Integrity

By Eva Caye

These three novellas in the To Be Sinclair series define the safety of the Imperial Family's stargate scientists, the extent to which they owe obedience to their Emperor, and the influence the Imperials hold over the Royals.

Fearless: Prince Ricky has had few relationships due to his depression, but amazingly, he finds a lady who understands how to deal with it. Unfortunately, does his acceptance of death define his relationship with his mother, the director of the Stargate Institute?

Deliver Us from Evil: Prince Roman and Prince David are taken to task for their inability to commit to a lady. As stargate professionals, though, they must be extra careful in starting relationships. How does Roman help his cousin David come to an acceptance of his duties, and what happens when the Emperor provokes him beyond all reason?

Evolve with Resolve: Princess Kayla Pierson-Sinclair longs for a lover, as well as a future beyond her currently dull but important position as the Emperor's social director. Just before the wedding of her long-time friend, Lady Elisha Wooldridge, Kayla meets Elisha's brother, Lord Graham, whose autism has been given as the excuse for him to be cut out of the Wooldridge succession. Kayla comes to the realization that Graham's been more misunderstood than anything, and just one highly romantic kiss from him is enough to make her long for him in her bed!

As they try to get together, Graham's family tries to keep them apart, worried that Kayla is just toying with him. And, as she grows to understand their family dynamic, Kayla gets just that much more determined to emancipate him from the Wooldridge family entirely.

Graham's issues lie deeper than the perceptual problems of autism, however. Will Kayla ever discover the cause of Graham's PTSD? And will their families accept their desire to be together?

Note: This book contains sexual situations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eva Caye
• Release date: Feb 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370164738

Eva Caye

After a health crisis forced Eva Caye to re-evaluate her life, she took up her favorite hobby, writing, to find meaning and inspiration once more. Five years of obsessive writing, research, and finding ways to pay for an editor led to thirteen books in the To Be Sinclair series. Eva's current works-in-progress are two prequels set about 100 years in the future. The To Be Sinclair series consists of science fiction romance novels that focus on a future some 600 years from now. In the Sinclair 'universe', humanity has spread to over 100 planets, with all the concomitant travails such as how colonies set up governments, how they travel and trade among the stars, and how they unite, and fight, for power. Yet one of the most important decisions anyone can make is choosing a life-partner; these novels specifically address the personal needs of the main characters, to show how progressive, benevolent rulers struggle to find the love and support of people willing to live with the dangers of being Imperial. Eva lives with her magnificent husband in Louisville, Kentucky.

Book preview

INTEGRITY

Eva Caye

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9781370164738

Copyright 2018 Eva Caye

Discover other titles by Eva Caye at

https://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/501

DIGNITY

MAJESTY

FEALTY

ROYALTY

DYNASTY

LOYALTY

Evan’s Ladies

NOBILITY

MORALITY

FIDELITY

ABILITY

CIVILITY

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover art photos from Deposit Photos by the following contributors: Andrew Ostrovsky; Dmitry Tsvetkov; curaphotography.

Edited by: Tracy Seybold

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes, copied, or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied for reviews.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication: to my nephew Rob,

who never stopped believing

Books in the To Be Sinclair series:

Book One: Dignity, in which a wallflower becomes Empress of the Sinclair Demesnes

Book Two: Majesty, in which the Empress becomes the most important person in the galaxy

Book Three: Fealty, in which the Prince Second defines the real meanings of love and brotherhood

Book Four: Royalty, in which the Crown Prince learns to build lasting romantic and interplanetary relationships

Book Five: Dynasty, in which three Princes discover what it means to carry legacies into the future

Book Six: Loyalty, in which three Imperial siblings analyze the sacrifices made by others and themselves to keep the Empire afloat

Book Seven: Evan’s Ladies, in which the youngest Imperial Son struggles with the deadly caprice of fate

Book Eight: Nobility, in which the Heir to Sinclair deals with his vastly expanded duties as he inspires the Galaxy

Book Nine: Morality, in which a Princess becomes the power behind the Imperial Throne

Book Ten: Fidelity, in which an angry young Prince chooses between his Emperor and his principles

Book Eleven: Ability, in which a Princess masters her unusual innate talents while combating a mysterious threat

Book Twelve: Integrity, in which three Imperial scions unexpectedly brandish their hidden brilliance for their cousin the Emperor

Book Thirteen: Civility, in which two Imperial Princesses risk life and limb to bring attention to a critical development threatening the galaxy.

Fearless

Prince Enrique ‘Ricky’ Encino-Sinclair took a glass of wine from a servant’s tray at the Imperial Ball while watching his cousin Brielle intimidate the men flocking to meet her. It was almost amusing, although he knew she didn’t really appreciate the attention. Her totally buff body and straightforward ways had been honed to perfection as an officer in the Service, and the rumors of her recent self-defense against four men trying to haze her had drawn the rabid attention of every single Royal man in the Demesnes.

If only he could find a lady as awesome as his vivacious cousins! That thought made him finish his wine quickly, lest he get stuck in a mind-rut again.

He turned to leave the Crown Prince’s pavilion simply to avoid the spectacle of Brielle trying to make nice to men who had previously avoided her for being such an outlier and made for one of the small tables used to deposit empty glasses and plates, near the booths along the eastern promenade of the Imperial ballroom. The crowd around the booths was so thick he had to ask a lady to move so he could set his glass on that side table. Pardon me.

She didn’t seem to hear him, so he repeated himself even louder, and then he had to get the next lady’s attention. As she moved to the side, he stretched his arm past her to deposit the glass and noticed his brother. David was playing My Turn with their cousins Roman, Domenic, Lynette, Desiree, Veronica, and who knows how many other cousins already out on the dance floor.

David espied him and waved at him. Ricky! Come join us! He indicated the end of the bench closest to the pavilions, and a few ladies moved out of his way to let him sit down.

Ricky had never played My Turn with them; it seemed ridiculously fake to pick a dance partner from the people crowding around them just so the next cousin or sibling could then choose a dance partner. He was bored, though, so he slid in companionably and listened in to the repartee between his fellow Imperial Clan members and the eager flocks of Royals surrounding them.

David downed the rest of his drink, set it on the next side table, and asked a lady to dance. As he left and the rest of them slid down the bench, Samantha came up from a dance to take Ricky’s previous spot.

One of the bolder debs asked, What have you been doing lately, Prince Ricky? We never hear about your doings.

Ricky pasted on a smile. I know. I just get so involved in my artwork that I totally lose track of time and tend to forget things like upcoming events.

A lady probably his age said, There was talk recently about one of your tapestries being mounted in the Museum of Wonders.

Yes, I submitted it for the World Fair anonymously, although I don’t know whether they’d discovered it was me by the time they’d judged it. Have you seen it?

No; I’d just heard about it. She nattered on for a bit about something else until someone asked Domenic a question, since it was his turn.

Still, since she had taken the effort to speak to him, Ricky took her out for a couple of dances when it was his turn. Returning to the booth, he saw a few more cousins had joined the game. He squeezed onto the end of the bench to watch how his brother, now third in line, charmed the ladies.

By the time Ricky had taken his third dance, the booth was much less crowded as his cousins either found dance partners for the night or other amusements. He sat and admired David’s game as his brother invited two of the ladies to sit with him, arms around them both. They appeared to be friends, and from their innuendos, they were willing to both be David’s partners for the night, together.

Ricky snorted at the thought. He knew David had no intention of bedding another Royal for a good, long while, if ever, preferring his commoner girlfriends. Whereas Ricky had been without a partner for two years, now, sick of pretending to be an exciting Imperial just to bed a lady who didn’t really care about him beyond his stature.

You look sad, Prince Ricky. The pretty brunette ignored an elbow to the ribs from one of her friends.

I’m not too bad tonight, actually. He took a sip of his drink before explaining, I suffer a lot of depression, which can really make me sad.

The confusion on his audience’s faces was notable, so he used the moment as a teaching opportunity. Depression is a total lack of energy, not an emotion. It’s a physical thing, sometimes so bad that it can even impair perceptions. There’s many a day I’ve lain in bed in a dark room because I didn’t have the energy to even perceive my surroundings, crying because I couldn’t do the things I wanted to get done.

Oh. That’s so sad. By the looks all around, no one cared to learn about his disability, much less Brunette Babe. One lady near the next booth heaved a heavy sigh that actually sounded genuine before turning away.

Ricky shrugged. If they judged him for speaking openly about it, he figured they weren’t people he cared to know, anyway. He turned his face in time to see David, arms around both ladies, whisper in the nearest one’s ear; she turned her face toward him with twinkling eyes and an eyebrow cocked in speculation.

God; that’s all he needed, his brother lining up ladies for him to bed. Since it had been two years, though, and since David appeared to be going out of his way for it, Ricky half-smiled at the lady in question.

He soon had her out in a dance and asked her name. Josie Cheval. Second-gen.

Like that matters to me? He was unsurprised to see a grin sprout on her face at that declaration. Why do ladies always mention that, anyway? Is it really something you judge so severely?

Lips parted, Josie batted her eyes. Well, yeah, I guess we do. We’re always ranking each other.

Well, I think it’s rather silly. I’d much rather know about a lady’s interests and doings than about her position in her family. Offering her his most genuine smile, Ricky listened to her chirp about her job as a wedding planner, wondering if that line was going to work for him for the rest of his life.

Still, she was pleasant enough company, although the ‘wedding planner’ job sounded grotesque, living according to a lady’s pique over every little thing. He offered her a second dance before escorting her back to the booth, and David.

Seating himself beside Desiree, with Josie to his other side, Ricky got into a bit of a conversation with his cousin before noticing that one lady, the one who had sighed, still by the next booth, gazing equally at the Imperials and the people on the dance floor. He realized she hadn’t spoken to anyone, all evening as far as he could remember, and didn’t seem to be hanging out with any particular friends.

The next time she looked his way, he smiled and gave her a little wave of his hand. She blinked at him before he grinned, then pointed to herself in disbelief that an Imperial would pay attention to her. Black waves reached past her ears in a stylish bob, and her slender silk gown highlighted her curves.

Ricky nodded. How are you doing? I’ve seen you over there all night, it seems.

Fine, thank you, Your Highness. She bobbed her head.

Josie elbowed him, so he leaned toward her. She whispered in his ear, You don’t want to talk to her, really.

Why not?

She’s a liar and got her father in trouble ages ago.

What happened?

Ricky listened as Josie spoke about how Lady Clara St. Stevens had accused her father, Lord Joel St. Stevens, of molestation when she was fifteen. She’s been shunned ever since, about seven or eight years, now. Men won’t date her because they’re afraid she’ll accuse them of sexual misconduct, and we ladies hate her because she’s given us all a bad reputation.

I don’t understand. If he molested her, surely he should be turned in for it.

The way Josie rolled her eyes and huffed in indignation made him decide he didn’t want to bed her even if she came on to him. "Story is, he’s third-gen, a physical therapist in their duchy, and wouldn’t hurt a fly. She’d asked him to rub her back because it ached, then she said he touched her butt and she felt molested.

She told a couple of girls in school, the rumor spread, and Duke St. Stevens called him to St. Stevens House to ascertain the truth. It was the first he’d heard of it, and he explained what had happened, that he had rubbed her back and if he had actually touched her butt, it would’ve been an accident or something incidental he couldn’t even remember, like his forearm brushing against her. He was so blown away by the accusation that he moved out of their house and didn’t have anything to do with her ever again, even though his wife begged him not to leave.

But why would she make an untrue accusation?

To get attention, probably. Who knows? Josie shrugged. "Everyone says Lord Joel is the sweetest man you could ever meet, that there was no way he would harm anyone, much less—that.

But it was quite a scandal, and everyone in the surrounding duchies all of a sudden had to take these harassment classes in school, and all the guys were suddenly afraid of asking anyone out. Her name got passed around pretty quickly as the cause of it all.

That’s certainly better than eight years of getting harassed by the average guy on the street, though.

Josie harrumphed. She ran bad for a few years. Drove her mother crazy and probably screwed up her baby brother. I totally wonder who sponsored her to come to the ball, anyway, because the duke won’t have anything to do with her.

Ricky noticed Clara wasn’t there anymore. Sounds like she’s got mental problems.

Oh, yeah, tons of ‘em. Josie snuggled under his arm. But why talk about her when you have a real live woman in your arms?

Despite his previous decision, Ricky found Josie quite willing to accompany him to David’s double-suite for a visit, where he kept the second bedroom for Ricky. Not ten minutes later, she was giving him oral sex, so he eventually invited her to his bedroom to return the favor. Her spicy tang made him label her Gingersnap in his mind.

When they got fully undressed, he was unable to actually penetrate her. I guess I drank too much. Shrugging it off as he lay back against the pillows, he wondered, You surely don’t need more than one orgasm a night, do you?

Josie huffed in that sardonic way again. No, it’s nice to have one in the first place. Thank you for that.

She snuggled up to him and rested her head on his shoulder. I should probably leave soon, though. The duke won’t stay past the demi, so I should get down there by 26:30 when they start rounding us up for the motorcade.

That proved his suspicion that this was just another meaningless liaison. I think I’ve had enough of the dance, and I don’t need to get even more drunk. Let me walk you back to the ballroom. He made small talk while they redressed.

When they made it to the corridor leading directly to the Imperial Ballroom, a few of her friends came out of the ladies’ restroom and greeted her, eyeing Ricky with a bit of surprise. He managed to thank Josie and leave a kiss on her cheek before turning back and heading for a lift.

He had Sentinels fly him home to the Stargate Compound, tore off his tux again, and lay sprawl-assed naked on his bed without turning down the covers, wondering if he would ever find a lady who could make life worth living again.

The chasm opened wide as the blackness engulfed him, and he sank into it without effort. As his thoughts slowed to glue, he almost cared that he couldn’t even move to get under the covers, but soon he didn’t even care about that.

◊ Two Months Later ◊

Ricky hadn’t planned to go to the Continental Arts Festival this year, but he was between projects and felt drained of ideas. He put his projected visit out on the Family Line and discovered Samantha was willing to go with him.

They had four visible Sentinels and four discreet ones who were actually husband and wife teams, dressed in regular street clothes and planning to stick relatively close beside them.

This is the first time I’ve attended, so I’m hoping we get to see every booth. Samantha peered out at the buildings they were passing.

Not likely. Ricky fiddled with his collar, top button undone with no tie. If it’s anything like usual, there’ll be about a thousand booths in two wings of the building, and we’d need two days to see them all if we only spent one minute at each booth.

How can you get anything done at one of these fairs, then?

Most booths you can glance at, know you don’t want or need anything they offer, and move on. Occasionally, I’ll get one of the cards and jot some info down, paints I might get or a photographer I might hire. I’ll just nab a business card and look them up online later, unless they have something really different and I want to ask questions.

What qualifies as ‘really different’?

Ricky shrugged. Last time I went, there was a vendor who took wire designs and layered colors of moving liquid around them in some kind of poly film. The wires led to a control box that sent impulses through them, and the colors would change. Pretty impractical way to do things, but you could have a moving design in pastels of a morning and a different one in blues and greens for the evening. A novelty, to be sure, but not one I expect to become much more than a fad.

How long have you been coming to this festival?

Since I was nineteen. This’ll be my eighth show.

One of the Sentinels reminded them they would be beside and behind them, with the undercover couple to their other side as they took each aisle. You don’t have to stay together, but it would be much safer if you don’t stray too far from each other.

Okay. Thank you. Samantha looked out the window again. I wonder if I’ll see anyone I know?

Remember Patrick’s ex, Darlene Neville? She usually has a booth. She’s a McGuiness, now.

Samantha’s eyes opened wide. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be a jeweler at an art fair.

Well, she makes bespoke designs and doesn’t have a regular shop. I don’t think she’s been in much demand since Patrick broke up with her, though. I wonder how much her husband supports her, or she him?

Three hours later, they came across Darlene’s booth, with hard shell sides separating it from its neighbors and two assistants to take items from a display down to show an interested buyer. Darlene was actually behind a large projection screen that showed the attendees the project she was currently designing; the camera feed was below the gel bath that supported the gemstones as she moved them about. She stood up from her seat to greet them cheerfully, though, and began an animated discussion with Samantha as Ricky moved on.

Near the end of the row, he spotted a booth promoting the photographs of Lady Clara St. Stevens, who chatted merrily with her adoring crowd. All the photographs of her were provocative, although she had kept her clothes on or covered parts with scarves and the like. A few of the scenes were exquisitely set up, and he found himself staring at them.

One particular indoor shot showed lighting on half of her face and body, leaning over with her upper body and right leg projected forward; she was blowing someone a kiss with her right hand, cleavage highly visible. The other side of her body, in the dark with the merest reflection of light in the background, showed the silhouette of her holding her left hand to either her stomach or her groin; it was hard to see with her rear end pointing away from the camera, but it implied she was protecting herself from harm. The overall silhouette reflected a woman secretly being tortured, compared to the symbol of a loving gesture as her visible or public side.

Oddly enough, the more typical seductive photographs were prominently displayed, such as the Snow White one, with this one like an afterthought on the wall in the rear of the booth. Another couple of photographs were with it but Clara wasn’t the subject. They showed the same type of subtle yet poignant symbolism found in the kissing photo, and a plump but finely dressed lady with medium-length plain brown hair sat at a small table in front of them.

Prince Ricky! Clara had seen him over the crowd, giving him a little wave.

The commoners made an aisle between her and him, so he figured he could at least ask her about her photographer, since they expected him to go talk to her. His visible Sentinels accompanied him and moved the crowd back with gestures of their arms.

Ricky held out his hand to shake and noticed how she quickly grabbed it with both hands to show more familiarity than just a simple handshake. Hello. He offered her a bland smile.

So good to see you again! She leaned over the table as if they were very good friends, almost as if she expected a kiss in greeting.

Instead, he took back his hand and pointed with his head toward that photo in the background. I was wondering who your photographer was for that picture.

Clara glanced back but immediately turned forward again. Oh, that. My sister took that. She’s studying media arts at Imperial University. She indicated her flashier photos near the front. "My regular photographer is Jaime York, whose work was used in last year’s Fab Frenzy campaign and Layne Ryder’s ads in the Royal Scout magazine."

As she chatted, Ricky espied the lady in the background, staring at him with no expression whatsoever. When Clara came to the end of a sentence, he tilted his head toward her. Is that your sister?

Clara swept her hair behind one ear. Yes, she’s here to help out, though I have yet to see her do anything. She sniffed in disgust.

Sensing he wasn’t about to get introduced to her, Ricky picked up one of the promotional flyers on the table, as well as Clara’s business card. Good luck to you. He nodded politely at Clara but smiled wistfully at the sister, who blinked.

He would get his Sentinels to find out the sister’s name. Her work showed a great sensitivity to light and color schemes, ones that would work well for tapestries.

He wondered if he could see her portfolio of work. Maybe she would have a photo he could copy in tapestry form….

◊ ◊ ◊

Centennial Bridge, the only original structure left on Sinclair Demesne, lent its name to a dozen nearby businesses. The Centennial Conference Center sported a modern high-rise apartment building and hotel beside three bulbous roofs over an arena, an exhibition center, and a combination of conference areas, theaters, shopping center, and a food court. Ricky’s Sentinel contact said Lady Christine St. Stevens probably selected it because she lived just across the bridge, in a less-expensive neighborhood than most Urban District residential areas.

His Sentinels whisked him through a back door into a nearby service lift that could have held a grand piano. His undercover Sentinel, who had set up the meeting, ran a hand through his hair. We swept the area, but this is such a high-profile building that I’m antsy about this excursion.

Ricky sighed. It isn’t like I’m the most important Imperial, you know. Who would care to target me? I’m not responsible for anything, and everyone thinks I’m mental, anyway.

That’s not true. And besides, they could target you to get your mother to respond, the man argued.

But we’ve all been trained to be sacrifices in that instance. Mother would never, ever give out any secrets of stargate technology, even if my life were threatened. And I wouldn’t want her to.

As Ricky eyed the man, he wondered what the average commoner thought about his family. Did they still think well of Father, the most famous fashion designer Sinclair Demesne had ever seen? Those few who knew him to be responsible for the death of Crown Prince Zhaiden, Ricky’s most beloved uncle, as well as himself and the deaths of five other people, did they curse him? Trust me, death doesn’t mean the same to me that it does to others.

The lift’s doors opened, causing the man to shut his gaping mouth and barge out into the corridor. His first visible Sentinel peered into the corridor and waited for the man’s all-clear signal before beckoning Ricky to exit. He set aside his thoughts about death as he strode to the conference room he’d had them reserve for this meeting.

Lady Christine was already there, portfolio to hand, at a long conference table that could seat thirty people. Her eyes widened to see him, and she rose out of her seat to curtsey. Your Highness.

Ricky approached hand-first. Please, let’s dispense with formality. Call me Ricky, and may I call you Christine?

Shaking his hand, she smiled. I actually go by Chris. Her gentle laugh caused her notable bosom to bounce. Her soft silk tunic-blouse was cinched with a chain-link belt, and she unapologetically wore stylish pants over elegant but practical pumps. I never imagined it would be you.

Yes, well, I was absolutely blown away by that photo of your sister blowing the kiss. What did you title it? He held out a chair for her, then took off his overcoat as his Sentinels stationed themselves around the room.

Her eyes bore an impish look, as if checking his reaction. "In public, I call it Cupid, but in my mind, I think Cupidity. Or otherwise waver between Janus and Diana."

Ricky barked a few laughs while seating himself. Wow. That’s deep. He noticed how Chris’s face reflected her surprise and pleasure that he had caught all the subtle inferences in her statement. Greed or desire, a two-faced god representing transitions, and a virgin huntress to whom women enigmatically pray for children. Though I think you’ve pegged her, um, imperfectly, given her reputation as a black sheep.

Chris snorted. The evil huntress, then. You wouldn’t believe some of the things she’s done to try to attract a man. The sudden, caustic look on her face nearly singed Ricky’s mind with the heat behind it. He was especially surprised because most people routinely hid their true feelings from Imperials, hoping not to stand out as negative.

That bitter remark made Ricky snort, but he changed to a more pleasant subject. I often struggle with how to name pieces, too. I wonder if that’s common? I know one fellow at Master Gendron’s workshop always had to have the title in mind before he knew what he was going to say with his piece.

She shrugged. I knew what I wanted to represent, but man, did she whine about it. ‘Why do you have to have my hand just so?’ and ‘Why does my left leg have to be so far behind?’ I thought I’d go mad before I finished. Her face had turned remarkably ugly with the acerbic mimicry, ending with that sullen confession.

As Ricky snorted again, she unleashed the most glorious smile upon him. Mercurial shifts in mood? Deep, abiding bitterness toward pretentiousness? He suddenly realized he might have met his soul mate.

Let’s get to business, shall we? He nodded toward her portfolio. I’m in need of inspiration, and I admired the non-Clara photos you had on display. Show me what you’ve brought.

Chris must have had fifty quality photographs printed up on commercial art paper, separated by fine, acid-free paper. The subject matter of most of them was of living beings, either people or animals, although a few were of objects performing some kind of movement, like the open scissors in mid-throw about to strike a shabby chair.

Do you sell many photographs?

Ah, no. She seemed embarrassed. I’m in my final year at University. I’ve only sold a few of my student works at the university’s arts fairs.

A pity. You’d have undoubtedly been more successful than your sister, at least with the true artists. Looking over some of the photos, he blithely remarked, It’d be a damn shame if your work were used for something as prole as an ad campaign.

A glance at her made him realize he had caused her heart to skip a beat or three. Thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

What, not even your teachers?

Not even. All they do is find fault.

They must be idiots, then. He grinned at her subsequent laughter, made several decisions, and promptly began acting upon them.

After buying half of her prints for a standard market price that left her eyes bulging out, Ricky invited Chris over to the Stargate Compound to ostensibly look over the damascening in the ballroom. We don’t use it for much more than the Fêtes, anymore. Maybe a small convention or notable funeral. We hosted Liana Bessette’s funeral there last year, though I wasn’t able to personally borrow any of her paintings; they all went back to the museums that lent them.

Can I bring my camera?

Absolutely. Rising, he indicated to his undercover Sentinel to put the collection of photos into a hastily-unfolded travel portfolio. Maybe you can teach me the basics.

Anytime. She stood and grinned wholeheartedly when he kissed her hand, eyes twinkling and face radiant with joy. While looking at him. Because of him.

It felt like his heart grew into a huge bubble that encompassed them both. A sound from one Sentinel caused them to abruptly become aware that he was still holding her hand.

As she blinked away her previous fascination, he knew he had to get to know her better. Do you… go out much?

Sometimes with friends, but mostly just to do photography.

That surely meant she didn’t have a boyfriend. How about Saturday around 14:00? Tour the Stargate Compound, a lesson in photography, maybe dinner?

That would be great. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. Dress appropriately.

What do you mean by that?

Her smile was coy, now. You think I could bring my camera to the former Palace and not photograph my host?

I could use some new portraits. Thanks for the warning. I’ll have Sentinel pick you up at 14:00.

It would be… pretentious, or somehow fake, if he were to kiss her hand again. But the urge to prolong this moment was strong. Can we drop you off at your house?

She blinked as if in apprehension. Sure.

He helped her into her thick wool cape before donning his overcoat. On the way to the ground car, he kept up a little monologue, murmuring cues as to procedures the Sentinels had to perform when an Imperial was traveling. In the back of the ground car, they chatted about the December weather and the Landfall River as they made it over the bridge to a comparatively small apartment complex, a mere five stories instead of nearby ones towering ten or more.

See you on Saturday. He put his hand on her upper arm and bent to place a kiss on her cheek.

The look of awe she gave him at that gesture made him wonder if she had ever had a boyfriend at all. Could she possibly still be a virgin?

He paused when he realized he’d never taken an overweight lady to his bed. It really didn’t matter, although it might be interesting to experience. Looking into her eyes, he unleashed his most honest smile and cherished hers in return.

Once the Sentinel had opened the door, she hustled into the building through winter’s chill. As they left her building, Ricky stroked his beard while trying to remember the last time he had felt such anticipation. Years, certainly.

When he reached the Stargate Compound, he realized he had spent the entire drive home simply dwelling on her visage, fully as beautiful as her wannabe model of a conceited sister.

◊ ◊ ◊

Let me see! Chris took the camera from him and pointed to the viewfinder. You did pretty well, except you cut off the very top of my head and part of my left hand. A designer would probably pass it by; if they only needed part of the picture, they might buy it, but they’d prefer photos that have as much of the body available as possible, in case they need to tweak their design.

But I did get your eyes in the top third of the pic, Ricky pointed out.

Yes, but that’s one of the absolute basics, one that should be automatic. There’s tons of tricks like that you can read up on. A lot of schools make you take an entrance exam to see if you know the basics in the first place before they let you study with them.

Looking around the South Wing’s solarium, she pointed out the way the afternoon sunlight streamed through the southern windows. Since it’s starting to hit the eastern wall more, let’s go over there to see what kind of perspective shots we can get with the light. She pointed to the southwestern corner of the room.

Okay. He touched her back with his hand to escort her. I usually try to avoid that area of the salon, though.

Oh? Why’s that?

You’ll see. His eyes turned down as he wondered how she would respond to the biggest tapestry he’d ever finished.

She chattered a bit but fell silent as they approached and eventually halted in her tracks. Oh. She tried to choke back her tears, but they spilled down her cheeks to fall on her stylish silk scarf.

I finished that four years ago. Mother thinks I’m wasting it by displaying it here, but it’s still… too private to expose to the world.

The tapestry wasn’t a floor-to-ceiling one, but it was larger than most, depicting a man lying in a meadow of thick, green plants and a few creatures observing him. He had deliberately pointed the man’s face away from the viewer so the observer couldn’t tell whether it was his father or his uncle Zhaiden. They had died with five other people, including his sister Teresita, in a gazebo overwintering a large number of plants. He had hoped to represent the man in a peaceful environment, a witness to nature as animals witnessed him.

What do you call it?

"I think I’ve settled on Solace."

Chris wiped at her tears. I like that. I’m glad you didn’t… represent their deaths. But you rather did, since the roa bird is the only movement in the entire scene. Glancing at him, she gulped. I heard you took it badly.

"I was seventeen. They brought in Teresita first, and I don’t remember much after that. But I only really got my first good glimpse of Father and Zhaiden at the funeral, side by side because they’d always been the greatest friends.

Mother got me into the Mayfield Arts Academy for the rest of my senior year, since I seemed to respond well to art therapy. We did all kinds of things there, not just fiber arts but ceramics, paints, enamels. Everything but photography.

Chris was still staring at the scene. Still, you developed a strong eye for perspective. And that’s an unparalleled work of symbolism, too. Absolutely epic.

That quiet murmur meant more to him than an army of art critics praising him to the skies; the latter could have been faked, but the former was her truest opinion, delivered without any kind of forethought, almost unconsciously. Thank you. That means a lot to me.

She glanced around. I’d like to get a photo of you with that in the background. How about we drag that chair over to it?

Where would we put it?

She indicated a spot. If we put it just inside the sunshine but have that lamp pointed toward the tapestry, it would make you stand out but also leave the viewer a clear view of the tapestry.

They moved the overcarved arm chair into place, and Ricky settled into the seat, moving incrementally as Chris directed him to brace his chin on his fist with the elbow on the arm of the chair, or sit back formally, or lean back with an arm casually draped across part of the chair or even part of his body. She must have taken a hundred shots before she let him get up.

Wow. That was really intense. He approached her as she reviewed the last few shots in her viewscreen. I can’t believe how hard you focus, but I understand it. When you’re intent upon a scene, you go into this other world, and time falls away.

She grinned into his face. That’s it, exactly. I lose myself in the process.

That grin of hers made him fight an incipient erection. How could he get her in his arms? Are we done here? Would you like to see the ballroom now? Pointing the way, he touched her back in escort again, a formal familiarity if there ever was one.

As Ricky described the features of the ballroom, Chris took various snapshots but not a hundred over one single feature. The lighting’s too poor, even with that glass vault. I bet it’s glorious when the lights are on, though.

Oh, yes. We have lasers that play off the glass coatings on the vault.

Wow. I’d love to see it. Those dreamy words weren’t consciously spoken, either, as her head tilted back to gaze at the vault.

You should come to a party here, then. Ricky grinned as she came back to the present and stared at him, startled. He held out his hand like a gallant. Shall we dance, milady?

Chris huffed a laugh. Why, certainly, Your Highness. Taking his hand, she smiled full in his face as he began singing la-la-la to a tune and dancing her around the floor.

Today she was wearing a fine blue blouse and a pencil skirt cut to flatter her ample hips, with the camera’s strap hanging around her neck and between her breasts holding down the fold of that infinity scarf, unfortunately also hiding her cleavage. As his eyes returned to her face and he drowned in that lovely smile, he slowed his movements until they stopped. When he drew her close, bending to kiss her, her camera bumped into his chest.

They laughed together as she took it off and hung it on her shoulder. Were we dancing, or what?

Or what, I believe. Ricky took her in his arms for that first delicious kiss. Mint, and something sweet, probably for dessert at lunch. He inhaled her aroma, a fluffy, creamy floral scent, as if she were wearing a vanilla rose ice cream cone. And the squishiness of her body certainly intrigued him, like burrowing into a giant bosom—

She abruptly broke off the kiss, casting her eyes aside like a proper Royal lady and pulling slightly away from his body. It was as if someone had physically broken their contact by sliding a giant hand between them.

Is something wrong?

Melting out of his hands, she fumbled to pull her camera’s cord back over her head to sit diagonally like a sash. I’m sorry; I don’t always know how best to respond to situations.

Well, I thought you were responding just fine. He wondered why his jest only elicited a slight smile from her as she adjusted the strap to a greater length.

After watching her fiddle with the camera’s placement on her body, he thought he might have figured it out. Taking one of her hands, he asked, Do you really think I couldn’t possibly be attracted to you?

She stiffened, owl eyes blinking into his face. It took her nearly a minute before she whispered, No, not really.

He grinned outright. "Ah! So, you think I could be attracted to you. He grinned some more, arms gathering her in as she laughed in giddy surprise. Because I am, naturally, or you wouldn’t be here and you certainly wouldn’t be in my arms."

Her face eventually settled into a kind of warm determination. Still, you virtually promised me you’d be ready for some portraits. And I have an idea for a good one.

She pulled him back to the solarium, almost all the way over to his tapestry, then made him face the room while she sketched her idea in the air. You can sit near the window, and the sunshine streaming into the room will illuminate your face clearly as you stare out at the gardens for the first pic. But then I want to move back a few meters to capture some of the room for a full-body portrait. And finally, I want to stand way over here to show a lonely man, sitting in a huge room decorated with vast wealth but brooding over the natural setting as if he felt like he couldn’t expose himself to the weather for some reason, or empathized with the winter’s empty, bitter cold.

I love it. His heart pounded madly. God, that has to be the greatest idea for a portrait I’ve ever heard about.

A triptych, she replied absently, already adjusting the grav-balance feature to hold the camera steady on a vertical axis. Which settee, do you think?

They selected the settee and positioned it, then she had him take a position facing the sun but at an angle so that when she moved back, she would get a straight shot with no other pieces of furniture or artwork in her way. Ricky nestled himself in the corner of the settee, angled south-southwest, and composed himself for the photo as Chris directed, head up but chin pointed slightly down, looking as if from under his eyebrows at the winter scenery just outside.

He heard her taking multiple shots, pausing for some adjustment, then more pics, finally moving back a few meters for the full-body portrait. Okay, now, left leg propped up, right leg slouched toward me…. Click-click-click. Now, take your right hand and brace it on the settee…. Click-click-click. Ball up the fist of your right hand, and prop it on the seat with your elbow bracing you against the back…. More snaps.

Now, try to act natural once I move across the room.

Ricky sighed, suddenly sick of this activity. Why did she have to even give the instruction to act natural? He stared out the window, wondering whether it was worth faking any emotion to create a work of art. Wasn’t that what art was supposed to do, express emotions, one’s truest emotions?

He sighed again, hearing the distant clicks. He thought he had been attracted to her, but the darkness was creeping up again, drowning out all the cares in the world, leaving him feeling as bleak as the wintry garden landscape he was allegedly contemplating.

As the tendrils of the void sucked the thoughts from his mind, he slouched, but the settee wasn’t tall enough to support his head. He eventually propped his chin on his left fist with his elbow on the settee’s arm, settling into the internal darkness even as he stared at the quiet winter afternoon. Tiring even of that, he opened his left hand and hid his eyes from the sun.

He had completely forgotten she was in the room until the sound of someone closing the huge floor-to-ceiling drapes startled him. Chris was drawing shut one of the central set of drapes that would hide him from the outside view. He thought about telling her to use the rod instead of her hands, but he didn’t even care about that anymore, staring bleakly at the wine-red velvet drapes in front of him.

He next heard her mixing drinks at the long bar along the room’s back wall adjacent to the corridor. She returned to offer him a small tray with two cocktails.

What’s that?

She pointed. This one’s a fruity drink with vodka called a Summerfeld, and this one’s a bitter but sugary drink with rum called a Bohemian. She waited until he chose one to take up the other and set the tray aside.

Mm. Tasty. He looked at the glass, then sipped it again. Really tart.

I noticed you had aceberry powder. From Fondulac, she added as his brow furrowed. Since your family entertains people from all over the galaxy, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.

My father, you meant. He sipped again, noticing how she was sitting on the edge of the settee