“The Grashnarians take their rituals very seriously,” Coran was saying for easily the ten thousandth time.
	“I got it,” Shiro interrupted, a tad snappishly. He took a moment to calm himself down. “We’ve been over and over this. I got it. It’s really not that difficult.”
	“I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s been so long since we hosted a proper ball – that little thing we threw for the Arusians was nothing! – and the Grashnarians are one of the few people to successfully repel Galra forces. They’d be outstanding allies for the Coalition and I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly.”
	“It’ll be fine, Coran,” he reassured him. “The team knows how important this is. They’ll behave.”
	Coran barked a laugh. “Paladins behaving. That’s a good one.”
	“It’ll be fine,” he repeated.

	And it was, at first. As he’d promised, the Paladins were all behaving (though he did catch Keith tugging in annoyance at the high collar of his dress uniform). Hunk was commanding a veritable army of floating trays, all laden with a variety of gorgeously-made hors d’oeuvres or cups of nunvill. Keith and Pidge were working security: Pidge had set up a network of unobtrusive cameras that could provide on-demand feeds to the Paladins through a wrist projector they each wore, and Keith was running security the old-fashioned way by eyeballing anyone who looked like they might be thinking of causing trouble. And Lance was, of course, working the crowd. Shiro had worried about that at first, but it turned out that he was taking the stern warnings he’d been given beforehand to heart. Lance was mingling well, never saying more than a few words to anyone before flittering off to the next conversational cluster like the social butterfly he was. Shiro was duly impressed.
	He was supposed to be helping with security, but he had found himself the center of attention in short order. The Grashnarians seemed impressed with him and he had trouble escaping the ritualized-but-mostly-empty chit chat that he was forced to engage in. Never say ‘no’ directly, he thought, going over the rules Coran had drilled into them. Don’t use absolutes – like “never.” Don’t smile large enough to show your teeth. Don’t be ingratiating; no effusive displays of emotion. A headache was tiptoeing around the edges of his mind.
	Fortunately, the lights dipped once to get everyone’s attention. That was the cue. Thank goodness. Shiro excused himself to get to his place as the music faded away.
	Coran had gone over the princess’s required formal introduction about a dozen times, and they’d even practiced it to get their spots exactly right. The Paladins took up positions near the staircase, with Shiro standing in the center. You could draw a semi-circle from one of them to the next, and they faced the crowd initially, standing as the royal guard they were expected to be (and, in effect, were). 
	Coran announced, loud and proud and full of pomp, “Princess Allura of Altea.” Shiro counted the ticks; she was supposed to come out and stand at the top of the stairs. He had to wait until she was in place, and they’d timed this during practice. …three… four… five. The Paladins turned with proper martial precision to face the princess and drop to their knees – the sign that everyone else here should do likewise.
	But when Shiro turned around, he caught full view of her. They’d practiced with her in the same dress and cape combo that he’d come to think of as her “civilian” clothes. He hadn’t really thought that she might be wearing anything else. He was completely unprepared for the vision in front of him.
	Her hair was pulled back from her face with ornate, sparkling clips. Her dress shimmered faintly, and it seemed… pearlescent in the lights: sometimes pink, sometimes blue, sometimes white, all shifting and fading into each other. It clung to her body until it reached her hips, the skirt draping softly nearly to the floor. She still had a high-necked cape on, but it was almost transparent, and edged in gilt with the entirety of it covered in golden swirls and patterns. Instead of her usual circlet, a small tiara sat atop her moonlight tresses.
	Princess Allura was the most radiant being in the universe right now. Shiro was rendered helpless, unable to do anything but stare at her. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. She was smiling, but as her eyes locked on his, they crinkled lightly at the corners. 
	She descended the stairs towards him – not in his general direction, towards him, no one else. Was there even anyone else alive? Did it matter if there were? He was here and she was here, and he could never in his life have imagined someone so gorgeous even noticing him, let alone smiling at him as if the two of them were sharing some secret joke. 
	She walked right up to him, then helped herself to his left arm. He thought his heart would burst right out of his chest… until she strong-armed him into turning around to face the crowd again. 
	It all came rushing back at once: I was meant to be kneeling. Everyone else was. They were also not-so-subtly looking up at him. He wanted to see if the other Paladins were kneeling, but he was facing away from them now. He – and Allura – were the center of attention.
	“Thank you. Please rise,” she said smoothly, and though her voice was no different than it was any other quintant, it resurrected some of his awe of her. She sounded so confident, so powerful… And she still has her arm in mine.
	He risked a look at her, just in time to see her cast another secretive-looking smile at him. “Shall we?” she asked him. He nodded, having no idea what to say or do now. Coran didn’t go over any of this.
	But that was his own fault. I was supposed to kneel until she stood before me and I could see the hem of her dress and then I would stand and step aside to let her pass, and… At no point was he supposed to be arm-in-arm with her as she made her way through the crowd. But then, at no point was I to just stand there and gawk like an idiot. 
	He remained mostly quiet as they went from group to group. He answered direct questions but otherwise let her do the talking. When he heard her clear her throat, he grabbed a cup of nunvill for her from a passing tray. 
	“Thank you, dear.”
	He blinked. “Dear”? But he couldn’t ask her about it; he was being asked a question about Voltron as she sipped her drink.
	At one point, a group of mostly female Grashnarians began offering congratulations. He assumed they were commending Voltron’s many victories thus far, and he thanked them. But before he could segue into the need for a strong Coalition to keep the triumphs coming, Allura squeezed his arm once. He shut up instantly and hoped his face wasn’t as red as he feared it was.
	“I know it’s a bit unorthodox,” Allura said. “But I wished to underscore the need for strong leadership in the trying times ahead of us.” And then she segued into a Coalition pitch.
	What’s unorthodox? Voltron? I mean, I know it’s the only one of its kind, but “unorthodox” seems a bit… strange. Maybe it’s a translator error. And what does the rest of that mean? He was confused but just kept silent for now.
	Not long after, Allura quietly asked him to fetch her some appetizers, and he, regretfully, broke away to gather up an assortment for her. She took his arm again before she thanked him with another “dear.” What is going on?
	Finally, the party began to wind down. Allura was expected to say goodbye to each and every attendee, and since she wouldn’t let go of Shiro, he had to stand there through it as well. When the first came up to leave, Allura bid them farewell then nudged him faintly. He repeated the ritual saying she’d just said, wishing them good night and safe travels. Then over and over and over again it went: Allura first, then him, for every guest.
	When the last had left, Allura finally let go of his arm, just in time for the Paladins and Coran to swoop down upon him.
	“I thought you said you knew what you had to do!” Coran was crowing in outrage.
	“Yeah, how’d you forget? It was really easy.”
	“Ha! You had to do it five times in practice before you got it right!”
	“But it was easy for Shiro! He got it right away; we just had to perfect the timing!”
	“How’d you mess up that badly?!”
	“Paladins!” Allura declared. “Please, it’s been a long night. I will explain things to Shiro. You should all get to bed. We’re expected at the Grashnarian Diplomatic Palace early, after all.”
	Coran opened his mouth to protest but shut it again at a single look from her. He sniffed and then began herding the team away. 
	Shiro looked to Allura in bewilderment. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I knew exactly what I had to do, but…”
	“But…?” she prompted.
	He swallowed hard and considered lying, but he was tired after a night of wearing an emotional mask. He didn’t have the energy to hold back. “I was just absolutely captivated by you.” Her cheeks and ears flared, but he kept going, too worn out to keep from babbling. “You were – are – amazing. Just incredible, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t think of anything but how beautiful you looked.” He felt his face heating, and he cleared his throat, taking a tick to calm himself down before retreating into comfortable professionalism. “I know I screwed up. I’m so sorry. But it didn’t seem to have upset the Grashnarians any, so…”
	“That’s because I covered for your slip-up,” she told him, still blushing. 
	“I’m sorry you had to do that.”
	She shrugged. “There are worse things than pretending to be married to you.”
	His eyes widened. “I’m sorry, d-did you say ‘married’?”
	She nodded. “In Grashnarian culture, only my spouse would be allowed to look at me as I descended. You would also be required to stay by my side through the evening, and to bid the guests farewell beside me.” That secretive smile was back. “It’s a good thing you’re not royalty yourself, or it wouldn’t have worked, as you would have been expected to arrive alongside me. I did have to do some explaining as to why I would marry ‘beneath my station’ as it were…”
	“Is that what’s ‘unorthodox’?” he asked as everything clicked into place.
	She nodded. “I wouldn’t be allowed to say that I married you because you’re brave, kind, thoughtful, or handsome. That would scandalize them. But to imply that it is a merger of necessity and leadership worked perfectly and allowed me to talk more about the Coalition.”
	If he wasn’t blushing before, he certainly was now. “I’m… grateful for your quick thinking, Princess. Though not especially surprised by it.”
	She chuckled. “Enough formality, please. We both need to get to bed. You’re going to have to get up even earlier so Coran can go over with you the expectations of a royal spouse in diplomatic talks.”
	“Well, I suppose there are worse things than pretending to be married to the most radiant princess in the universe,” he quoted back at her.
	She blushed again. “And, to be clear, even if I’m not allowed to say it, I am still allowed to think it.” Her smile edged into a smirk.
	His brow furrowed. “Sorry, help me out; it’s been a long night.”
	She laughed a little, her blush deepening. “My, um… ‘reasons’ for marrying you.”
	He thought back and felt his face heat again. “Really?” He knew he was grinning like a complete fool, but hardly cared.
	She nodded. “Especially in your dress uniform.” She took a moment and a step back to look him up and down. “Very… impressive.”
	He cleared his throat. “Not half so as you are. You’re like some sort of glowing goddess.”
	She laughed as she began walking. “Now you’re overdoing it.”
	He kept pace with her. “Well, we’re apparently newlyweds…”
	“VERY newly,” she agreed.
	“…so I think I’m required to overdo it. At least when the Grashnarians aren’t around.”
	Her laugh was musical. “Just trying to get into character, are you?”
	“A bit.”
	“Get some sleep instead. You’re going to need it.” She paused and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Good night, ‘dear.’”
	Even knowing it was pretend, it made his pulse quicken to hear her say it. “Good night, dear.” He watched her walk away towards her room, then turned to go back to his own, his heart and mind full of the idea of being the Royal Consort to the Princess of Altea.

	He was rudely awakened from some very sweet dreams by Coran barging into his room with a data tablet and a floating clothing rack. “Try some of these on while you read up on your responsibilities, Prince-Consort,” he declared grumpily. “We might need to have the Castle’s tailorbot do some alterations, and we only have three vargas before you’re expected at the Diplomatic Palace.”
	Shiro groaned as he swung his legs over the bed. “Coran, it was an acci-…”
	“I know it was!” Coran glowered at him. “But now we’re stuck with it.” He thrust the tablet at Shiro, who accepted it in resignation.
	The print was small, and there was an awful lot of it. “Can’t you just give me the quick version?”
	“No, I Cannot.” He was adamant. “Part of being a Prince-Consort is studying up on these things!”
	“I’m not actually the Prince-Consort,” he reminded Coran.
	“No, you aren’t.”
	Shiro tossed the tablet on his bunk next to him. “And I can’t read Altean.” It wasn’t exactly true, but he couldn’t read fluently (or in this tiny a font).
	Coran exhaled. “Right. Okay, so here’s what you need to know…”
	The royal advisor filled him in as he tried on outfit after outfit. Nearly all of them fit well in the shoulders and chest but were a bit too tall, too roomy in the waist, etc. When Coran took a breath longer than a single tick, Shiro seized his opportunity. “Where did you get all these clothes?”
	“They are,” he stopped to clear his throat and correct himself, “were King Alfor’s.”
	“Oh.” Shiro’s face heated. “I… that’s not… I can’t…”
	“You have to. We don’t have time for anything else. These are some of his less-fancy clothes anyway; you’re not of royal blood, but you must be presentable as Allura’s consort. Now, as I was saying…” And they were back on their lessons.
	Shiro was trying to keep up, but it was hard to focus with his mind spinning on the fact that he was wearing Allura’s father’s clothes. These are shoes – and shirts and pants – I was never meant to fill.
	“Shiro!”
	He snapped to attention out of reflex. “Sorry, Coran. I’m listening. Mostly.” He cleared his throat and relaxed. “Basically, I’m to act like a glorified bodyguard unless my opinion is specifically asked for.”
	“Essentially, yes. And be grateful for being a glorified bodyguard, while we’re at it! The last princess of Altea chose you as her husband. Don’t ever forget that.”
	“I couldn’t forget that even if I managed to live ten thousand years.”
	Coran snorted in mirth. “I have to get these to the tailorbot. You’ll have to coordinate your outfits with Allura’s, so I’ll bring back an appropriate one for you and pack the rest.”
	“Wait, pack?” he asked.
	“Well, yes. Oh, I forgot that part.” Coran’s smile was a bit tight at the corners. “Allura – and her spouse – are expected to stay in the Diplomatic Palace during the talks. They’ll provide you with room and board while you’re there.”
	Shiro blinked. “Uhh, I don’t suppose there’s some way around that?”
	“Absolutely not. It would be an insult.”
	“But I need to keep the team updated, and…”
	Coran sighed. “Look, in the end, this slip up of yours may be the best thing to happen. Before that, Allura was expected to stay there alone. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with that, I don’t mind telling you.”
	Shiro’s jaw tightened. “I wouldn’t have liked that, either.”
	Coran nodded. “But now you can be there to keep her safe. I mean, we have no reason to suspect the Grashnarians would mean her harm, but I worry about her. Too much, she says.”
	“I understand, Coran. I’ll look after her, I promise.”
	“Good. Hurry up and eat, get cleaned up. Talk to the Paladins before you leave so they know what’s going on.”
	“I’m on it.” 
	Coran pushed the floating clothing rack back out of his room and Shiro felt… deflated. Last night had been one thing, but this? He felt unworthy to even pretend to be Allura’s consort, and definitely unworthy to wear King Alfor’s clothes. But this was all part of the job, part of the mission.
	The Grashnarians were conquered by the Galra and then managed to repel their forces and reclaim their world. No one knows how, and the Grashnarians are keeping it a secret. Whether they share that secret with us or not, we need them in the Coalition.
	His mind wandered back to Allura in that dress, to her secretive smiles, to her laughter, to her compliments. Let’s just hope she’s not dressed like that all the time, or I might not be able to function as a paladin of Voltron, let alone a royal consort.
	It occurred to him that he had to explain this to the others. “This’ll be great,” he groaned.

	And things had gone exactly as he’d predicted.
	Lance was making kissy faces, Pidge was snickering when she wasn’t high-fiving Hunk, and Keith…
	“You screwed up one thing and now you’re married to her?” he asked.
	“Well, as far as the Grashnarians are concerned, yes. They take their rituals very seriously.”
	“Yeah, Coran only told us that like thirty times,” Hunk said.
	“Prince-Consort Shiro does have a nice ring to it,” Lance chimed in.
	And then, of all people, it was Keith who replied with, “Prince-Consort Takashi Shirogane, you mean.”
	“Oh, yes, we have to be Proper about this sort of thing.”
	“Remember, Shiro: pinkies up when you drink your tea,” Pidge giggled.
	He rolled his eyes. “Way to be supportive, team. We have a more pressing problem.”
	“Than your sudden and remarkably-unexpected nuptials?” Lance asked, all wide-eyed innocence that no one at this table was gonna buy for an instant.
	“I didn’t even get to throw you a bachelor party,” Keith pouted.
	“GUYS.” He cleared his throat. “I was thinking that we’d be able to bring back the intel every night, but that’s not going to be possible. Coran says Allura and I will be expected to stay at the Diplomatic Palace.”
	“That’s what comm links are for?” Hunk reminded him.
	He shook his head. “We have to be careful. The Grashnarians might not appreciate the idea that we’re spying on them.”
	“We’ll set them to one-way transmit,” Pidge said. “We’ll hear everything you and Allura hear, but they won’t hear us. Lance, can you and Blue get me a scan of the signals coming from the Palace? I can find a way to hide the comm signals in with those; we’ll filter them back out when they get here, and presto! All the information we need.”
	“Easy peasy,” Lance confirmed.
	“They might see an earpiece,” Shiro protested.
	“We can just use Allura’s earrings,” Hunk suggested. “You two will be together more often than not anyway, right?”
	“Well, they’re married now,” Keith pointed out. “Shiro, tell me I at least got to be best man.”
	Shiro rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course you were. And I want you doing an extra varga of meditation every quintant while I’m gone.”
	“What?” Keith sat up like a shot. “Why am I d…?”
	“Meditate on the subject of ‘Not Pissing Off A Senior Officer.’” He grinned and then added, “From what I’ve heard about what went on at the Garrison while I was off-world, you need it.”
	“Shiro…”
	“No buts. Hunk, while Pidge and Lance are getting the comm links squared away, check with Coran about possible ways to get messages to us that won’t draw a lot of unwanted attention from the Grashnarians.”
	Hunk nodded. “Anything for our newlywed leader!”
	“And all of you KNOCK IT OFF.”
	The sound of Lance making more kissy noises followed him out of the room.

	“Are you ready?”
	No. “Yes,” he said aloud, before adding, “‘Dear.’”
	Allura snickered. “You’re going to be fine. And you look every inch a proper consort.”
	He offered her his hand as she walked out of the Black Lion. She didn’t need it, but he had to offer. And, as he expected, she didn’t take the hand until she was out on the road. Then she squeezed it once and held it, smiling.
	“You don’t mind that these are…?”
	“Father’s clothes?” she asked. “It’s a little strange, I’ll admit.” Black closed up and raised its shield behind them. Allura dropped his hand and took his arm instead. “But they suit you.”
	The Grashnarians had a carriage waiting to transport them to the Diplomatic Palace. It hovered low above the road of what looked like marble, just outside the tall city walls of the same material. The carriage was heavily-gilded, made of what looked like dark hardwood, and the interior was luxuriously cushioned. In fact, it was one large cushion inside. Shiro had no idea how they were supposed to sit – lay? kneel? – in it. 
	Fortunately, he was required to help Allura up into the carriage first. A lot of what he’d have to do on this trip was just “do as Allura does,” and since she was always expected to go first, there’d be little problem there.
	He watched her turn and sit and then swing her legs up into the carriage. She scooted over and patted the cushion next to her. “Just as I did.”
	Thank you, Allura. He followed suit, the door closed after them, the carriage rose to transport height and began moving. It was automated; there had been Grashnarians waiting to load up their luggage and make sure no one else tried to get into the carriage, but none of them had come with them. He and Allura were alone.
	Don’t assume you’re ever alone, Coran’s warning came again to his mind. They might have cameras and microphones everywhere. If nothing else, the team could, hopefully, hear them.
	So it was all the more startling to hear Allura comment, “Remember we can’t be as open about our affections, dear. We don’t want to scandalize anyone.” She even took his hand – his right hand – and squeezed it again. 
	He looked to her, brow furrowing, but then realized: if there are truly cameras everywhere, then our little act has to start now. But he could practically hear the team laughing. 
	He nodded. “I understand. But know that, no matter what, my affections for you have not changed.”
	She grinned at his clever phrasing. “We’ll get through this, and then things will get back to normal.”
	“As normal as they can be, under the circumstances.”
	She sighed. “The Coalition would benefit greatly from the Grashnarians. We just have to convince them that it’s to their benefit as well.”
	“They’ve already freed themselves from the Empire,” he acknowledged.
	“But they do still have trade with the Galra, through the other local worlds. I can’t truly blame them for that; who else is there to trade with in this sector? But that is, I’m afraid, going to be the sticking point for them. We’ll be asking them to sever a major economic artery, and most of the Coalition forces are distant. The Castle of Lions is one of the best ways to close that distance, so we may end up playing courier quite a bit to make up for that.”
	“Should we maybe reconsider our timing then?” he asked. The idea of getting back into his normal clothes and not having to worry about everyone waiting for him to screw up – again – was so tempting. “Why not wait until we’ve freed more sectors and systems closer to hand?”
	“I have my reasons,” she replied archly.
	It felt like a slap, and he couldn’t figure out why she’d say it. Ever since the whole ‘Zarkon was the previous Black Paladin’ debacle, he and Allura hadn’t kept secrets from each other. They were truly co-leaders and they shared their knowledge on all things, the better to make decisions. She always explained herself to him now, and to suddenly have her hold back like that…
	But it was her haughty tone that clued him in. She was The Princess; he was just her consort. There were some things that he wasn’t expected to be privy to, at least, by Grashnarian standards. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Of course, Princess,” and he hoped he didn’t sound as upset as he was. Even knowing that she was doing it for the theoretical eyes and ears watching them only helped so much. 
	And then she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Have faith, husband.” She leaned in to whisper, “I’ll explain it to you when I can.” 
	He couldn’t help blushing at the kiss on his cheek. It resurrected the memory of her in that dress, of her looking him over approvingly. It made his heart race again, and he hoped his reaction would be taken by any prying eyes as her having whispered something a little risqué in his ear instead of reassurances that he wasn’t being shut out again.
	“I always have faith in you, my princess,” he replied smoothly. It was easier to say when he remembered it was for a mission. Easier still that it was the truth.
	She smiled at him, eyes crinkling, and he was back in that universe where only the two of them existed… until someone yelling broke into his reverie. He whipped his head towards the window on his side of the carriage. 
	There was a fight outside. It didn’t seem anything more remarkable than a bar brawl, but it also seemed out of place in this city of gleaming stone and lacquered wood. The windows were faceted crystal, and some of them were even different colors arranged together into mosaics, like stained glass. Everything was so clean, so polished… but people will be people, I guess.
	Allura was looking out her window as well. “Something seems…”
	“Off?” he finished for her.
	She nodded without taking her eyes from the street. “Exactly. These people live in these beautiful homes, but their clothes are in disrepair.”
	Shiro’s brow furrowed and he took a closer look. She was right. For every well-dressed and purposefully-striding person, there were at least three or four tattered wanderers, their pleas unseen, unheard, and unwanted by those moving past.
	Shiro wanted to discuss it, but when he turned back to Allura, she was looking right at him. He knew in that instant that she was thinking the same thing he was, but neither of them could say it. Just in case. “Perhaps this is simply a poorer part of the capital city. All cities have them.”
	“Of course,” and her voice was dismissive as if that had assuaged her concerns entirely. But she chewed on her bottom lip as she turned back to the window.
	He swallowed. I can’t believe I’m about to do this. “Hey,” he said softly, reaching for her. He turned her gaze back to his with gentle firmness. “These are good people. That’s why we need them in the Coalition. You were right to bring us here. You always are.” He was laying it on a bit thick, but then he was supposed to be a subservient consort, not an equal partner. And then came the hard part. He leaned in towards her, licking his lips. I can do this. For the mission. Just for the mission, because we’re supposed to be married, but we aren’t, and she hasn’t said I could do anything like this but surely she understands and… 
	He lost track of his thoughts looking into her eyes. Allura was too beautiful to be real, and if he hadn’t been fighting alongside her all this time, he’d be convinced he’d dreamed her. But she was here and she was real and… she will kick my ass if I push it.
	So, at the last tick, he pulled his lips to her cheek instead. Her complimenting me last night doesn’t mean I can just steal kisses whenever I want them. He clamped down on his thoughts about exactly how much he did want them and convinced himself he was just still awestruck from the sight of her at the ball as he pulled away.
	She was blushing and couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you. We’ll hope the Grashnarians agree with you.”
	He cleared his throat. “Well, don’t marry any of them to sway them.”
	She snorted. “As if I would! As if I could, when I am already married.” She patted his hand.
	He smiled and went back to looking out the window. To steer his mind away from the fact that he had very nearly kissed the princess, he refocused on the populace they were passing. They seemed to be nearly to the Diplomatic Palace, and there were fewer beggars. But the fact remained: things were not as well-scrubbed and sparkly as the Grashnarians wanted them to believe.
	Could be nothing. Most cities do have poor and homeless populations. But it seems strange that the Grashnarians – who seem so image-conscious – would deliberately send us along a road that seems full to bursting with people they can’t take care of.
	Could be that they’re making a subtle point. We are asking them to cut off trade with the Galra. If this is how things are now, how much worse would they be with their main source of trade gone? Could be that word went out of our visit and the beggars came hoping for some foreign generosity. Or the Grashnarians have sent us down the most prosperous path, and the rest of the city is even worse off. 
	The likeliest answer was some mix of the three. Perhaps it was all a ploy to make things in the city seem more desperate than they were. The Grashnarians could try to play the sympathy card, cite the plight of their poor people, and ask for increased concessions. It was a smart move, but it didn’t seem like something such a proud race would do.
	These were not an emotive people. Allura couldn’t even pretend to have married Shiro for love; she had to have married him for strategic reasons. He had a role as Royal Consort, and it did not involve romance, but instead dutiful obedience to his social superior. It wasn’t beyond consideration that they knew Alteans to be more “emotional” than they were, but it still seemed out of character for a race that did not like absolutes, did not like effusiveness or ingratiation. 
	His head couldn’t decide yet, but his gut was uneasy about the whole thing. Unless I’m still just upset with myself for trying to kiss Allura. But he didn’t think that was it. At least, not entirely.
	They sped past the drunk and starving, the willfully blind and the pleading hopeful. Perhaps it was Shiro’s imagination, but the carriage seemed to pick up speed. He and Allura finished the ride in silence.
~End of Chapter 1~