Free Ghost Legion by Margaret Weis Page B

said, his voice
shaking with tension, the need to remain in control. "You know I
have."
    "With your body, maybe, sir." Astarte released her hold on
him suddenly, pushed him, as if she were flinging him away. "Not
with your soul."
    Dion stared at her. His lips compressed tightly, holding back words
he might have been tempted to speak. She gazed at him, head tilted
upward, her chin thrust slightly forward. Slowly she straightened,
stiffened. Her arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze did not falter.
It was Dion who lowered his eyes. Giving a stiff, cool nod, he turned
and opened the door, stepped out into the hallway. —
    Two sets of the Royal Guard came to attention—the King's Guard,
who stood outside His Majesty's door and accompanied him wherever he
went, and the Queen's Guard, who did the same for Her Majesty.
    Returning their salute, Dion placed himself in the center of their
ranks. The guards closed in around him and proceeded down the
corridor, heading for His Majesty's private suite of offices.
    Astarte remained in the dressing room, staring after him. The women
who formed the Queen's Guard (warriors from Astarte's own planet)
kept their faces immobile, impassive, as had the men who formed the
King's Guard. All pretending they had not heard.
    When the rhythmic tread of booted feet had faded, when the king had
entered his own private lift, to be whisked away to the public part
of the Glitter Palace, Astarte finally left the room. The Queen's
Guard closed around Her Majesty, the tall forms of the female
warriors towering over their diminutive ruler.
    Disciplined gazes facing forward, keeping close and careful watch,
none of them noticed the single tear that slid down Astarte's cheek,
a tear that dried on her skin, for she did not deign to lift her hand
to brush it away.
    Dion entered his office through a door accessible only from the
king's quarters. The king's quarters were cordoned off under tight
security, not so much for protection as for privacy. Only friends of
the royal family—such as John Dixter, and relatives such as the
queen's mother, were permitted to enter the king's quarters.
    Their Majesties' private offices were located in what was known as
the public part of the Glitter Palace. Actually, the general public
stood about as much chance of getting into this part of the palace as
they would have of breaking into the vault where the crown jewels
were kept. It was here that Their Majesties conducted their daily
business, here where they did their entertaining. People could even
be housed in this wing of the palace, in spacious and luxurious
apartments. Dixter had an apartment here. So did DiLuna, which she
used whenever she came to visit her daughter. The closest the public
came was a look at the exterior of the palace and a vid that they
could view at the end of the excursion.
    Entering his office, leaving the King's Guard to take up their posts
outside the door, Dion was finally able to relax. He pulled off the
sweat-damp gloves, tossed them on the desk, ran a hand through his
hair. He was startled to notice he was shaking, his hand trembling.
He would have liked to have flung himself into his chair, rested his
aching head in his hands, devoted time to being alone, to being
unhappy, to being frustrated and angry.
    But such simple luxuries were denied him. He thought of what he'd
said to his wife. Queen of the Galaxy. She could have anything she
wanted. And so could he. Anything—except what he wanted most.
    He pressed a button. A vidscreen flickered to life.
    "Good morning, Your Majesty," came the cool tones of his
private secretary.
    "Good morning, D'argent." Dion smiled slightly.
    D'argent's calm voice and expression spread like a soothing balm over
the king's fresh wounds. Nothing ever disturbed D'argent, nothing
rattled him, panicked him. No matter what the crisis, the secretary
remained calm, detached, removed.
    The palace still talked of the time, shortly after