"Your majesty?" Zanrithal, Chamberlain of Eblan, frowned at the disarray in the king's study: papers scattered carelessly, lunch remnants still on the desk, heavy curtains thrown back and letting the fierce summer sunlight do who knows how much damage to the fragile wood furnishings. Clutter aside, Zanrithal's frown was mostly for the apparent emptiness of the room. "Are you in here, your majesty?"

"Go away."

The minister eyed the inkwell warily, where the king's voice had come from. "Hiding will do you no good, young master. I myself was a ninja in your father's day."

"Can't I just have a moment's peace," protested a porcelain vase on a stand in the corner, "without you or one of your cronies barging in uninvited and droning on for hours about some law or other?" The vase gave a martyred sigh. "I'm going mad."

"It is part of your duty, your majesty." Zanrithal absently dusted breadcrumbs off of an important-looking document. "It is unfitting for a prince of your courage and caliber to shirk from mere matters of state."

"I'd rather face mad ogres," retorted the bookcase, with feeling. "I'm not coming out."

"Come now." He spread his hands, entreating. "This is no discussion of laws, you have my word."

"Nuptials, then," the empty fireplace drawled with an air of long sufferance. "You know I will have only one queen, Zan. You can cease this endless parade of eligible daughters."

"Nor does it involve queens, be they Rydia of Mist or otherwise. Now come down, why don't you." Zan grinned at the chandelier. "The view of your royal backside is quite becoming, but it is hardly a dignified pose for a King."

Zan's own backside had something very rude to say in response to that, and Zan did not hide his smile. His liege had ever been skilled at throwing his voice.

"All right, you old goat." The king of Eblan grudgingly flipped down from the light fixture, ponytail flying behind him like a dark pennant. "With what do you intend to sully my otherwise pleasant afternoon?"

"There's a bard at the gate, sir." Zan informed Edge as the young king sprawled in his chair, nosing under a few open ledgers for his plate. "He requests an audience."

"Haven't we already got a court musician?" Edge said through a mouthful of cheese. "I can only abide so many crusty old men in my presence. Let him plunk on his pot for the soldiers if he wants coin, but I've better ways to pass the time than listening to interminable ballads about courtly love and inevitable suicide."

"On the contrary, your majesty. This bard is closer to your own years, and he says he has a ballad composed in light of your majesty's recent acts of heroism—"

"Sweet Shiva's undershorts, not ANOTHER one!" Edge set down his goblet with a thump. "All right, all right. Send the harp-scraper to my chamber. I'll hear his drivel in there."

"Would not the hall be a more fitting place to—"

"It is bad enough to have to listen to myself in lousy badly-rhymed couplets without the added mortification of it being in front of the entire court!" Edge snatched his cloak from the floor, where it had slithered after being tossed on a delicate wood chair. "Besides, if he's in my chamber I can push him off the balcony, now will you at least let me finish my lunch?"

"Your servant, Sir," Zan bowed, too fond of his post to let a touch of sarcasm slip through. And it was with a bit of relief as well, that he sent the bard to the royal bedchamber. He too had heard enough of his master's deeds, badly rhymed or not.

The main problem with being a king, Edge thought, as he stomped down the hall, cloak roiling behind him like a thundercloud, was that they made one do it after one has spent far too much time as a prince, and the transition was a bitch.

He came to a sudden halt in the breezeways, where harp music floated down the vaulted corridor, dancing with the gauzy curtains blowing in the afternoon wind. A slow smile crept across his features, almond eyes narrowing in recognition. That bard, was it? It had been weeks since the last visit; but Edge's memory was sharper than his name, and he had no more forgotten the last time than he had the first.

And four hours later, Edge had to admit that maybe, just maybe, he'd been a little bit wrong about Edward. He was not thinking anything so clearly at the time, of course. He had not, in fact, had a clear thought until well after dawn the next morning, and that involved a colossal effort just to find his pants.

The King of Eblan bypassed the main door of his chambers and slipped behind a hollowed-out column, moving soundlessly though a hidden corridor. He emerged from a false arch on the west side of his bedchambers, which afforded him a wide view of his room from a position of relative concealment. Not that he truly believed himself hidden; the musician seated on his balcony had long since demonstrated powers of awareness that went beyond a trained ear or careful eye.

For a long time he merely watched; despite his active nature he had learned at an early age the benefits of observation, and could still himself for hours by watching someone carefully. There was so much to learn in the incline of a head or angle of shoulder. Edge's mother, a ninja in her own right who had reveled in the apparent innocence of her position, had taught her son the value of such things, not only in terms of combat but in the ruling of a country as well. And so he watched the sunlight gleaming on copper-wrapped harp strings and in honey-colored hair. For a time he concentrated only on the movement of the musician's hands, the way some strings were left to vibrate and some were stopped, long fingers stretched broad over the array of chords. When he was content with his observations, he stepped into the room, letting his boots sound on the marble flooring.

"Not up to a formal visit, Your Majesty?" Edge undid the clasp of his cloak, flinging the garment across a settee.

The harpist didn't miss a note, slender hands sure on the elegantly carved instrument. "I've learned the value of anonymity, my lord. I thought you would rather I come this way than entangle the two of us in endless meetings and banquets and thus eliminate any chances of spending time together?"

"You fault my hospitality. We'd run out on them." Edge leaned against the balcony door, arms folded, waiting. "Do you intend to play that all day?"

The ruler of Damcyan blinked. "Why, did you have a request?"

"How about ‘My lover is a prince in disguise,' the verse where he should just sneak in the damn castle instead of having my nobles hunt me down?"

Edward looked thoughtful. "I don't know that one, my lord."

Edge caught Edward's wrist, jarring the music silent. "Let me jog your memory."

Edward tasted like the peach wine he favored, leaning into Edge's kiss and letting him have all his secrets. That very openness had been the snare that caught the ninja prince; Edge could not believe that such honesty was second nature and was certain it concealed something else. Even after he realized that not all people were like his own secretive clan, his curiosity remained, and even now he was unsure of the motives of the desert king of Damcyan. Surely it was nothing so simple as desire.

"You've missed me," Edward said breathlessly, and there was something triumphant in his golden-colored voice. "Admit it."

"Nothing of the sort." Edge smoothed back waves of sunlit hair, marveling at it. Most citizens of Eblan were moonlight toned as he was, dark of hair and with fair skin. "I merely—"

"You know you can't lie to me, Edge." The harper fondled one of Edge's pearldrop earrings, smiling as Edge leaned in to the touch. "You must be lonely here."

"Of course. Eblan is in the middle of nowhere. Have you news of the others?" Edge was busily working the lacings free on Edward's jacket, unwilling to waste the chance at seeing his sun-gilded skin in what afternoon light was left to them.

"News seems to find its way to me." Edward let Edge divest him of his clothing. "Rydia caught wind of me coming; she asked me to bring you a message."

Edge's hands went still. "Did she send me an answer? I've written her enough letters to sink an airship, yet she refuses to respond—" Edge caught his lover by the shoulders. "Don't keep me waiting, man! What did she say? Will she be my queen or not?"

"She asks your forgiveness for her silence. She has a heavy burden of restoring the legacy of the Callers of Mist, and I fear she is working too hard." Edward sighed apologetically. "She asks for your patience, Edge. She is not ready to make such a decision yet. "

"What more does she need?" Edge spun away, tugging the buckles of his vest free. "I offer her a throne, Edward, and she can train her callers here as much as she pleases. Will she accept my suit or won't she?" He rested his fists on his hips, scowling at the floor, shirt dripping from his shoulders. "Women!"

"Not all of us have temperaments of quicksilver, Edge." Edward stood, and rather than straighten the jerkin undone to his navel, he pulled the garment away, folding it neatly over one bare arm. "Rydia has been long from her home. I think, when she has had time to herself and had done what she needs to do there, she will be prepared to leave it, not for a kingdom, but for the man she loves."

Edge's head shifted enough to let Edward know he was listening. "Have you ‘sensed' as much, my friend? Or do you tell me this simply to keep me from pacing in my cage?"

"She has told me herself. It is her head that is uncertain, not her heart. Give her the time she asks for, and I'm certain her response will be favorable." Edward grinned, and it was as if the desert sun itself had come into the room, dazzling and benevolent. "And then your council will leave you be on the matter of heirs, eh?"

"Do your ministers plague you as much as mine do me?"

A shadow dimmed the bard-king's face, and he shook his head. "They are too careful of my feelings to propose such a matter so soon after... everything." He lifted his head, and managed a smile. "They'll hound me, sure enough, given a year or so. We're too busy rebuilding now for much else, but since I can do little but comment on the wallpaper, I took myself out of the picture for a few days."

"Well." Edge spread his arms, somehow summing up the whole bedroom. "We both appear to be without queens, so what shall we do in the meantime?"

"Most of your pastimes are rather dangerous." Edward raised one elegant eyebrow. "How many concealed weapons are on you, anyway?"

Edge drummed his fingers on the back of the settee, thinking. "I took off my cloak and vest but I still have my boots so that's about... twenty-three."

"Twenty three?" Edward looked in disbelief at the King of Ninjas, clad in nothing but boots and leggings and a full black shirt. "On you right now?"

"Well, naturally. It's peacetime, that's why there're so few." Edge grinned. "Thirty is usually considered dressed."

"Hm." Edward surveyed him thoughtfully as he advanced, one harp-callused fingertip stroking over Edge's pale collarbone. "Would you like me to count them for you?"

Edge smirked. "You have to find them first."

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

Moonlight poured into the chamber of the King of Eblan, and glinted off of the assortment of blades, shuriken, darts and jewel-tipped needles scattered on the floor. The balcony doors were still open, but the night wind was warm as it blew off the southern ocean.

"Are you awake?" Edward's harp music stilled as he looked down at Edge, sprawled beautifully in black silk sheets. His ponytail had come undone, since the cord binding it back counted as a garrote (#14), and he pushed his blue-black hair out of his eyes.

"I have been for some time. If you weren't wrapped up in your tune, you'd have known." Edge ran a curious hand down the central column of the harp, feeling the chords still vibrating there. "Does it still pain you so?"

Edward shook his head apologetically. The light of nighttime did not suit him as it did his lover, and his gold seemed faded. "Not sharply. It's a sweet sort of pain." His fingers barely stirred the strings, and they sighed with pleasure under the touch. "She was always wiser than me. I wonder what she would think of me now?"

"What?" Edge grinned impertinence. "You mean your actually having balls, or the fact that you're sleeping with me?" He had to move fast to dodge the pillow that came hurtling towards his head.

"Brat." Edward said, affectionately. "But you're right. I've changed. For the better, I suppose."

"I wonder what my parents would think of me." Edge rested the pillow between his legs, and leaned back against the pile of cushions. "I try to be like my father, but it's so difficult sometimes." He twirled an earring thoughtfully. Edward had been disappointed to discover that the silvery pearls were merely decoration, and concealed no poison or secret compartments. It was just as well they were not venomous, since they were so heavy that they tugged Edge's earlobes down, making them tempting to nibble.

"Your father would not wish you to be like him, I think." Edward sighed, running his fingers down his abdomen. "He would rather you were a good king in your own right."

"But I don't know." Edge exhaled. "So many times, I just wish I could ask him—"

"I know." Edward looked over a tanned shoulder at Edge, and nodded understanding. "I know. But it's too late now, we just have to do what we can."

"Preaching to the choir, I suppose." Edge laid an arm invitingly across the top of the bed, and Edward curled obligingly in the inviting warm hollow provided for him, brushing his hands down Edge's smooth chest, silently counting scars.

"I think he would be proud of you," Edward said at last. His fingers found a particularly nasty mark, jagged along Edge's ribcage. "This is from Rubicant, isn't it."

"Yes." Edge frowned. "How did you know?"

Edward only shrugged, blue eyes deep and serene. Edge didn't inquire further.

"I did what I could to save them," Edge said, softly. "It wasn't enough."

Edward leaned in to kiss the scar, hands splayed over Edge's ribcage as if to play him like his harp. "You did what you could. You avenged them. I'm sure they would not ask for more."

Edge was silent a long time before he brought his arm down to pull Edward in closer, their noses almost touching. "I could ask for more, though." His exotic eyes narrowed with mischief, his mood already changed.

"Could you?" Edward's lips curved faintly, one hand slipping under the pillow in Edge's lap. "Mmmmm." His smile blossomed as Edge leaned back with a contented purr. "So you could."

"Show me what magic is in that mouth of yours," Edge teased, tracing the shape of Edward's smile. "And take your time... I'm a slow learner."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Edward said, dipping his golden head to the juncture of Edge's thighs, his breath cool on flushed skin.

Edge arched up with a carefully controlled intake of breath, legs spreading to grant the harper more room. Edward was thorough, framing Edge's hips in his musician's hands and sounding his lover with utmost skill. Edge let his eyes slide closed in the ultimate gesture of trust; he wondered if Edward realized what it cost his ninja's instinct to do so. They could spend hours at this, once the initial need was spent. It was how they had grown to know each other over the past months, the quiet midnight conversations, each comfortable in the shelter of the other's arms.

"Is this common practice in Damcyan?" Edge queried, after a few moments of appreciative silence.

Edward lifted his head, hair tumbling into his eyes. "For the king to enjoy pleasuring his lover?"

"No... I meant, men, you know."

Edward sat up on his elbows. "Ah. Yes, it's rather common, why? Is it not here?"

Edge chuckled. "You know how vain we all are, what do you think?"

"You must be aware of such sensuality, the way you adorn yourselves." Edward nosed the jewel-strung hoop in Edge's navel. It was not the only such decoration he wore. Jewelry and piercings were popular in Eblan and Edge had several for vanity's sake; but one hidden gold ring was an emblem of his noble status, a mark of royalty worn since birth. Edward was fond of that one, toying with it as he spoke. "I feel rather plain by comparison. Your men of Eblan are more beautiful than the women, if that is possible." He kissed the warm crease of Edge's thigh. "Although I'm sure that has some value as an assassin."

"Beauty is deceiving, by nature." Edge ruffled his lover's bangs. "It is always an advantage."

"Hmm." Edward returned to his ministrations. "Why do you ask, anyway?"

"I was just wondering about... Cecil and Kain."

The noise Edward made in response to that caused Edge to jump, startled by the ticklish sensation. "You must be joking."

"Oh, come on, why not? They were so close before the war... in love with the same woman. And neither one is any shirker in the department of beauty." Edge considered his memory of the two warriors. "I remember being shocked the first time I saw Kain without his helmet. More golden than you, my desert prince. He hardly looked like a minion of darkness. I see no reason why they wouldn't have been lovers."

"Because the Kingdom of Baron is about as torrid as a monk's frock. I've never seen such a nation of prudes." Edward tossed his hair with a sniff of disdain. "Besides, if they were involved, you'd know better than I would. You spent far more time with the two of them. Cecil never confided in me much." There was a touch of injury in his tone, and he lowered his eyes.

"Edward," Edge lifted the bard's head, stroking his thumb along the slightly swollen lower lip. "Were you in love with Cecil?"

"Maybe a little," Edward admitted, and Edge was once again surprised by the honesty. "I was too ashamed of myself to admit it, though. Besides," Edward looked away, smiling wistfully. "It was obvious that his heart was with Rosa, and I was no one to catch his eye."

"I don't see why not," Edge murmured, sitting up and bending down to kiss him, tasting salt and hot sweetness.

"I'm not very brave," Edward gasped, as Edge's mouth moved down his throat.

"It takes a brave man to seduce a ninja," Edge rolled Edward to the other side of the bed, pinning him easily. "And you did so with great expertise."

Edward laughed underneath him, scraping his fingernails down the sleek expanse of Edge's back. "Ah, god, Edge. It was after Cecil and Rosa's wedding; I was so drunk. Couldn't you tell? I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing if I was sober! I don't know how I didn't wake up with a dagger in my back."

"Think me so dangerous, do you?" Edge looked down at his lover, and slid his pale legs between Edward's sungold ones, punctuating his questions with a suggestive push. "Afraid I might run you through?"

"Umm..." Edward lifted his hips in invitation. "God I hope so."

"Let me in." Edge caught Edward behind the knees, folding himself over him. Edward reached down to guide him, arching upward with a moan as Edge slid into him all the way, filling him until it was all either of them could comprehend.

"Edge..."

"'S it good?" Edge braced himself on the ebony headboard as Edward wrapped both legs around him, pulling him closer. "You like it?"

"Don't make me wait." Edward tangled his hands in Edge's rich hair, his breath coming too fast.

"Show me," Edge demanded, impatient already and moving his hips so hard that the gauzy dark bed curtains trembled loose from their ties and floated down around them.

Edward obediently put both hands between his legs, a low sound in his throat as he touched himself. "nnn... Edge..."

"So pretty," Edge breathed, not closing his eyes this time as the bard squirmed underneath him, desperate for release. "Let me see."

"Edge—I—" Edward's smooth voice broke, both hands moving greedily between their straining bodies.

Edge snapped his hips up hard, making Edward cry out as he was forced open even further, Edge buried deep inside him and pressing some hidden place, coaxing. "Sing for me, harper." Edge lowered his head, knuckles white on the headboard. "Spill your music for me."

"Edge—"

"That's it..."

"I can't..."

"Yeah you can, c'mon."

"Edge... Edge... nnn!!"

Edge tensed as Edward tightened around him, warm liquid spattering over his skin.

"...yes..." Edge went perfectly still for an instant, eyes shut tightly as he felt himself slide away into the heat of Edward's body, leaving only a contented, warm pulse between his legs. He managed to pull away instead of collapsing on top of the exhausted bard, curling on his side in the blessedly cool sheets. For a moment they lay there, chests heaving for air, sweat cooling on their skin.

"If my Chamberlain knew about this—" Edge began, breathlessly.

"He'd use it as grounds for political alliance." Edward grinned, rolling over on his side to let the breeze touch his damp back. "Sex is marvelously good for preventing wars."

"As well as for causing them." Edge shifted to look up at the King of Damcyan. "I've always hated paperwork, so how about this. We'll enjoy each other's company as long as we damn well please, and promise not to get into any wars in the meantime."

"Damcyan has ever been a peaceful nation," Edward said, fondling one of Edge's silver beringed nipples. "But I'm quite fond of your proposal."

"It does give us a reason to continue," Edge grinned. "State security and all that."

"Mmm." Edward stretched luxuriously. "I do like these political councils, don't you?"

"Good to be King," Edge sighed, scooting into his pillow. "How long will you stay?"

"I fear I must leave in the morning."

"So soon?" Edge frowned. "You just got here."

"I know, I know," Edward failed to cover his smirk. "But you see, the King of Damcyan is coming here tomorrow on a formal visit, and I'd hate to be in the way."

Edge blinked. "You're... but you... wait a minute!"

"You should look at your schedule more closely, Your Majesty." Edward purred. "It's been planned for months. Besides, did you think I would come all this way and miss the chance to flirt with you during a formal banquet? I so love to watch you squirm." Edward licked his fingers. "Not to mention your local dishes are quiet delectable."

"Then the King of Damcyan better have a good excuse for the black eye he's gonna wear tomorrow!" Edge lunged towards Edward in a mock attack, but the bard was too busy giggling to defend.

"Ah! H-hold! I yield, I yield, don't kill me."

Edge's response was to mercilessly raspberry the bard on his flat stomach, which made him laugh even harder, and threatened to give him the hiccups. "I should have you put on the rack," Edge grumbled, but he was smiling.

"Why," Edward wheezed, belatedly pulling up the sheet to defend his exposed tummy, "when you have already perfected such an effective means of torture?"

"I suppose," Edge said, thoughtfully, "I can give Rydia the time she asks for."

Edward nodded, content. "That does give us more time together, you know. Once we both have queens this will—"

"Don't remind me," Edge sank down with a yawn. "It's too depressing."

"I promise to still visit, lover mine." Edward reached out to brush Edge's hair from his face, smiling as the ninja's shoulders relaxed, his breathing evening into the slower cadence of slumber. "Treaties occasionally need revising."

"mmm..." Edge managed with obvious effort to open one indigo eye. "So was that ballad about me just part of the ruse to get in here, or not?"

"Ach, love, but you hate having verses sung for you, don't you?" Edward smoothed the inky black eyebrows until the frown went out of them.

"Sing for me anyway," Edge murmured. "You have a sweet voice."

So Edward sang for him in the violet early morning, quiet as the dawn crept up on the castle of Eblan, the notes like unstrung pearls without the accompaniment of his harp, sending Edge into sleep. On the floor Dreamer's strings shivered with magical sympathy. Edward's song dwindled into the sound of the morning tide and the dawn, and like moonlight and sunshine the two kings slept, each curled in the other's shadow.