's wrists and pulled her arms off his shoulders. He pushed her back a bit and stepped back himself to break out of the kiss. He raised his elongated sleeve to his face and wiped the cream away from his mouth, and turned scowling at Louis-André.

"How dare you, monsieur!" Constantine almost spat, emulating his father's commanding voice as best he could. "I am a prince, and I will not be made a fool of by you and your fellow foppish... drunks, nor will I be... squirmed all over by some common slut you've picked out of whatever brothel you woke up in this morning. Take your whore and wallow in the sticky muck with her yourself."

He started to storm out, before turning again to nod politely to Amelie. "Mademoiselle." he added by way of sarcastic acknowledgment.

Something in the room snapped, and for a moment there was absolute silence as everyone stared at the Prince. Then les notres looked at oneanother dumbfounded, not sure what to do or say. Louis-André's face became slightly pale as he stood frozen to the ground. Nobody was there to notice the tiny smile on the face of the Lesser Manupitanian in the back. The girl, who had seemed like the pinnacle of sexual attraction up till that moment dropped her smile and, with that, much of her attraction. Suddenly she felt chilly.

Constantine gave each man in the room one last look of disdain and disgust. Franz Joseph was the last one of les notres on whom Constantine's eyes fell, and the Lesser Manupitanian's presence made Constantine even less comfortable than he had already been. Then he turned on his heel again, and left the room, being followed by his bodyguard, Erik, who had been staying out of the way in the background the whole time, wincing in sympathy at his lover's predicament. Tears of indignant rage began to build up in Constantine's eyes as he made his way away from the little room through the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator's corridors, towards his apartments to clean up.

Trailing behind the Pantocratorian couple was Franz Josef, walking through the corridor as if he were taking a strawl to admire the scenery (and indeed the decoration of the Court of Christ Pantocrator was well worth a strawl on occassion). All the while, he was making sure that he was seen nor heard by the distressed prince and his companion.

"You might have done something." Constantine finally snapped to Erik under his breath, feeling the need to lash out at somebody.

"Like what?" Erik replied defensively. "Nobody was hurting you, there was nothing I could do. They're courtiers, nobles, that crown prince you were telling me about even, I'm just a guard."

Constantine fumed and mumbled a variety of incoherent things before eventually arriving in his apartments, where he finally allowed the tears which had been building up to start rolling down his face. His servants started - they hadn't been expecting him, but Erik quickly dismissed them for the night, explaining to them that His Highness was upset. The servants, in their confusion and eagerness to be out of the way of a prince during his temper tantrum, quickly left the apartments, forgetting to lock the servant entrances in their rush.

Taking advantage of this situation, Franz Josef peeked around the corner and engaged a small device attached to a watch in his brest pocket, placing it against the wall in the servant's quarters. A small beeping noise confirmed that it was taping and sending the data.

Constantine went straight into his bathroom, and stripped off his cream covered clothes and tossing them to the hand-painted tiled floor. He walked into the large shower (which was big enough for the prince and several attendants to help clean him if he so desired), and started a hot shower. He was so angry that he was practically sobbing as he stood there underneath the water, washing the cream away. He emerged from the shower a few minutes later, to find Erik standing there with Constantine's purple bathrobe and a towel for him. Constantine took them both, set the bathrobe aside, and wrapped the towel around himself.

"Get out." Constantine said. "I want to be alone."

"You want me to leave?" Erik asked, his eyes going wide. Constantine never told him what to do. Despite the fact that Constantine was the prince, Erik was the bossy one in the relationship.

Seeing Erik's surprise at the order, Constantine relented and shook his head. With the mixture of alcohol and anger, he wasn't thinking straight. He was now more upset than angry anyway. He quickly dried himself off, and let Erik help him into the bathrobe, before allowing himself to fall backwards into Erik's embrace.

"Why would they do that to me on my birthday?" he sulked.

"Sssh, don't think about it baby." Erik replied, leaning over to kiss the side of Constantine's neck. He held him tightly, his arms meeting around the front of Constantine's waist.

On the Knootian recording device, two red blobs merged into one infrared code - digitally enhanced and cleared up to provide for a clearer image. Somewhere in the Dutch Democratic Republic, a group of shadowy figures was watching the spectacle in delight.

"It's my birthday!" Constantine protested.

"I know." Erik said. "You know what I'd like for my birthday, though?"

Constantine just shook his head, and wiped away the last of the tears.

"I'd like you to burst out of a pie like that!" Erik teased. "What I'm saying is that they probably didn't mean anything bad by it, in fact, they probably thought you'd like it, baby. They probably assumed you were a low-brow pervert like me!"

"You're not a pervert!" Constantine protested playfully. Erik tightened his grip around the prince's waist, pulling him a little closer still, until Constantine felt something pressing against him. He bit his lower lip and smiled. "My mistake then..."

Erik kissed his neck again and starting dragging him gently backwards out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Constantine couldn't help himself, and began giggling.

"You'd really like me all... covered in yucky, sticky gunk like that?" Constantine asked.

"Uh huh." Erik grunted as he pulled Constantine towards the bed itself.

"Yuck!" Constantine said. His mood had shifted so dramatically that his tone had gone from angry brooding to excited bubbling. "Well, you won't ever get me to do that."

"Oh really?" Erik asked, lifting Constantine up effortlessly and tossing him onto the bed. "You know I always get you to do... exactly... what I want."

Across the stirring Atlantic Ocean, far removed from the bed and Constantine's pleasures sat the anonymous men, monitoring, watching the unsuspecting prince and his lover. Exhuberant, they popped open a bottle of champagne and let the wine spray out everywhere in celebration in as the relevant recording came to an end.

Every session of the Imperial Parliament, the Loyal Christian Front parliamentary caucus observed a tradition which it had kept for the past forty years (in its previous iteration as the United Christian Front). The elected Members of Parliament heard Mass together in the Cathedral of Christ Pantocrator in New Rome. The tradition tended to attract a lot of media attention especially in times of political crisis.

The Loyal Christian Front parliamentarians were seated in one wing of the huge cathedral, shoulder to shoulder, as one of Cardinal Conomos' assistant bishops, Bishop Thierry Diogenes, celebrated Mass. Prince Constantine was seated on the right hand side of his uncle, the party's leader, Prince Basil, in the first pew from the altar. Normally the princes would've heard Mass from one of the Cathedral's four Imperial boxes, each built around one of the huge pillars which stretched from the area around the altar up to the edge of the dome, but traditions were traditions, and so they sat down in the pews with their fellow parliamentarians as if they were ordinary human beings. When a messenger quietly handed Prince Constantine a note given to him by a gentleman outside the cathedral, nothing was considered amiss - it was hardly unusual for one or two members to be called out mid-way through on important business. What was more unusual, from Constantine's perspective, was that the note asked him to meet the sender in the Imperial Crypt below the floor, rather than back in the Palais du Parlement. He went anyway.

The Imperial Crypt contained the bodies of the first emperors of Pantocratoria. Pious devotions in Greek were roughly carved into the plain stone walls, and the small monuments and effigies were similarly roughly carved. It was a fairly simple mausoleum for the founders of an imperial line which would take pomp and circumstance to an entirely new level, and was in sharp contrast to the glittering gold and white marble of the cathedral above. It was an odd place for a meeting, and hardly anybody ever went down there anymore.

It was slightly chilly in the tomb, as most tombs were, and as he stepped down the narrow stairway down into the tomb.

“Hello?”, he said with a raised voice, “Anyone there?”

It was eerily quiet for a moment, and Constantine was about to turn back – the victim of yet another prank, he thought – when he suddenly felt a cold hand grabbing his shoulder.

“Thank you, your Highness, how good of you to come” a hushed voice spoke before the startled Constantine could reply, lisping with an accent he couldn’t place. As he turned round he saw a figure in a black hooded robe of the Black Monks of St. Benedict, the hood so wide it covered his eyes.

The man was bent over like he was hunchbacked, making it even more difficult to make out his features. Constantine shrugged off the hand and the man let go, withdrawing one step back into the shadow of the tomb.

"You are wise, Prince, this is well known” he began, lisping strangely, “And yet, here in Pantocratoria the man who can keep a secret may be wise, but he is not half as wise as the man with no secrets to keep. And you, monsieur, have many secrets to keep.”

"I beg your pardon, monsieur? Who are you?" the Prince replied indignantly. It was an appalling breach of protocol for an unknown commoner, even a monk, to touch him.

“It is the first sort of wisdom that you seek, Prince,” he continued, “But please wait monsieur, I beg of you, hear me out. Or rather, hear yourself…”

From under his robe he grabbed a square and held it in front of Constantine, reflecting vaguely like a mirror but black like a television screen. The Monk of St. Benedict rummaged with some button or switch on the backside as he gazed into his own reflection.

Suddenly, he heard his own voice coming from the device, digitalised but still recognisably his, yet bubbly and playful –unlike now. "You're not a pervert!" he heard his voice echoe in the tomb of his forebears, and the mirror-like thing began to show two human figures moving together in an embrace, one gripping the other around the waist - "My mistake then..." he then heard with his own voice again, bubbly and pleasant but ringed with the cold echoe of the tomb. The screen faded out, and then in again with a wide-angle shot of the two embracing one another on a bed. "You know I always get you to do... exactly... what I want." He heard Erik – it was clearly Erik. Another fade, followed by a moan, deep and wild – an almost animalistic growl of two men with the infrared contacts moving shakily. Then it ended, screen fading to black. Constantine saw his own face again, just for a moment, before the monk stepped backwards one more step, lowering the ‘mirror’.

Constantine's eyes went wide and his face drained of all its usual colour. His expression turned absolutely panic stricken, and his mouth twisted into a look of horror and revulsion, as if he was about to throw up. For a few long, agonising seconds (they seemed to Constantine like hours) after the screen faded out, Constantine wretched, and very nearly vomitted all over the tomb of Emperor Demetrius II, but it soon passed. Instead his lips began to tremble as they tried to form words.

"Wh.. what? What was that... I've... I..." he mumbled.

“There is no need to panic, young prince”, the lisping voice said reassuringly, but it did not feel reassuring at all. “Where I come from we… appreciate… both the love you have shown and the wisdom you have displayed.” He covered the ‘mirror’ again, burying it in his robe.

"You're no monk..." Constantine stammered. "And that isn't me. Who is it?"

“Oh, there is no need to worry, your Highness”, he continued, “your face… it is so pale. And yet, it is at the same time so… beautiful…. so innocent.” He stretched out his hand towards Constantine's cheek.

"Don't touch me!" he screamed as he recoiled with horror, tears beginning to form in his eyes. "Who are you?"

"Who I am is not important", the monk said as he withdrew his hand. "What matters is who you are, young prince. You are a homosexual, a disgrace to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator, your father the Emperor and all the men who are buried here." He paused for a moment and looked up into the Prince's eyes eyes penetrating him with crowy black eyes which were looking right through him, "...and you are also indebted to me to keep your secret. Unless you would share it with your father, your sisters, les notres, and all these men here above us whom you think of as your friends. Would you have them see you as you have seen yourself, young prince?"

"Wh... H..." Constantine said, before breaking into open sobbing. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you, young Prince, are going to be my best friend", he replied ignoring his sobbing. "You will report to me all that happens inside the Court, you will do as I say what I ask you to, when I ask you to and you will tell no one of our friendship. Not even Erik."

"In return", he continued with his typical lisp, "I will guard your secret and you can continue to love Erik and your family and friends will continue to love you. Isn’t that what friendship is?"

"What?" Constantine asked between tears, shaking his head. "You want me to spy? On whom? For whom?"

"That is not for you to know yet", the man said harshly. "You will receive your instructions through me. You will do as I say when I say it. And if any harm should come to me", he emphasised speaking slowly, "My friends will do everything to ruin your life and Erik's. I wonder what the Emperor will do to him..."

At that thought Constantine actually did vomit, although only into his mouth. He swallowed it and steadied himself against the tomb behind him.

"You can't do this... please..." he pleaded. "You can't ask me to spy on my family! Please, I have money..."

“Irrelevant”; the monk replied, “You must decide now, Constantine. What will it be?”

"This can't be happening..." Constantine sobbed. "Oh God..."

The monk fumbled in his robe again, and stepped forward, offering him a handkerchief. Suddenly his voice was warmer, compassionate, although the lisp was still there.

“Don’t worry, Constantine. Nothing bad will happen to you or your family”, he pledged, “I would never do anything to hurt you. I just need you to help me.”

"Please..." Constantine dropped to his knees and begged. "I need to know... if you want me to help you... I need to know who you're working for... please..."

“You do not need to know this”, he said sternly – holding out his hands to lift Constantine up. “But know that I mean you no harm. You will receive instructions from me next Sunday if you accept… and it would personally please me if you should accept. Destroying such a promising young lad such as yours will not give me pleasure of any sort. But I need to know if I can trust you... can I trust you, Constantine?"

"You're blackmailing me and you want to know whether you can trust me?" Constantine sobbed. "I have no choice but to trust you..."

“Then meet me here next Sunday after mass. I will tell you then what I expect of you.”, he was still holding the handkerchief before him. “Now wipe your tears, young prince, and rejoin your friends. No worries for a week to come! Be happy and enjoy life… but remember… not a word.”

Constantine attended Mass at the Cathedral the next week, accompanied by the smallest entourage he could take. Normally Erik would go with him for his protection when he was out and about of the palace like this, but Constantine had insisted he send one of his subordinates instead, which had made Erik suspicious. If Constantine had specified a specific subordinate, he might have even gotten a little jealous. Eventually, however, Erik had been convinced to take the morning off, and Constantine went to Mass with only a single bodyguard and a servant. After the Mass, he had asked the bodyguard and servant to wait for him upstairs in the church itself while he went down into the tomb below, giving the excuse that he wanted to contemplate some things alone with his ancestors.

The stranger was leaning casually against the tomb of Emperor Constantine XII. Some ashes sprawled around him showed that he had been smoking.

"Ah, Contantine", he said with a light tone, "How good of you to come." He extended his hand pointing at the tomb of the Emperor Demetrius IV which lay opposite to him. "Lets talk."

Constantine ran his hand along Demetrius IV's tiny tomb - the Emperor had died as a baby just a few days after his father, on top of whose tomb the strange lay. He looked about at the ashes, and glared indignantly at the man.

"How dare you smoke in here? Get down from there!" Constantine growled at him. "That's a man's sarcophagus you're lying on top of! An emperor's sarcophagus, no less!"

"Ashes to ashes, you Christians say no?" he said with an amused smile. Nevertheless he did get up, rearranging his black robe. "You had me wait for far too long, Constantine… and the music here is sleep-inducing."

He stepped back to lean against the side of the tomb with his hip, "Now... how was your week Constantine?"

"How do you think it was?" Constantine replied indignantly.

"What I think is of no importance, young Prince", he said. His lisp had returned. "Unless you want me to recount the number of times you and your bodyguard slept together. I can do so in public, if you wish. Or I could ask the questions and you could start giving answers, hmmm?"

"Fine. Do you really want to know how my week was, or do you want to ask me your real questions?" Constantine replied, defeated.

"Tell me how your week was", he insisted. "Just talk, and I'll listen. Like normal people."

"Mostly I was at Parliament. The rest of the time I was struggling to look at anybody in the palace in the eye, especially Erik and my father." Constantine muttered, looking miserable. "Because of you."

The man ignored his comment, going on, "So how was your time in Parliament? You seemed to be having quite a good time when Drapeur proposed those bills", he observed.

Constantine groaned, and went over to sit down on the small stone bench.

"Why can't you just get to the point?" he said despairingly. "Parliament was Parliament. That's politics."

"Yes. So tell me all about your politics. No harm done, right?"

"You're wrong, monsieur, there is harm done." Constantine spat. "Just get to the point you bastard Turk."

The "Benedictine monk" lifted a device from his robe, which was familiar to Constantine. "Hmmm", he said as he frowned before finding what he was looking for. He engaged the 'mirror' again, with the ecstatic moaning of two young men coming from. Slowly, he began to turn up the volume....

"Stop it, please stop it!" Constantine pleaded, angry tears beginning to form in his eyes again.

"Still having an attitude problem?" he asked while casually continuing to turn up the volume as the moaning now echoed throughout the tomb.

"Please!" Constantine shrieked. "I'll do what you want, just stop it, and tell me what you want me to do!"

"Oh, Erik! Please!" he heard himself squirm before the stranger cut off the sound. Tears of humiliation ran down his cheeks as Constantine sat sullenly and mouthed the word "thank you" silently.

"All I want you is to tell me what you have been doing this week, Constantine. Nothing more. But I want you to do it without protest. Do you understand me?", he asked.

"Yes." Constantine nodded. "I'm sorry, I forgot the last question you asked me before you played the tape. Could you repeat it?"

"You were talking to me about Parliament..."

It was agonising, being asked these questions, having to make small talk with his blackmailer, all the while knowing that something big was coming.

"The Government introduced all sorts of legislation which I don't think the Constantinople Party will swallow, although I suppose it might in exchange for the Greek rite. But I don't think the voters will, we'll find out in the newspaper polls on Monday I suppose." Constantine replied, showing almost no emotion. He just wanted him to get to the point.

"So what are you planning to do about it?", he asked, "Or does Prince Basil handle this?"

"We'll argue against it in the Parliament, and in the press, get the public opinion behind us, pressure the Constantinople Party into refusing the legislation. Maybe even begin to lever them away from the socialists..." Constantine said. "Monsieur will be in most of the press, to look like the reasonable alternative to Drapeur."

"And you... are you hoping to become that reasonable alternative as well?" the stranger said amused.

"What, become leader?" Constantine asked.

"Why not?", the stranger replied. "But are you?"

"Monsieur wants me to." Constantine replied. "I'm too young to do it any time soon. Far too young. I'd like to be worthy of it one day, though. I don't want to be difficult but please, for pity's sake..."

"How admirable", the stranger replied ignoring his pleas. He was happy with a personal answer. "Do you think of yourself as a leader?", he asked.

Constantine shook his head truthfully.

"No matter," he said reassuringly. "We all have our own calling." He paused for a moment. "But the introduction of a few bills wasn't the only issue this week, now was it?"

"In Parliament?" Constantine asked.

"In general", he replied.

"Can you be more specific, please?" Constantine pleaded. "I swear I'm not being difficult."

The stranger sighed. "Start giving me answers or I will have the mirror tallk for you."

"No please!" Constantine begged quickly. "I'll tell you, but what do you mean, what other things?"

"If I listen to your Father the Emperor, I would almost believe that your country is on the eve of war..." he said impatiently.

"The Emperor hasn't made any speeches about that..." Constantine said, shaking his head. "That's the foreign press making a beat-up."

"What do you think?"

"That there won't be a war." Constantine replied. "Not one started by Pantocratoria, anyway. But His Majesty hasn't talked with me about Saxmere..."

"Oh?" the stranger remarked innocently.

"Not for a fortnight anyway." Constantine said.

"So you spoke to him about it a fortnight ago?"

"When the Grand Duke arrived." he nodded, wanting the small talk to be over.

"What did you speak about?", the man insisted.

"The Grand Duke, the Saxmereans inviting him back." Constantine said, biting his lower lip. "Mentioned that he was considering a match between one of my cousins and the Grand Duke, but he's always considering matches for them. The Emperor doesn't ask for people's advice, you must understand, not even mine."

"Does the Emperor like the Grand Duke? On a personal level, I mean," the stranger asked.

"You'd have to know the Emperor to know how silly that question is." Constantine shook his head. "He doesn't dislike him as far as I know."

"Why is it a silly question?", he asked sternly. "Explain."

"I call the Emperor Your Majesty. Not just in public." Constantine said, shaking his head. "The Emperor doesn't have a personal level, except maybe for my mother or my sister Anna. Maybe."

The stranger nodded. "Now, I would like you to bring a visit to the Grand Duke this week. I want you to befriend him. Report your efforts to me next week."

"That lisp of yours..." Constantine said. "You're foreign, aren't you? It's a hint of an accent, or maybe a difficulty with certain sounds. French isn't your native language and you don't look Greek."

Suddenly the man lashed out at Constantine, hitting his cheek with the palm of his hand. Constantine yelped and fell backwards off the bench, more out of surprise than as a result of the impact.

"You don't ask questions!" he said angrily. The stranger bent foward to pick Constantine up again. He hadn't meant to push him over, but couldn't say so now either.

"Only Knootoss would stop this low, I figure. The Confederation wouldn't have technology like that mirror thing of yours. Although with the robe I might have thought the Reich." Constantine said as he got up to his feet. "So why do you want me to befriend the Grand Duke?"

Without saying anything in response, the man pulled out the 'mirror' again.

"You can't expect me to betray my country to its enemies lightly." Constantine insisted, although he glanced at the mirror very nervously.

Fuming, the 'monk' initiated the device again, sending the sound of waves of ecstasy through the tomb again at the volume at which he had stopped it. Turning it up a little more, it would now be audible outside the tomb if anyone got close enough. Holding it back, he treasured the thing.

"I expect you to do what I say you will do without questions!" he yelled loud enough so that he could be heard despite the sounds the device was making.

"Turn it off!" yelled Constantine back, terrified. He knew that his guard and servant would be waiting very close by, and who knew who else might be out there?

"No", he said, "You will listen first!"

Constantine looked away and started crying tears of anger and shame again, before finally acquiescing.

"I'll do it, just turn that thing off before somebody comes down here!" he said.

Quickly, the stranger turned off the device which was now showing Constantine and Erik in a rather intimate embrace.

"I'll befriend the Grand Duke." Constantine said, giving in. "Is there anything else you want me to do to stop you from releasing... that?"

"Stop speculating. I am not at all who you think I am... Prince, he spat out the word. "I will meet you on the pier of dock thirteen in Adrienople next week, this time. You will be there and you will bring nobody. And I want a full report on your friendship with the Grand Duke, do you understand?"

"You... don't want me to... seduce him do you?" he asked.

"My, my, you are a horny little bastard are you?", he said with a laugh. "Is one man not enough to satisfy your needs?"

Constantine's cheeks went bright red in embarrassment and his mouth went agape in shock, both at the insult, and at the fact that the first thing he had read into the instruction was that he should seduce the Grand Duke. It was all just too much.

"Erik's all I need." Constantine finally replied. "All I want. I'll have to think up some excuse, but I'll get to Adrienople somehow..."

"Then I will meet you there", the stranger replied. "Good hunting."

"Hunting?" Constantine panicked. "You... do want me to seduce him?"

"No, no no", the stranger replied amused. "Not yet at least. Now get going."

Constantine nodded wordlessly, and wiped away his tears with a pocket handkerchief as he made his way out of the tomb.

New Rome, Pantocratoria

Change was in the political winds in New Rome. And, while Baron James knew that he had the support of Emperor Andreus, he also knew it would be underestimating the extent of the Emperor’s democratic reforms not to recognize the government’s power to influence Imperial policy.

The current government had been initially reluctant to support Saxmere’s independence, but it had done so faithfully and fully. Now, James wanted to make sure that all the other parties in parliament were willing to continue that support.

James’ first calls had, naturally, been on the current ministers and leaders of the PSA and the Constantinople Party. He was undecided about meeting with the PFP – their indirect involvement in the recent violence against non-humans made him wonder if they were now ‘damaged goods.’

No such concerns clouded this meeting, however.

Baron James arrived in Prince Constantine’s outer offices dressed in a crisp red uniform jacket, with gold-striped red trouser and highly polished black riding boots. The baron wanted to be sure he looked ever bit a monarch when he met with the deputy head of the Loyal Christian Front.

Baron James was an impressive figure. Prince Constantine rose to greet him, shaking his hand firmly. Although the Baron looked very handsome in his uniform, Constantine wasn't particularly attracted to uniforms. He'd be in real trouble in the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator if he was - there was an abundance of men in splendid uniforms to lust after, as Constantine had often caught his sisters and cousins doing when they thought they were unobserved. Thankfully for Constantine, he didn't find uniforms attractive in the slightest - he wore them enough himself to simply associate them with being uncomfortable, stiff, and formal.

"Your Royal Highness," Constantine greeted the Baron in English in the form appropriate for a Grand Duke. "It is a pleasure to see you. Please, sit down."

Constantine sat down when James was seated.

"I'm glad for this opportunity to get to know you better, monsieur." Constantine said. He looked across the table at James, who was a young man himself, about the age of Constantine's elder brother. "I've been wanting to warn you about my father's ulterior motives..."

Constantine gave a friendly smile to reassure James that motives in question weren't necessarily of the ominous variety.

"Now that my brother André is safely married off, you see, he's got a spare princess. Now, Princess Helen's a lovely girl..." Constantine chuckled. "...I'm not saying she isn't. I just thought somebody should make you aware, just in case."

James bowed slightly to the prince and took the offered seat. “Thank you for receiving me, your Highness,” the Baron said.

“Really?” James leaned forward as Constantine began talking about the Emperor’s ulterior motives. He could tell from the prince’s smile that the revelation was intended to be playful rather than threatening, so he smiled lightly as he listened.

James chuckled when Constantine finally came to the revelation that the Emperor was considering a match between himself and Princess Helen. He shook his head and smiled at Constantine.

“The rumour in the Excalbian court is that Prince Peter was fairly smitten with Princess Helen. And while he has already married your sister to one Excalbian prince, a match with a second prince – even a spare prince, as it were – might be more advantageous for his Imperial Majesty than a match to an uncrowned Grand Duke,” James said with mock sincerity. “Of course, I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting your cousin. If she is as enticing as Peter found her to be, then perhaps I will be of a different mind, your Highness.”

The Baron smiled again. His demeanor was relaxed and comfortable, though not overly familiar. His voice was clear and crisp. He looked and sounded every bit the leader he aspired to be.

“I must say, your Highness, that I am sorry I missed your birthday; events at home were keeping me quite preoccupied. I trust the celebration went well.”

"Perhaps that explains, at least partly, why he wants to see you crowned though, monsieur." Constantine joked in response to James mentioning the fact that an uncrowned Grand Duke probably wasn't a particularly attractive marriage partner. He waved away the conversation though, not wanting to actually call the Emperor's motives into doubt.

"For the most part, yes." Constantine nodded in response to the last remark. "Some... uh... some people get a bit carried away with these things. Actually, there's a good piece of friendly advice about the court... this group, les notres, which mainly revolves around Mademoiselle d'Ecclesie. They often mean well... well, they're frivolous and only concerned with their own amusement, so when I say they mean well, perhaps I should rephrase and say that they mean no particular harm. But they certainly don't appreciate the limits a man in my position must place upon himself, and I'm only a politician. You're a monarch, soon to be in practice as well as name, and need to be even pickier about those with whom you associate."

"I'm being a little cryptic aren't I?" Constantine bit his lower lip and apologised. "I'll give you an example. My birthday, les notres pull me along into a private room, to try do something special for my birthday I should imagine. Anyway, they have this girl... I don't mean to be rude, but she was a prostitute... burst out of a birthday pie for me, covered in cream... and only cream. Now, pleasant as that may sound... I'm deputy leader of the Loyal Christian Front! I can't cavort with prostitutes, covered with whipped cream or not. So, if you're just looking for a good time, that's one thing, but if you're careful about your reputation, you'll beware les notres, because they don't care about such things at all."

Baron James laughed at Constantine’s comment about the Emperor’s interest in seeing him crowned. Then, he detected a decided shift in the young prince’s jovial attitude.

James listened carefully as Constantine described les notres, Mademoiselle d'Ecclesie and their pursuit of amusement. He was about to add his comment when the prince continued.

As Constantine recounted the denouncement of his birthday celebration, James could clearly see the young man’s embarrassment. The baron nodded his head sympathetically.

“Incredible, your Highness!” James leaned forward and gave Constantine a look of compassion and understanding tempered by a flash of indignation. “How could they think that you, a prince of a noble and righteous realm, would be amused by a … a common harlot.”

James leaned back and shook his head. “I shall take your advice to heart, your Highness. While the Excalbian court has more than its share of gossips, lay-abouts and self-indulgers, they lack the centre of gravity that this Mademoiselle d'Ecclesie seems to give to les notres.” James’ face flashed the ghost of a sarcastic smile. “And the Excalbian court - or rather the Imperial family and the Imperial Household - have a well-earned reputation for a certain degree of, shall we say, Puritan prudishness. While I am certainly no prude,” James let his smile flash for a moment, “a certain sense of decorum and decency, I believe, are necessary traits in a leader.”

James leaned more deeply into his chair and let his smile broaden. “Your quite natural displeasure in les notres' little stunt, your Highness, springs, I would argue, from your own nobleness and demonstrates that you truly do have the instincts of a natural-born leader.” The baron shook his head. “Unfortunately, some people, though born to title and status, have no true understanding of the concepts of nobility and leadership.”

Constantine smiled although inwardly he wondered what the scion of a royal house exiled for hundreds of years only suddenly recalled into the fray really knew about leadership. He hoped that his doubts would prove unfounded, of course, and he was hardly in a position to feel any moral superiority over James. This man's real reasons for seeing him were identical to his stated aims. Constantine's were not, something for which he was already beginning to loathe himself half-way through the conversation.

"You're very kind to say so, monsieur." Constantine replied, smiling as if gratified by the complement rather than repulsed by his own behaviour.

I'm only befriending him, where's the harm in that? he asked himself. Unfortunately, he answered himself with apprehension about the motives of his blackmailer for asking him to befriend the Grand Duke. He liked to consider himself a man of conscience - if he was, was it not reprehensible for him to drag other people into the web of his own creation by which he had been ensnared.

"Anyway, I just thought you should be warned about such people." Constantine said quietly, before adding in a lighter tone. "And about His Majesty's motives. Anyway, enough of that, you had some serious matters to discuss?"

Though the prince continued to smile, Baron James saw something in his eyes – an unease – that worried him. On the outside, James was every bit the confident, self-assured leader he aspired to be. Inside, however, he was full of doubt and anxiety. Even as he listened to Constantine, James wondered whether he had offended the prince. Perhaps, Constantine had saw him as a dilettante; a mere dabbler in politics. Perhaps, the prince objected to his father’s policy of supporting Saxmere. Or, perhaps, it was something unrelated altogether.

“Yes, yes,” James said nodding, “there were some matters I wished to discuss.” The baron leaned forward slightly. “I have been most appreciative of Pantocratoria’s support for my nation. And, while I realize that support emanates from His Imperial Majesty, I also realize that the government plays a vital role in implementing that policy.” James paused. He knew he risked being overly blunt, but it was a habit he had picked up from the Excalbian court and it was a difficult one to break.

“And now, with signs that the balance of forces in parliament may be shifting, I am curious to know your position, your Highness, and that of your party on Saxmerean independence.”

"Our position is quite firm. The Loyal Christian Front wants to see an independent Saxmere, or at least a Saxmere with significant autonomy with the option to become independent, with you on its throne as its rightful constitutional monarch." Constantine nodded. "Self-determination for Saxmere is extremely important to maintaining an appropriate balance of power in the Excalbian Isles, as you are no doubt aware."

I can't do it. Constantine decided. I can't lead an innocent man into whatever it is that spy has planned for him. But... I can't let him expose me... what other option do I have?

"I promise you that is not just my position, but my uncle's position too, and indeed the position of the entire party. If there is a shift in power, as you have anticipated, and we return to the government benches in the near future, then your cause will only enjoy even firmer support from the Imperial Government." Constantine promised.

Baron James nodded humbly. “Thank you, your Highness. Your endorsement of our right to self-determination is most gratifying. And your statement of the party’s position is most reassuring.”

James smiled. “I do not wish to take more of your time, your Highness.” The baron hesitated for a moment. He had come planning to extend an invitation and had felt confident in doing so until he saw that odd flicker. He feared he had offended the prince in someway. In the end, however, after only a few moments’ thought he decided to make the invitation.

“Your Highness,” James said evenly, “if you are agreeable, I should like to extend an invitation for you to join me for dinner at the Embassy on an evening convenient for you.” The baron smiled. “It would give me the opportunity to hear more about this cousin of yours,” he said, trying to return to the earlier, lighter tone.

Prince Constantine smiled warmly and nodded.

"That would be great." he said. "Are you free any evening, say this week, monsieur? Any night before the weekend would be fine for me."

You poor man, you should've walked away. Constantine thought to himself. Who knows what I'll drag you into now?

Baron James smiled. The prince’s eagerness to accept his invitation seemed to disprove the baron’s concern that he had offended the younger royal. Yet, he thought, there was still something going on beneath the surface, something that he could not identify, but, nevertheless, something that warranted caution.

James bowed. “Would tomorrow evening be too early, your Highness? I could receive you at, shall we say, 7 in the evening at our Embassy?”

"Tomorrow evening would be fine, Your Royal Highness." Constantine nodded. "I look forward to it."

***

The next day, at 7pm

Prince Constantine sat in the backseat of the Peacock Motors limousine next to Erik as it pulled up in front of Old Caesar Palace, the Saxmerean embassy in New Rome.

"Why don't you tell me?" Erik asked. Constantine had been on edge for most of the past fortnight, and Erik was sick of it. He had been asking gently for the past few days, now he was practically indignant that Constantine hadn't shared what it was which was bothering him so.

"What?" Constantine asked, as if interrupted from deep thought.

"Why don't you tell me what it is that's bothering you, baby?" Erik asked, shifting over to Constantine's seat and putting his arm around him.

"Not this again..." Constantine started, trying (not very hard) to pull away. Erik effortlessly held him in place.

"Yes, this again." Erik said. "Don't... cut me off. I don't like seeing you miserable."

"Please, just trust me..." Constantine said, uncertainty in his voice.

"I'm not letting you out of this car until you tell me." Erik decided.

"What? I have to see the Grand Duke! I'm about to be late!" Constantine protested. He tried to pull away again (for real this time), but Erik, once again, effortlessly held him still.

"I don't care about your silly appointments." Erik said in a firm voice. "You're not going until you tell me."

"Please, I need to go!" Constantine pleaded.

"Not until you tell me." Erik persisted.

"Look, it will take time to explain." Constantine started.

"I have plenty of time." Erik said.

"Well I don't!" Constantine whined.

Erik chuckled, making Constantine feel a tad ridiculous. Whenever Constantine got excited or got hysterical with him, he had a tendency to revert to a whining, somewhat childish voice, which Erik found both comical and more than a little attractive. Realising he had done it again, Constantine blushed and sighed, reclining back into the leather seat.

"I'll tell you, but after this dinner, OK?" Constantine offered.

Erik leaned into him and kissed him by way of reassuring him. Constantine cheered up a little.

"OK, but you'll have to make the wait up to me then." Erik said, winking. Constantine nodded his assent and gave Erik a half-smile as he got up and left the limousine to enter the Old Caesar Palace. Erik followed at an appropriate distance for a bodyguard.

A guard wearing a slightly archaic red uniform with gold embroidery snapped to attention and saluted as the Pantocratorian prince entered the Embassy. Just beyond the heavy wooden doors a man in a dark suit with a red tie waited for the prince. He bowed as Constantine approached.

“Your Highness,” the man said, “welcome to the Embassy of the Grand Duchy of Saxmere.” The man stood and smiled. “His Royal Highness will join you in the dinning room, your Highness.” The man gestured down an elaborately decorated corridor. “If you will follow me, your Highness.”

The man led Prince Constantine and his bodyguard through the converted palace to a surprisingly small dining room. Obviously, the grand duke was using the room as his private dinning room. A table in the centre of the room was set for two.

The man leading the prince bowed and took a step away. Just then, a red uniformed guard opened a door at the other end of the room and Baron James entered. The baron wore a well-tailored light gray suit. He bowed slightly to the prince and rose with a smile.

“Your Highness,” he said cheerfully, “how pleasant to see you. Please,” he gestured to one of the places at the table, “have a seat.” James looked to the bodyguard. “And I assure you that you are quite safe here. Nevertheless, your bodyguard is welcome to wait just outside the door. Or, he may join my staff for their evening meal.”

"Your Royal Highness is most kind." Constantine said, returning the bow. He looked to Erik and nodded to dismiss him. The prince took a seat as the bodyguard left the room. He looked across the table at James and wondered what the best approach was to befriend the man. He didn't normally have a problem making friends, but then, it was normally an organic process, not a forced one.

As soon as Baron James and Prince Constantine were both seated, white jacketed waiters began to serve the meal. Baskets of warm bread and bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar were placed at either end of the table followed by plates of sliced mozzarella cheese and fresh tomatoes topped with shrimp.

A dry, white wine was served to accompany the salad and a light composition for strings played in the background.

James lifted his glass. “To you, your Highness, and to all of Pantocratoria for your hospitality and friendship.”

Constantine accepted the toast graciously, and then proposed one of his own.

"To you, Your Highness, and to the great enterprise that is Saxmerean independence." said Constantine.

James nodded politely to the toast. “Here, here,” he said before sipping his wine. He set the glass on the table and started on the salad.

“I must say that I much admire your country’s produce and your wines. Being used to a more northerly clime, both are a pleasant treat.”

The baron took a bite of cheese and tomato. “Tell me, your Highness, have you traveled much beyond the shores of Pantocratoria?”

"Not really, I'm afraid." said Constantine. "I was in Lavenrunz just briefly for my brother's wedding. I've been to the rest of the Pantocratorian Archipelago. However, I've never travelled very far. One damned thing after another is holding up the state visit to Excalbia, I've been really looking forward to seeing Excalbia. I'm rather sheltered really..."

Constantine smiled hopelessly, the sort of smile he usually only showed to his friends and family. And Erik, of course. He took a few bites of cheese and tomato himself.

"You're further travelled than me though, monsieur." Constantine said, nodding to him. "I'd love to hear about some of the places you've been."

James smiled and took finished his wine. He leaned back in his chair as servants cleared the salad and began serving the next dish – grilled fresh fish and vegetables with a light vinaigrette sauce. “Well,” the baron said, his eyes twinkling, “I have seen my share of foreign shores. I have been to most of the usual suspects – North America, Europe, South America, Africa…”

James took a sip of the wine poured to accompany the fish dish, Mâcon Blanc Chardonnay. “Lavenrunz is a lovely country. In a somewhat stark fashion. The people remind me somewhat of Excalbians. Friendly and decent enough, but rather formal and a little aloof. Though, in fairness, they are not even remotely as prudish as the Excalbians.”

The baron chuckled and took another sip of wine. “I do not mean to sound unkind to the Excalbians; they have been faithful friends through out my family’s long exile. Yet, we have never considered ourselves Excalbians and, frankly, noticing their foibles has been one way we have managed to maintain our own identity as Saxmereans.”

Leaning back, the baron set down his fork and rubbed his chin. “Now where was I? Let me know if I bore you, your Highness. But I do rather enjoy discussing travels and foreign lands.

“Now, I have also been to the Danaan High Kingdom. I was one of the first tourists to travel there from the Excalbian Isles after relations were established. When I first visited, they were still a quaint mix of the modern and ancient, though I hear now that they are becoming more modern by the day. Still, a truly beautiful place and a marvelous and fascinating people.” James smiled. “But I am sure I do not need to tell you that, your Highness. There have been extensive contacts between Pantocratoria and the High Kingdom recently, so I am sure you know what I mean.

“And,” the baron leaned towards the prince, “I probably should not say so, but one of my favorite trips was to Knootoss. They are refreshingly casual and remarkably unfazed by titles and foreign wealth. I was able to… be myself there in a way I could no where else.” James sighed and shrugged. “Even there, however, I knew it was my destiny someday to return to lead my people. And that kept me from going… to far, as it were.”

He took a bite of his fish. “In any case, I am happy now to be in your wonderful country. Though I do look forward to finally going home to Saxmere.”

Prince Constantine listened intently to James' description of the places he had travelled, nodding along and disparaging the thought that James was boring him with a motion of his hand when the Baron mentioned it. He noted with some interest James' assessment of Lavenrunz - Constantine's assessment was quite different. But then, the two men had different frames of reference. When he started to talk about the fascinating people of the Resurgent Dream, Constantine nodded dreamily along, involuntarily summoning up the mental image of Duke Bel ap Liam, Danaan ambassador to the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator.

Could he mean... Constantine started thinking to himself when the would-be Grand Duke started talking about Knootoss. ...surely not! Surely he doesn't mean THAT...

"Erm, what can one possibly do in Knootoss which one can't do here?" he asked, innocently. I'll never get him that way... He added a suggestive wink. At worst, James would just think him odd. Either way, it might produce some sort of reaction.

Baron James watched Prince Constantine’s odd reaction to the mention of Knootoss. The young prince almost looked flush. James thought either he had terribly shocked the young man or touched a nerve. Perhaps the prince – like many – associated Knootoss with some forbidden desire.

“Well, your Highness,” James said with a smile that hid his own unease, “there are many things one can do in Knootoss that you cannot do in most… civilised nations.” James gave Constantine a faint smirk.

“Now, let me add, before you think too ill of me, your Highness, that I did not indulge in anything that ought to be illegal while in the DDR.” James seemed to relax a bit as he sat back in his chair and took a sip of wine.

“Rather, I simply reveled in the freedom to be anonymous for a span or time. To drink and dance when, where and with whom I pleased without worrying about what the Excalbian court or my family’s own retainers would think. The sense of… freedom that came with being just another reveler in Amsterdam was sufficiently intoxicating on its own.” James laughed.

Constantine bit his lower lip and then sipped his wine thoughtfully. He grinned as James explained himself.

"I wasn't judging you, monsieur." he said in a playful tone. "I was just curious... curious about what sort of thing you meant. Naturally I assumed you didn't mean anything which should be illegal."

Drink and dance with whom he pleased? Constantine's mind race. Surely he means... but no, perhaps I'm just reading more into it than he meant.

"I'm not a gossip, I promise." Constantine added.

James smiled. He is intent to discover all the seamy details, isn’t he, the baron thought. He is a curious fellow.

“I am greatly reassured,” James said breezily. Then, he turned playfully serious. “Have you had the pleasure of visiting the DDR yourself, your Highness, and enjoying the pleasures of Amsterdam?”

"No, never." Constantine replied. "Nor am I likely to in the current climate unfortunately. It's a shame when politics gets in the way of pleasure like that but still."

He took another sip of wine and then looked at James with eyes hungry for knowledge.

"So, I guess I'm dependent entirely on you enlightening me about Amsterdam's forbidden pleasures." he grinned.

Baron James gave Prince Constantine a sad, half-smile. “That is a pity. Amsterdam is not – to my tastes – a particularly lovely city, but it is endlessly diverting.” James took a drink of his wine and let his smile widen slightly. “Of course, one can go too far in indulging their appetites there, so you must remain somewhat on your guard. However, it is the one place where one can do whatever one desires without having to worry about judgmental stares or the whispers of the court wags.” James gave the prince a wink. “As long as you do not let anyone know where you are or who you are.”

As the baron and the prince waited for the next course, James leaned forward slightly. “Have you ever thought about what you would do, your Highness, if you were free of all obligations and expectations?”

(OOC: Sorry this got lost in the shuffle; if it is OBE, let me know. Otherwise, I'm game to continue.)

Constantine bit his lower lip, as if playfully contemplating thoughts which some might consider naughty. He nodded, blushing a little.

"More than you could know, monsieur." Constantine admitted. "But people in our positions, in the public eye like we are, would be lying if they said otherwise."

OOC: No, of course I want to continue. But the conversation really is taking way too long. Let's not drag this particular part out too much longer, so that the plot can advance

James gave the prince a knowing smile. "True," he said. Through the rest of the meal conversation turned to lighter topics. Finally, the meal ended and James invited Constantine to join him for a drink in his study.

After pouring Constantine the drink of his choice, James sat by the empty fireplace with a glass of brandy. "I have enjoyed the evening, your Highness. I hope you have as well."

"I have very much, monsieur." Constantine nodded, sipping his brandy. "Please, I'd like you to consider me a friend. Call me Constantine."

He relaxed in his chair by the fireplace, basking in its warmth, and the warmth he felt from the liquor.

“Very well,” the baron said smiling, “Constantine. Please call me James.” The baron sipped at his drink and let himself sink into his chair.

“So, my friend, I feel I have monopolized the conversation this evening. Please, tell me something of yourself.”

Constantine and James spoke for another hour or so before Constantine had to excuse himself. He left fairly inebriated, and Erik was unimpressed with how drunk his charge had allowed himself to get. He didn't press him for details about what Constantine had promised he'd tell him earlier because of the state he was in.

Baron James felt reasonably satisfied with his dinner with Prince Constantine. Indeed, given the amount of drink he had consumed, he felt fairly satisfied with everything. While not drunk, he could tell he would do himself no further good staying awake, so he went to bed.

The next night, Constantine sat anxiously on the couch in the inner chambers of his apartments, waiting for Erik's arrival back from the gym. It was only his anxiety in place of his normal anticipation which made the night at all unusual. He nervously sipped at a glass of brandy, and thought carefully about how Erik would take the news. His thoughts were interrupted by Erik opening the door and dropping his gym bag on the floor.

"Erik?" Constantine asked.

"Hey, kid." Erik said as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He paused and frowned for a moment - normally Constantine would've gotten up and rushed over to him to greet him, but the Prince was still seated. "Don't I get a kiss hello?"

"Oh... sorry..." Constantine said as he got to his feet. He crossed the floor over to Erik, and gave him a fairly unenthusiastic kiss.

"Something wrong, babe?" Erik asked Constantine.

"Yeah... I'll tell you after you've had your shower." Constantine nodded. "I'm in a lot of trouble."

"OK... is this about that thing last night?" Erik asked. Constantine just nodded. "OK, I'll go have a quick shower, then we'll talk."

Constantine returned to his brandy as Erik went off into the bathroom and showered. After a few minutes, Erik emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist. He went and sat on the bed, and Constantine came over to join him.

"Erik, I've got something really bad to tell you. You have to promise not to tell anybody else... I don't know what might happen if you did." Constantine started. "Somebody... some spy... has a recording of the two of us making love."

Erik's face turned grave in alarm and he caught his breath.

"This man... I think he's Knootian... has been blackmailing me. I don't know what he wants with me yet, but last time I saw him he asked me to befriend James... the Grand Duke of Saxmere." Constantine said. "I don't know what to do, Erik."

"I... God..." Erik muttered.

"I'm going to meet him again... at Adrienople, tomorrow, on a pier at the docks." Constantine said, beginning to cry at this point. "I'm frightened Erik, I don't know what to do."

He fell into Erik's arms, and the Varangian held him and tried to comfort him as he cried. He had no idea what to do either.

"Don't worry kiddo, we'll think of something." Erik promised him.

Adrienople Docks

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?" Erik asked Constantine as the two looked out of the window of one of Constantine's sports cars, parked at the entrance to the docks in Adrienople.

Being a prince rather than a princess afforded Constantine a good deal more freedom of movement than his sisters or cousins would otherwise be allowed - he had sought leave from the Emperor to go driving into the countryside in the latest addition to his collection, a GF Wulfswagon Sports, which his brother had bought for him in Lavenrunz and had shipped back to Pantocratoria. The Emperor's only proviso had been that he take his bodyguard with him - as if Constantine would find that to be an imposition!

"Not really..." Constantine said. "In fact, I definitely don't want to. But I've got to."

"I'll be right next to you, kiddo." Erik said, smiling reassuringly and squeezing the young Prince's hand. In his other hand he gripped a machine pistol tightly.

"Thanks, Erik." Constantine nodded. "OK, let's go."

The couple got out of the car and made their way down the pier of dock thirteen. Dock thirteen turned out to be one of the more outlying docks of the harbour, with a large grey warehouse conveniently obscuring the view from the dock into the city. As it was Sunday, there were no dockworkers and the usual crows of tourists was either in Church attending Mass or on the attractive side of the harbour.

Erik and Constantine walked onto the pier together, but it was entirely deserted. Constantine nervously bit his lower lip and checked his watch. Erik's eyes darted about the dock, keeping a sharp eye out like a hawk, searching for prey. After about five minutes, something moved in the shadows behind the two men, near the docks. Erik turned around immediately, grabbing for his weapon. He found himself staring into the barrel of a large semi-automatic rifle held by a tall high-blonde man in green overalls stripped of all insignia. He was flanked by an equally tall brown-haired woman in similar dress, whom with her short cropped hair looked almost like a boy. Then, from the shadow behind the warehouse emerged a third person. It was the same man whom Constantine had been meeting with, wearing a grey trenchcoat and sunglasses this time. The trenchcoat looked ridiculously out of place for such a nice sunny day, and it appeared to Constantine as if the man had stepped right out of a cheap spy-novel. Only this was actually happening.

"Good morning", the man said with his usual lisp. "I have been... watching you for some time young Constantine, forgive me for the... unwelcome greeting." His eyes darted nervously over Erik’s weapon, he appeared to be scared despite outnumbering him comfortably. He looked over at Erik himself, who was staring at him angrily, "Aaaaah, and this must be Mr Henriksson whom I’ve heard so much about."

"You will address Monsieur le Prince as Your Imperial Highness." snarled Erik.

His machine pistol flashed in the morning light, and was levelled at the lisping agent, even though it was obvious that if he fired, he would be shot himself. The Knootian recoiled, looking at Erik with fear in his eyes as he hissed back:

"The little Lieutenant has an attitude... now, now, Mr. Henriksson, we would not want anything untoward to happen to you and your... friend, now would we?" He looked over at Constantine with a frightened grin, as one of the guards stepped forward, aiming for the chest of the Prince.

"Order them to point their weapons somewhere else, and I'll point mine somewhere else." Erik told him.

"If I came here with the intent of getting into a firefight..." Constantine said. "I would've come with half a dozen men. Can we get to business?"

"Throw away your weapon or he dies", the man hissed incoherently. "NOW."

"It's OK, Erik, if they were going to kill me they'd have done it by now, and they wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of blackmailing me." Constantine told Erik.

Erik flared his nostrils and growled at the lisping blackmailer, and tossed his machine pistol off the edge of the pier and into the water. The man in the trenchcoat cocked his head in the direction of Erik. With a cold voice he ordered the male soldier.

"Disarm him."

Erik rolled his eyes, and held out his arms to let the man pat him down.

"Inside my jacket, underneath the left arm, my Saltz .38 revolver." Erik told the guard.

The man roughly approached Erik and frisked him, looking for any hidden weapons that the bodyguard might carry and removing the revolver. When he had finally satisfied himself that Erik was no longer armed, he briefly searched the Prince for weapons as well. In addition to the revolver Erik told them about, they found a tiny pistol hidden in his boot. Constantine was carrying no weapons.

When the procedure was finished, the lisping Knootian seemed to look at them thoughtfully, pondering what to do.

"Well, Constantine," he said looking at Erik with daggers in his eyes for just a split-second. "You’ve made things very difficult for me by breaking your promise. Whatever shall we do now?" he asked mockingly. "No worries though, young prince..." he continued. "We receive all of our guests with hospitality."

"I'm not your guest." Constantine told him. "Why don't you just get on with it you affected gasbag?"

"So disrespectful towards others", he said shaking his head. "You'd make an excellent Knootian if you were not such a spoiled child. But yes, I shall move on."

"So you are a Knootian." Constantine replied smugly, as if he didn't already know. The man had not hitherto admitted it.

The Knootian moved his wrist towards his mouth and mumbled something in a foreign language. Then, suddenly, the water began to stir. Erik frowned at the water in concern. He reached a hand over to Constantine's chest as if to keep the Prince back. Around the pier, the water began to road and thunder, rising from the sea as if attracted to the light at first. But then a black monstrosity appeared, almost like a sea monster conjured by the words of the man in the trenchcoat. But this sea monster was made out of thick sheets of metal, and as the door opened the pair recognised it as a submarine, which had been lurking in the middle of Adrienople harbour. A top hatched opened, and a man in navy uniform came out to greet the three Knootians standing on the dock. A plank was pulled out to allow them to come onto the ship.

"Wh... wha..." Constantine stammered. "What? A submarine?"

No one answered him, but one of the soldiers made a gesture inviting him and his friend to walk the plank.

"Oh no, no way!" Constantine shook his head.

"He's not going on board." Erik growled firmly to the agent.

"Meer mensen!", the trencoated fellow growled into the device on his wrist (which was, in all likelyhood, not the watch it appeared to be.) "I believe, Monsieur le Prince, that you have little choice. You have my word that no harm will come to you, unless you refuse to board that ship."

"Your word doesn't mean an awful lot to me." Constantine said, shaking his head firmly.

More men came out of the submarine, armed, heading towards them. "Oh, please, don't have me drag you aboard young Prince", the man replied almost disappointed.

"I'm not going with you!" Constantine shouted, starting to back away, his sister's recent kidnapping and subsequent horrific captivity fresh in his mind.

"He's not setting one foot on board that boat." Erik snarled to the agent.

The submariners were quick to grab both Constantine, their strong arms subduing the resistance. A sweaty handpalm was put over the mouth of the Prince to prevent him from calling out for help, as five strong men moved in on Erik. The two original guards who had originally been on the surface kept their guns pointed at the couple the whole time.

If it wasn't for the guns and the fact that Constantine had already been taken, Erik would've had no hesitation fighting all five men. He was an elite member of the most elite unit in the Pantocratorian military, and a master of several different forms of hand to hand combat. Unfortunately, all the forms of hand to hand combat in the world are of no real assistance when one's opponent is aiming a loaded rifle at one, and so the Varangian begrudgingly offered no resistance, and followed the men up the ramp.

"Let His Highness down!" he called out.

The men ignored him until they were inside the submarine, a hatch shutting behind them. Because of the narrow passageway and stairs they had to toss the prince down, where he was caught by a sturdy uniformed woman with large muscles. Grinning at his milky-white face she put him down on the metal floor. Erik came climbing down soon after. The submarine itself was cramped, and filled with equipment and panels with all sorts of tools. There was not enough space for everyone in the small entrance room, and some of the men dissipated into the corridors. Others, however, remained.

"Sluit de bodyguard op", the trenchcoated man ordered and two sailors flanked Erik to take him into a corridor as Constantine was ordered down some stairs.

Constantine started crying when it became apparent he was going to be separated from Erik. Erik let them take him off into the corridor, cursing himself all the way for letting Constantine go ahead with the meeting in the first place.

"You can't kidnap me..." Constantine pleaded with the sailors as they took him down the stairs. "It'd mean war between Pantocratoria and Knootoss! Please, let me go!"

The sailors ignored his pleas as he was taken past all sorts of strange technical equipment, deeper and deeper into the submarine, until finally Constantine was hushered into a more luxurious room with a bed and a small dining table. The sign on the door said “Kapiteinshut”, which the Pantocratorian inferred meant the Captain's quarters. There he was left for a moment, and he felt a strange feeling in his stomach as the room around him began to move. The submarine was diving. Memories of his sister's tearfilled stories about what had happened to her flashed before Constantine's eyes, and the young Prince vomitted in fear on the cabin floor as he blubbered. Moments later, a jovial bearded fellow entered the cabin, together with the man in the trenchcoat who was now wearing more comfortable clothing.

"Ah Consta... eeeeeew" the spy exclaimed as he saw the vomit on the floor. The jovial man, who had captains stripes on his uniform, looked more non-plussed.

"Want a drink young man?" the Captain asked.

"No." Constantine replied, trying to stop himself from crying in front of the two of them.

"Well, fine", the man said shrugging. "You better take my first's quarters across here Joachim, I'll have this cleaned up."

The man now identified as Joachim did indeed motion Constantine to follow once more into a virtually identical cabin across the small corridor. There, the two sat down together across a small table.

"Do not worry", Joachim said as reassuringly as his lisp would allow. "We are not going to kidnap you. Now... tell me how your meeting with the Grand Duke went."

"Fine I suppose..." Constantine said as he wiped away his tears. "Why did you want me to befriend him?"

"I will tell you later", Joachim said reassuringly. "Did you gain his trust?"

"I don't know..." Constantine shrugged. "I think so."

"Good", the Knootian said. "Because, you see, we have something you can do for us... for the good of both our countries. If you succeed, we will not bother you again." He smiled. "How does that sound?"

"Just get on with it already you cockroach!" Constantine spat.

"You see, the so-called Grand Duke is not who he appears to be. Under his veneer of pleasantries he is, in fact, an Excalbian secret agent whose purpose is to manipulate your country into a war with Knootoss. He is a very, very dangerous man because of his background", he said with his usual lisp. "It is imperative for the good of both our countries that he is.... incapacitated."

"Why do you feel the need to try justify yourself with lies and frame what you're doing in a conciliatory tone, like I'm supposed to agree with you?" Constantine replied. "Stop trying to get me on your side, you worm, I'm not on your side, you're blackmailing me, remember? I'm here because I don't have a choice, not because there is anything in your ideology which appeals to me in the slightest. Now get on with it and say what you want!"

"Oh, but this is not about ideology young prince", he replied unfazed. "This is about war and peace. Think about it", he said calmly. "You will assist us in taking out the Grand Duke."

"What do you mean? What do you want me to do?" Constantine snapped, his expression one of burning hatred even through his tears.

"You will meet with the Grand Duke, like you did before. You can have a pleasant evening with the man, and you will offer him a drink. After consuming this drink, the man will have a heart-attack. A tragedy, but these things happen."

"What?" Constantine shrieked. "No! I'm not killing anybody!"

"You'll be saving lives, Constantine", Joachim shushed. "Knootian lives, Pantocratorian lives.... Erik's life."

"Fuck you! I'm not killing anybody!" Constantine replied forcefully.

Joachim leant back in his chair, apparently unimpressed. "You have no choice."

"You're wrong, I do." Constantine insisted.

"So tell me then, Constantine, what are you going to do?" the Knootian replied dryly.

"I'm not going to kill somebody to keep my secret. I've played along with this sick game long enough." Constantine said defiantly. "The only thing I'm ashamed of is how long I've played along with it. So do what you like with your recording, I'm not going to kill the Grand Duke of Saxmere."

"You forget...", the Knootian replied - his voice lingering, "that you were kind enough to bring your beloved Erik right into our hands today," his voice turned cold and harsh, "he is being interrogated as we speak. Only you can save his life. And your life."

Constantine looked at him with anger and hurt evident in his red, tear-stained eyes. But the defiant look didn't leave his face.

"I'm not going to swap one life for another, even the life of the man I love. I will not kill an innocent to save myself. I will not kill an innocent man even to save Erik's life." Constantine replied.

"I'm sure that is what your sister said too", the Knootian bit at him. "It is time that you stop being selfish, Constantine, and act like an adult. I will return in one hour." And with that, Joachim stood up.

"In one hour my answer will be the same." Constantine replied, rising to his feet to meet Joachim's gaze, but Joachim avoided his eyes and walked briskly out of the cabin, closing the door behind him. "Bewaak hem!", he heard him yell angrily as the footsteps faded.

Constantine trembled as he sat back down and tried to relax. He dried his eyes and wiped his face clean with his pocket handkerchief. In an effort to calm his nerves, he crossed himself and began to pray.

"Hail Mary, full of grace..."

Constantine was still sitting down at silent prayer when Joachim returned to the cabin. The Knootian looked down on him with a contemptuous stare.

"Don't you ever get tired of this thing?", he asked, leaning against the cabin wall. "It is not as if anyone is coming to help you now, not after what you've done. I'm no religious man, but I've always learned that your... God... looks rather poorly on homosexual traitors. You must hate yourself a lot."

"I hate you more." Constantine replied, rising to his feet.

"Tut tut tut", the Knootian replied. "Judge not lest ye be judged, love your enemy as you love your brother," he grinned. "You have so many nice and moralistic platitudes and yet you ignore them as soon as it is convenient fot you." He stepped closer to Constantine, looking him in the eyes directly, sternly. "It is time that you toss them aside and choose things that matter."

"You know, for a race of ultracapitalists, you make a lousy salesman." Constantine sneered.

"Oh, but I have a deal for you", the Knootian sneered back as he kept staring at him. "I offer you your freedom, your love in secret, and never having to deal with me again. Sounds good eh?"

"If you'd just leave me alone, I'd have all that anyway." Constantine replied.

"Unfortunately, I cannot do that", the Knootian replied, "for you see, I only deal when there is something I need", his eyes lingered, moving on to wander the room, "and yet, your pathetic display here convinced me that you are too weak to kill anyone even if you wanted to. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that you couldn't even kill me if it meant your freedom", he taunted, "You are welcome to try."

Constantine walked up to Joachim, and punched him as hard as he could in the jaw, knocking him over. He stood over him and pointed at him on the floor as he spoke.

"I'd finish the job, but it wouldn't mean my freedom, and you and I both know that." he snarled.

Joachim rubbed his jaw, laughing as if he had been beset by a pleasant surprise. He tried to stand up again, mocking Constantine. "Come on young prince. You want to kill me. Go on. Try.. Kill me right now."

He spread his arms wide to recieve another punch. Constantine punched Joachim hard in the gut, and then frowned in disgust.

"If I did kill you, they wouldn't let me out of this cabin, let alone let Erik and I out of this sub, so why don't you start talking." he snarled.

Joachim was pushed back against the metal cabin door, cringing in pain, but soon his mocking returned to his ugly face.

"You are a murderer by nature. All men are."

Then he lurched out himself, kicking Constantine hard in the groin. "You want to kill for your freedom."

Constantine doubled over in pain, dropping to his knees, unable to draw breath from the pain between his legs. His eyes watered and he let out a low, gurgling moan.

"Pathetic." Joachim said. He spat on Constantine in vicious contempt. Joachim waited for a minute or so for Constantine to regain his composure. "You are just a cowardly little pig for your own interests. Maybe you'll be as cowardly when it comes to Erik."

"What do you mean, when it comes to Erik?" Constantine asked, his eyes watering from the pain in his groin, the words forced as it was hard for him to breathe.

"Do you really think we'd leave him alone if you don't help us?", Joachim laughed arrogantly. "You are even more naive then I thought. Erik is nothing. He will suffer if you do not cooperate, and if I am convinced by your behaviour that you will never cooperate, he will die, you pathetic little whiner."

Constantine tried to get up, but couldn't. He had no doubt that Joachim would have no hesitation about hurting Erik - after all, if he didn't hesitate about kicking a prince in the groin, he probably wouldn't be too concerned about hurting the prince's bodyguard.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Constantine gasped through gritted teeth and tears. "What the hell did I do to deserve this?"

"You do not listen well, do you?", Joachim retorded. "You will help us kill the Excalbian agent. Your stubbornness got you this. Now, help us or suffer." He kicked against one of Constantine's knees, so he fell over on the cramped floor of the small cabin. "Am I clear?"

"Yes..." Constantine sobbed from the floor. "When you let us go... I'll..."

"Yes?" the Knootian leaned a little closer.

"I'll do it." Constantine relented in tears.

"Good" Joachim said. "The nurse will take care of you now. After that I'll brief you."

Kirk Steward sat awkwardly behind his small desk in the secure room hidden among the rafters in the attic. His equipment was all hand-me-downs or enhanced off-the-shelf commercial products, nothing like what he had used in the Excalbian Embassy. But then, Excalbia was a well-established, wealthy nation. Saxmere was still a want-to-be. Not quite part of the C.S.S. anymore but still not really independent.

Yet, for all the disadvantages, Steward was happy to have job. After he – through no fault of his own – had botched the attempt to interfere in Pantocratorian politics, Imperial Intelligence had dumped him. He had argued that he had been following Lord James’ orders and that, since the orders were coming from the Director of Imperial Intelligence, he had assumed the operation was authorized. But, they had refused to listen. Lord James had been sacked and so had Steward.

At least, Steward thought, they let him keep his pension and benefits. And they had looked the other way when he had approached the newly established Embassy of the Grand Duchy of Saxmere to offer his services.

Steward was honest enough, with himself at least, to admit that if there had been no Confederation blockade of Saxmere they probably would have brought in someone from their own state police force to run their counter-intelligence program. But, that had not been an option. And, even though he had no ties to Saxmere, Steward was an Excalbian with experience working in Pantocratoria and a willingness to work for the peanuts the Saxmereans called a salary.

Steward reran the tapes – really digital video images – and watched it again. There was nothing obvious in Prince Constantine’s behaviour, yet Steward had a bad feeling about him. He had seemed all too anxious to strike up a friendship with the Grand Duke and there were some rumours circulating about some pretty odd behaviour on the prince’s part. And now, Steward could not point to any clear evidence, but he was certain the prince had been nervous and anxious during his visit. Nervous as if he were up to something.

If he had still had the facilities of the Excalbian embassy at his disposal, Steward would have had the prince discretely tailed. But that was out of the question at this point. Instead, he would just have to sit and wait for the next shoe to drop.

About 15 minutes later, Constantine had been more or less fixed up by a male nurse in a submariner's uniform. After the nurse had left, Joachim returned wearing a pleased smile on his face.

"Hello again," he said, sitting down across Constantine next to the small table. "Let's get the debriefing done now shall we?"

"Yes, let's!" Constantine said in a tone of false enthusiasm.

"Good", Joachim said, not discouraged by this. "You can start telling me about your meeting. What did Mr. Kennan behave like, what did he tell you, what did you tell him? From the start please." He looked at the Pantocratorian prince sternly. "And make sure to tell me about anything unusual. I'll will doublecheck with my other sources to confirm your story."

Constantine began telling about the meeting, summing up a tedious laundry list of the general points of conversation, and the positions the Grand Duke had been taking. Joachim listened attentively, encouraging him to go on now and then. However, Constantine did not reveal his inner thoughts for most of the conversation.

"Oh, so he has been to Knootoss?", Joachim said, raising his eyebrow as Constantine mentioned the end of their conversation. "Did he have a good time? Why did he go anyway?"

"Oh, I should imagine the same reasons as anybody else goes to Knootoss." Constantine sneered quietly.

"Oh? What are those in your opinion?" Joachim asked dryly.

"Drugs. Free sex. Moral degeneracy." Constantine muttered.

"Ah, and which of those is Mr. Kennan interested in then, you think?"

"Well he was in your country, of course you know what he was interested in!" Constantine said. "There's a reason you blackmailed me into helping you after all."

"So you are saying....", Joachim started, looking at Constantine surprised before recovering his air. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"He didn't need to tell me anything, it was obvious!" Constantine replied. "You know all this already, that's why you wanted me to befriend him." Constantine used his fingers to make fake quotation marks as he said the word 'befriend'. "I assumed then that you wanted me to seduce him. You made fun of me of course." Constantine mumbled, crossing his arms and frowning. "When I met him I was sure that was what you wanted me to do. Now you want me to kill him..."

"My, my my," he laughed out loud. "What a tangled web we weave."

The Knootian stood up and paced around the small open space in the quarters. Putting his hand on his chin, and rubbing it thoughtfully, he asked: "Did he actually confide to you he was gay? Or are there other... things... that made you think or know that?" His eager lisp was back.

"He didn't tell me, not in so many words, he didn't need to." Constantine said. "It was obvious... I could tell."

"You could tell?" Joachim pressed. "Gaydar? Gut feeling?"

"Gaydar?" Constantine asked. He shook his head distastefully. "Prejudice from a Knootian, that's rich."

"Answer the question please." Joachim remarked unaffected.

"I could just tell!" Constantine replied. A glimmer of realisation appeared in his eye. "Wait..."

"You could 'just tell' doesn't do, Monsieur Capet. What did he say or do? And did he imply engaging in homosexual relations when visiting the DDR?" Joachim looked annoyed with the young Prince.

"I... I..." Constantine stammered. "Didn't he? I mean, you did know, didn't you?"

"Answer. The. Question." was all Joachim said. "Or do I need to hit you again?"

"No!" Constantine replied, leaning back away from Joachim a little in his seat. "I just assumed..."

Joachim lashed out against the prince unexpectedly, kicking him in the side from his standing position. Constantine yelped in surprise and pain as he fell out of his seat. He quickly got off the floor and too his feet, not wanting a repeat of the beating he received in the cabin earlier.

"I told you! I just knew! I could tell!" Constantine insisted.

"Then get me proof", the Knootian hissed. "And you may just spare his life getting it."

"What?" Constantine asked, surprised. "You... you don't want me to kill him anymore?"

"If you...", Joachim paused, "If, but only if you can give me conclusive proof that the pretender to the Saxmere throne is a homosexual then we will not need to have you kill him. Do we have an understanding?"

"Uhh..." Constantine started, his mind racing. "Well... it might not be easy to... what do you mean by proof?"

"Tapes would do splendidly," Joachim said smiling. "You for one should know how effective those are", he gazed down condecendingly upon the young prince. "Only you will have to do it in two weeks."

"Two weeks!" Constantine gasped. "How am I supposed to get a tape? I don't have any... infrared spy camera or whatever it was you used to catch me! And I don't know if he's got a partner here, I assumed that's why he went to Knootoss..."

"Visiting Knootoss does not make one a homosexual." Joachim remarked. "If that is all you have on him then this will be pointless, you fool."

"No, it isn't just that..." Constantine said. His mind raced, at the very least, pursuing this possibility would buy him some time. "I know he's gay. I can tell. But... how will I get proof if he hasn't got a partner here in Pantocratoria I can catch him with?"

"Materials will not be a problem," Joachim said. "As for catching him," he snickered, "well, that is up to you. You're certainly capable of getting that bodyguard to do your biddings. I think it is time you branch out with your talents of seduction. I don't care how. Get me conclusive proof, or help us kill the Excalbian spy. The choice is yours."

"It's not much of a choice." Constantine muttered. "I'll get your proof."

"...of all the fucking stupid idiotic boneheaded things to do..." Erik raged as Constantine nervous strummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his sports car as the couple returned to New Rome.

"I know but..." Constantine meekly offered.

"No! No buts! No I knows! That was... I can't believe I was so stupid." Erik cursed, angry that he had gone along with the whole ridiculous scheme of meeting the Knootians at the dock. "We should never have gone. I shouldn't have let you talk me into it."

"At least we're off that submarine..." Constantine murmured as the car sped along the highway. "What am I going to do now?"

"What do they want you to do?" Erik asked.

"They... want me to get evidence that the Grand Duke of Saxmere is homosexual." Constantine replied after an awkward pause.

"Is he?" Erik asked.

"Yes, I'm sure of it." Constantine nodded. There was another pause. "I think."

"Well it's a stupid plan anyway..." Erik shook his head. "We should cut off all contact with these bastards. It's too dangerous."

"What do you want me to do, Erik? They have a video tape of us for God's sake!" Constantine despaired.

"Don't raise your voice at me!" snapped Erik, despite the fact his voice had been raised since they left the submarine. "I can't believe you're still worried about the video tape. They could've kidnapped you tonight, kiddo! They had you on one of their submarines for crying out loud! They could've taken you anywhere... do you want to go through what your sister went through?"

Constantine's face blanched at the thought of what his sister Theodora had endured when she was kidnapped. Although she had survived, she had barely emerged physically or mentally intact, and had needed intensive therapy just to be able to function with some semblence of normality. The thought that something similar could happen to him was a terrifying one indeed.

"No." he answered simply. "But if they release that tape..."

"Maybe that's just a bridge we'll have to cross if it comes to that, Connie, but you can't risk another meeting like this one." Erik shook his head. "I forbid it, you understand?"

"I understand." Constantine said eventually, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

Prince Constantine nervously shifted about on his feet in François Ier room in the French Suite of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator as he prepared himself for what had the potential to be a very difficult conversation with his father. Not that there was such a thing as an easy conversation with the Emperor - it was as if Constantine's father always made a point of being as stiff and rigid as possible. The doors to the Sun King room, in which the Emperor was tending to the business of the day, were opened, and a page in a splendid red jacket embroidered with a delicate pattern and the letters "A I" in gold thread bowed to Constantine.

"His Majesty will see you now, Your Highness." the page boy informed Constantine.

Constantine strode into the office, clicked his heels, and bowed to the severe, grey-bearded man standing by the window, looking out over the gardens of the Imperial Court of Christ Pantocrator. Rain softly pelted the glass and ran down the window frame, distorting the view a little, but the Emperor didn't seem to mind - his expression was always such that one might have thought by it that it was always raining.

"Your Majesty," said Constantine.

"Your Highness," the Emperor replied. "I understand that you've something rather pressing to discuss?"

"Yes, Sire." Constantine nodded, closing the doors behind him. "And delicate."

"Then take a seat, monsieur." replied his father, indicating to the couches with one arm. When Constantine had sat down, the Emperor sat across from him.

"Sire, you aren't going to believe this... but you must believe me that it's true." Constantine said.

"Go on." said the Emperor, arching an eyebrow apprehensively.

"A Knootian spy has... a Knootian spy has made contact with me with a manufactured recording of... an unnatural congress... between myself... and another man." Constantine said.

"What?" the Emperor asked, his voice incredulous although his expression remained the same.

"There's more." Constantine said. "They are threatening to release the recording... unless I either provide them with evidence that the Grand Duke of Saxmere... practices the same sort of lifestyle as the one they have fabricated evidence of me practising, or kill him."

"What?" the Emperor asked again, now frowning menacingly.

"Please father, I know how ridiculous it sounds, but you must believe me!" Constantine insisted. "I have no idea why they would go to all this trouble instead of just... getting some malcontent to shoot the Grand Duke, and I can only assume that it's part of some larger plot not yet fully revealed to me."

"How did you find this out? Made contact with you, you say?" the Emperor demanded.

"Yes, Sire." Constantine said, biting his lower lip faintly. This was the tricky part. "I was contacted during the week and told about this recording, and asked to meet with them at Adrienople..."

"You were just in Adrienople yesterday!" the Emperor yelled.

"...yes, Sire, now you know why. I... I don't know why I didn't inform you immediately, I'm..." Constantine started.

"Do you have any idea what might have happened to you?" the Emperor bellowed. "After what happened to your sister within the palace walls, you felt confident enough to meet with... somebody who was trying to blackmail you? In Adrienople? Next you'll be saying it was at an abandoned dock..."

"Sire..."

"It was at an abandoned dock?" the Emperor demanded.

"Yes, Sire."

"Of all the stupid things to do, Constantine, this... this is truly the most exceptionally stupid of them all. I would've thought you had the brains to..." the Emperor raved.

"Sire, I had to find out..." Constantine protested, outwardly defensive although inwardly relieved that the Emperor seemed more angry at him for going to the meeting than he was incredulous about the story itself.

"Do not dare interrupt me!" the Emperor shouted. Even though things were going according to plan, Constantine couldn't help but shrink from his father's voice - the Emperor was an extremely intimidating man even when he wasn't shouting. "They could've taken you onto a boat, forced you onto a boat, and then you'd really be lost. You fool!"

"They took me onto a boat." Constantine replied at a timid whisper.

"WHAT?" the Emperor gasped.

"I had no choice, they had guns... Sire... I know what I did was exceptionally stupid..."

"That doesn't even begin to..." the Emperor growled.

"...but... well I can't change that now, I did it, I went along to the meeting. I had to agree to do what they asked so that they let me off the boat, and then I came back here and... I've been trying to work up the courage to tell you, Sire." Constantine said desperately. "What do I do? They're trying to kill the Grand Duke, or frame us as homosexuals, or... whatever it is they want to do..."

"The first thing we're going to do is get some IDIS agents over here and explain things to them." the Emperor said, calming himself. "This is a job for professionals, after all, not something for stupid, headstrong young princes to go rushing in like they're... James Bond... you foolish boy. We're going to do what you should've done from the beginning. And we're going to review your security arrangements..."