Shiro was eager to get started when they arrived. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll get this over with. But that wasn’t how the Grashnarians did things. 
	Their luggage was taken away as they were led into the Diplomatic Palace. It was a small, square building laid out on a high marble platform, like a gift sitting on a table. It had a quieter elegance to it that he preferred to the more ostentatious buildings he could see in the distance as they walked up the stairs. 
	Once inside, the concept of “quieter” elegance had obviously been thrown out the window. Opulence screamed at them from every inch: inlaid iridescent mosaics, paintings and tapestries on every section of wall, and long, plush rugs. Rich plants and sculptures, immaculately-attired servants, glittering light fixtures. 
	They want to impress their guests, but they’re trying too hard. Which seemed odd to him. 
	His bafflement must have shown on his face, because Allura leaned over to comment quietly, “They were probably trying to impress the Galra, after all, as well as many other races. They’re covering all the angles this way.”
	That made a bit more sense. They knew other races were more ostentatious, and, not being showy themselves, had overcorrected. Or else there were other races who enjoyed these demonstrations. Either way, he felt almost smothered by pomp and stuffiness.
	Any hope of being led to a room and allowed to relax vanished when an impeccable Grashnarian approached them and asked grandly, “Shall we begin your tour, Princess?”
	TOUR? But he was stuck with it as Allura smiled and nodded and they fell into step alongside their guide. Shiro groaned inwardly but chalked this up to a good intelligence-gathering opportunity and directed his mind to that instead.
	The first thing he learned was that this was only the top level of the Diplomatic Palace; there were floors beneath them, down into the “platform” that the building seemed to rest on from the outside. The lower levels had no natural light – no windows after all – but were also the more protected from attack. “Your safety is of great concern to us,” the tour guide declared.
	Also means getting back out would be next to impossible without fighting your way back up to the top. Anyone who does make it through the building comes out onto those stairs – no cover at all. Easily picked off. We’re essentially diplomatic prisoners.
	He let Allura “enthuse” (to the extent the Grashnarians would let her) over these “safety protocols,” and kept his eyes peeled. They were given a full tour of the top floor – offices and meeting rooms, formal dining areas, showrooms of artifacts, etc. – before descending to the next level. There were fewer plants and sculptures here, but otherwise the heavy décor continued. Their guide stopped to explain every painting and tapestry, as they were representative of key moments in Grashnaria’s history. 
	It took them three interminable vargas to get past those two floors. They hadn’t seen as many rooms on the second level, probably because most of them were meant as guest rooms. And apparently none of them were slated for him or Allura. How far deep are you going to bury us? There had to be at least three levels, maybe four.
	On the third level, their tour guide continued to explain the art, though these were more tranquil scenes: an overlook of a famous lake, the mountains of the far north, etc. And then he stopped in the middle of the hallway. “Here we are. These are your rooms.”
	Rooms? Thank goodness. He was already uneasy. The idea that he might have to share a bed with Allura had been both exhilarating and nerve-wracking.
	“Take hold of the doorknob, Princess; it is ready to receive you.”
	Allura did as instructed, then smiled as the door clicked open.
	“Wait just a tick,” the tour guide said. “Let your consort do the same; we have programmed it for two keys.”
	Allura stepped aside for him. He closed his left hand around the doorknob, as he assumed it had sensors for finger and palm prints – traits his right hand no longer possessed. The knob warmed pleasantly, and then the door beeped.
	“It’s already open,” the tour guide pointed out. “But it has accepted your hand as its second key.”
	“Thank you.” He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to let his “wife” go first or not, but his martial training refused to let her be the first one into a strange room. He pushed the door open and proceeded inside, looking for any sign of danger.
	There was none, of course. The room was like a luxury hotel, richly but impersonally decorated. This was clearly a reception area: couches, a desk and chair, art and plants and the like. He went to investigate the first door he saw, off to the right, and it was a half-bath – toilet and sink – presumably for the use of guests. 
	Behind him, the tour guide was going over the provenance of every stick of furniture, explaining it all to a seemingly-appreciative Allura. Shiro just moved on: there were two more doors to be opened.
	The first was a more private seating area. A hologram along one wall made it look like a window overlooking one of the same landscapes he’d seen in the paintings in the hallway. It was cozy, warmer than the cold civility of the room he’d just left. Only that one door in and out though. He went back to explore the other door.
	This was a bedroom, with a huge bed tucked into one corner – literally. The head of the bed was a point that nestled perfectly into the corner and the mattress fanned out from there, expanding along the walls and out into a semi-circle. There were pillows along each wall and diaphanous curtains currently pulled back, clearly meant to encircle the mattress and its occupants.
	Occupants. It was the only bed. So much for that hope. I’ll sleep on one of the couches, he thought. Their luggage had been brought up; it was sitting on the floor at the foot? Edge? …end of the bed. Armoire, vanity, and a door to a more luxurious bathroom with a large tub, a separate shower, toilet and double sinks.
	Well, at least they were going to be well-spoiled prisoners. Better than a Galra cell, anyway. But he didn’t like feeling closed in like this. He returned to the main room just as the tour guide and Allura came out of the private seating room. “And the master bed & bath are this way,” the guide was saying. 
	Allura caught his eye as she passed him. He let his mask down just for a moment and hoped she could see the uneasiness on his face. She nodded just a little and continued following the guide, so Shiro poked around the main room a bit more.
	There was a large credenza against one wall. It was flawless wood, lacquered and highly-polished. Most of the drawers were empty, but one large drawer was cold when he opened it and half-filled with small bottles of what looked like water. He shut that again – though he desperately wanted a drink – and kept investigating. Another drawer under that one was ice cold, again half-full, but this time with small lidded boxes.
	“Ah, you’ve discovered the fruetana!” the tour guide said from behind him. “We have many flavors of it. Please, help yourself to some, as well as to the water in the drawer above.”
	“Thank you,” Shiro said, but he just closed the drawer. “Perhaps later.”
	“Of course, of course. You have half a varga until the midday observations and luncheon. Please, relax. We will send someone to you.” There was a digital display on the wall near the door that showed the time.
	“Thank you, Obseq,” Allura said with a winning smile. Shiro hadn’t been paying attention to the guide’s name. “I wish you well on this quintant.”
	“As I wish you, Princess, as well as your consort.” And with that, he showed himself out.
	Shiro exhaled and went to take a seat, dropping onto one of the sofas and stretching his arms out along the back. He let his head fall back and his eyes close.
	“I suppose you’re convinced everything’s poisoned?” Allura sounded amused. 
	“Not yet, most likely. Maybe drugged, but they’ll probably wait to see how malleable we are. So for now, it’s probably okay. Probably.”
	“Does everything have to be suspect?” And then he felt the couch shift with her presence.
	He opened his eyes and raised his head and she was pulling her feet up onto the cushions, leaning in against his side. He felt his cheeks heat, but he made himself drape his arm around her loosely. Eyes everywhere, potentially. “Our safety may be of ‘great concern’ to the Grashnarians, but your safety is the highest concern for me.” 
	“You worry too much.” But she snuggled in against him and his heart began racing.
	Glorified bodyguard, he reminded himself. “I only want to protect you.”
	“And the universe.”
	“I protect the universe best by protecting you.”
	“And by leading the team.”
	“Well, yes, but I was trying to be romantic,” he grumbled truthfully.
	She laughed and raised her head to kiss his cheek again. “I know, dear.” I will never get used to her calling me that. “So, what do you think? Are our accommodations suitable enough or should I demand better?”
	Demand second level accommodations, he thought. Easier to get out of here. “They’re fine.”
	“You don’t sound convinced.”
	He cleared his throat. “They are very nice, but I feel… enclosed.”
	She sat up straight. “Are you alright?” There was no teasing in her tone, no hint of newlywed sweetness. She was genuinely concerned for him, and that warmed him far more than the little cheek kisses and endearments. Those were fake, for the mission. This was real.
	He owed her a real response, and he pulled his arms back in to sit up properly himself. “I’m… mostly fine. I just would have liked a window, some way to get fresh air. The rooms are very nice, and technically I could walk out that door right now, but…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Not when the Grashnarians might be watching. I suppose if they offer us a room on the first level with a window, we’ll know they’re spying on us. But they likely wouldn’t make that obvious a slip.
	She laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s only for a little bit.”
	He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know. I’ll be okay, really. It just sets me a little on edge, is all.”
	“I understand. But you’re not alone anymore.” She took his right hand in both of hers. “I’m right here with you.”
	He looked down at his hand enclosed in hers. The hand the Galra had taken and replaced. He wasn’t sure he wanted Allura here with him if “here” meant a prison. Whether the cell was barren or lush made no difference.
	You deserve better.
	“What?” she asked.
	He blinked out of his reverie. “I… didn’t say anything?” 
	She frowned at him. “You did.”
	“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” He stood abruptly, pulling his hand away from hers. “Do you want some water?”
	She was quiet as he walked over to retrieve a bottle, then asked, “I thought you trusted nothing here?”
	“We have to drink at some point. And, like I said, it’s less likely to have been tampered with now.”
	“I suppose. Besides, we have no negotiations today.”
	He turned back to her. “None?”
	She shook her head. “It is considered an unseemly haste.”
	He huffed. “Oh yes, can’t let people think it’s a shotgun wedding.” He pulled a bottle out for himself and one for her and shut the drawer with his hip.
	“What does that mean? ‘Shotgun wedding’?”
	“Very old-fashioned Earth term. Long ago, many people believed that there shouldn’t be, um… procreation outside of marriage.” He walked over and handed a bottle to her, then took a seat back on the couch to finish explaining. “If a father found out his daughter had become pregnant without benefit of marriage, he would supposedly force the man who’d impregnated his daughter to marry her at gunpoint. The term came to mean a hastily-arranged wedding, especially to conceal an out-of-wedlock conception.”
	Allura snorted. “Well, we are asking for an alliance, but didn’t I already tell you I wouldn’t be marrying anyone to achieve it?”
	He smiled, pulling the lid off his bottle to take a quick swig. The water was clear and refreshing; didn’t mean it hadn’t been tampered with. “It’s a metaphor, dear.”
	“Yes, I got that. I was teasing, dear,” and she poked him in the side.
	He twitched away from her hand. “You’re supposed to behave yourself according to your station.”
	“My ‘station’ at the moment is your spouse,” and she tried to poke him again.
	“Careful! I’ll spill my water.”
	She eased away from him. “So, what I don’t understand about this ‘shotgun wedding’ concept is why they had a problem with out-of-wedlock conception in the first place.” She took the lid off her bottle to drink.
	He kept his guard up for more poking as he answered her. “It was a very old-fashioned concept.”
	“I suppose I can see some point to it; the more support a child has in its rearing, the better, after all.”
	He nodded, but couldn’t answer, since he was taking another drink.
	“But surely that’s what contraceptives are for?”
	He shifted in his chair. “This was a long time ago, I remind you, but many faiths believed contraception to be a sin.”
	She blinked at him. “Preventing childbirth is a sin and procreating out of wedlock is a sin. So what are they supposed to do: just not have sex before marriage?” When he nodded, her eyes went wide. “Your society is very strange, if you don’t mind my saying.”
	“It’s not… It was a long time ago, and it’s a religious thing – in a lot of different religions – and we don’t really… I don’t…”
	She studied him carefully. “Do you believe sex before marriage is a sin?”
	“No, I don’t, so long as everyone involved is willing and able to consent.”
	“Have you…?”
	He saw where that question was going and cut it off. “It’s a moot point now anyway. Since the ceremony.”
	There was a flash in her eyes that he’d seen before. She didn’t like being interrupted. But she just shrugged. “Of course. Moot.” 
	He knew it was the interruption that bothered her more than being denied the answer to her question. She would have wanted him to just say he didn’t want to talk about it. If it had been anything else, or under different circumstances, he would have let her ask. Hell, he might even have answered her.
	But right now, the last thing he wanted was thoughts of extramarital sex and Princess Allura. He didn’t want to think about the single bed – large, but still only the one – or about how far they might have to go to keep this charade. Surely they’re not going to expect us to… I mean, not while we’re here on a diplomatic mission. They had no proof they were even being watched. We’ll just sleep next to each other and it’ll be fine.
	He cast about for something to talk about, some distraction to be had.
	“Has Coran gone over the midday observation ritual with you?” Allura asked. 
	Thank goodness. He nodded. “Yes. I’m pretty sure I’ve got it down.”
	“Let’s go over it again, just to be safe. We don’t want to be rude to our hosts.”
	“Of course, Princess.”
	“After all, you have forgotten things in the past.” She was smirking just the tiniest bit.
	“One time!” he protested. “That was one time!” But he smiled back.

	She didn’t bring it up until dinner. Lunch was a small, casual affair, with people walking in and out as soon as they’d finished eating (and after their ritual blessings and gratitude before and after the meal). But dinner was the two of them and about a dozen or so diplomats, as well as the Grashnarian Ruling Council. So Shiro didn’t blame Allura for waiting until they had everyone they needed assembled in one place.
	“We would like to demonstrate our gratitude for your hospitality,” she said after the first few bites of the main course. “With your permission, the paladins would like to put on a show for the people of the capital city.”
	“A show?” one of the councilors, Giani, asked.
	“We are uninterested in more of the hijinks we’ve seen broadcast,” Frex – another councilor – replied.
	Allura just smiled. “Not like that. Exclusive for you and your people: the true Lions of Voltron, as well as Voltron itself. Demonstrations of their abilities and power.”
	Shiro just focused on eating his dinner. The preparation for the show was going to be how he and the team could share intel, as well as perhaps wow-ing the council into the alliance proposal. But it was up to the princess to get them to accept it.
	“We have heard the tales of Voltron’s power,” Tespod grumbled. Technically, the members of the Grashnarian Ruling Council were all equal. In practice, Tespod was the leader, and therefore the de facto ruler of the planet. “That is why we are hearing you out.”
	“And we appreciate that,” Allura replied smoothly. “But tales can be exaggerated.”
	The councilors looked at each other.
	“So we are offering to let you see for yourself,” she finished.
	“We appreciate the consideration,” Tespod answered stoically. 
	Shiro kept himself from frowning as Allura continued to carefully schmooze. Even aside from being able to communicate with the team, he’d wanted the excuse to get out of the Diplomatic Palace, to be back with his lion. When he was flying Black – or even just sitting in the cockpit – he felt… not quite peaceful? Stable. Secure. You couldn’t pull the rug out from under the Black Lion. When he was one with Black, there was a confidence, a surety. Black will always have my back. It will always look after me. It was a relief, like he was connecting with a missing part of himself.
	And he knew what he was doing when he was piloting. He had a certain amount of diplomatic training, in the sense of “how to diplomatically address problems within your team,” but that was a far cry from this. Allura was still taking point on it, of course, but he…
	“What do you think, Paladin?”
	Shiro snapped out of his reverie. The councilors were looking at him. Oh quiznak.
	“Yes, what are your thoughts on the demonstration, dear?” Allura asked.
	Speaking of having my back… He cleared his throat. “My team and I would need a little time to prepare the performance, but we would be glad to do so. Not in the city, of course; we’d need some open area, some practice targets to take out, that sort of thing.”
	“A flyover of the city would be very impressive,” Allura put in.
	“I agree, so long as it’s not too low. We wouldn’t want to disturb the citizenry too much. Might make a good ‘announcement’ of the show starting, though.”
	Allura smiled a little. Shiro directed his comments to the councilors however.
	“It’s no trouble for us. We’re glad to provide entertainment, especially in return for the accommodations you have shown us.” He hoped that was satisfactory.
	“You have given us much to think over,” Tespod said. “We shall consider the offer.”
	Allura pressed her hand to his right once, he smiled and nodded at her, and they resumed eating as the subject shifted to other entertainments in the capital city. They finished dinner, took part in the after-meal gratitude ritual, and left for their room.
	He waited until the door closed. “What do you think?”
	“I think they’ll go for it.” She stretched and yawned. 
	“You’re sure?”
	“You doubt me, ‘dear’?” she teased.
	He smiled. “Am I allowed to?”
	She snorted. “When we’re alone, you’re allowed. A little bit.”
	He chuckled. “I’ll remember that. You want to shower first?”
	“If you don’t mind?”
	“I don’t mind. I’ll just meditate out here; I think I need it.”
	Allura smiled and patted his arm as she passed him, headed for the bedroom. She opened the door and then paused. “One more thing?”
	“Yes?”
	“We are visitors here, after all. It would be rude to make more work for their staff than is purely necessary.”
	“I agree.” He didn’t understand why she was saying it though.
	She smiled. “So, you’ll have to content yourself with just sleeping next to me while we’re here.”
	He blinked and then realized what she was doing. Just in case. “Of course, my princess.”
	“Oh, stop.” Was it his imagination or was she blushing a little? “Just so long as you understand.”
	“I do. And I’ll be fine without …the physical reminder of your affections.” He cleared his throat.
	She giggled a little – she was definitely blushing now – and with a, “Good,” she entered the bedroom. She left the door open, but he assumed she’d shut the bathroom door for her shower, and he retreated to the center of the main room to sit and clear his mind.
	Focusing took patience. Don’t think of being buried and enclosed. Don’t think of Allura in that dress. Don’t think of all the rules you have to follow while you’re here. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think… He shoved that aside – with effort – and focused on what he could think about. He focused on the Black Lion, on the feeling of being in the cockpit, on the joy of flying. He let his mind and heart soar far away from the plane of his troubles into the endless blue of an Altean sky…
	Altean? He came crashing back into his body and opened his eyes. I’ve never been to Altea. He’d never get the chance. He frowned and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. Why did I think that? Why wasn’t it Earth?
	A door opened, and he turned to the sound. The princess came into view in the bedroom, robed and nightgowned, still toweling her hair dry. He looked away. 
	I’m letting my screw-up at the ball – and the ‘reason’ for it – distract me too much. I’m letting my own fears get the better of me in this place. I’m here for a mission. I need to focus on that.
	“Your turn,” Allura told him from the doorway. 
	“I’ll be right in.”
	“Don’t take too long; I’d like to get a decent night’s sleep.” There was a pause. “Are you alright?”
	He nodded and then turned to smile at her. “I’m getting there.”
	“Good. Oh, and they don’t have the dryer systems that the Castle has, but the towels are warm and fluffy.”
	“That sounds nice.” He started walking.
	She moved away from the doorway and let him pass. He went to his luggage to retrieve the pajamas Coran had packed for him, then headed in to clean up. He didn’t let himself get lost in thought in the shower, just washed up and tried to prepare himself. 
	Please, not tonight, he begged. Each night he hoped he’d sleep through and not be torn from slumber by the nightmares of a half-forgotten year in captivity. It was happening less often now, but it still happened. He didn’t want to wake Allura, didn’t want the potential hidden cameras to see that.
	He dried off and got into his (black, of course) pajamas, brushed his teeth and finger-combed his hair into something resembling order. By the time he returned to the bedroom, the princess was already in bed, sitting against one wall, covers up to her waist and robe removed. She was reading a tablet, but she looked up and smiled at him. “Ready for bed then?”
	“As I’ll ever be,” he said quietly. He was about to be hit with the ultimate 1-2 combo.
	But damn her Altean hearing, she heard that, and laughed. “I promise, it’s quite comfy.” She set the tablet aside and pulled the covers back next to her.
	He smiled and walked over. “You know I don’t like strange beds.” Or not knowing where I am when I first wake up. It’d taken a little bit to get used to the Castle of Lions, even. That was the first part of his problem.
	“Well, at least I’ll be here with you.”
	“There is that.” And that’s the other problem. It was hard to sleep next to someone when you were used to sleeping alone. It took time to get used to – and he was, supposedly, already used to it.
	“Turn the lights off and come to bed. It won’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”
	“I’m just worried about the negotiations,” he said as he figured out how to work the lamp. The light in the room vanished.
	“You worry too much. That’s my job.”
	He navigated using her voice. “The negotiations or the worrying?”
	“Both.”
	He hit the edge of the bed and turned to sit on it. “Well, let’s split the duty: you negotiate, I’ll worry.”
	She laughed that musical laugh. “Lay down. You need to at least try and sleep.” He heard the bedclothes rustle as she, presumably, suited action to word.
	He swung his legs up into the bed, groped for a pillow, and pulled it to him as he laid down. He left the blankets down near his waist; he usually didn’t sleep with a shirt on, but he wasn’t about to be half-naked around Allura.
	And then she surprised him by snuggling in next to him. She was on his left side, and she draped a hand over his arm. “Good night, dear,” she murmured.
	He licked his lips and repeated it back to her. She made a contented little noise and then there was just the sound of her breathing and the feel of her next to him. It was going to be hard to sleep tonight. He did the best he could. Between the additional heat source next to him, the shirt he wasn’t used to wearing, and the strange bed, it took him a while, but finally sleep overtook him.

	The next quintant the formal negotiations began in one of the stately conference rooms on the top level. Shiro had very little to do but sit there and listen – and watch.
	The councilors were Tespod, Giani, Frex, Hing, and Welx. Supposedly they each represented a different portion of the populace, but Shiro began to notice this wasn’t necessarily true in practice. Hing, for example, was meant to speak for farmers and “menial workers,” but they spoke very little at all. When they did, it was usually to support whatever Tespod had just said, though with very little passion. They simply agreed with their leader and fell silent again. Shiro had the impression that there was more going on with them.
	Giani was loud and opinionated, freely speaking her mind and frequently disagreeing with Tespod and the entire table. But she, too, was eventually brought back around to the commonly-accepted (and Tespod-approved) point of view – albeit grudgingly sometimes. She represented artisans of all sorts – dancers, singers, crafters, poets, painters, etc. Aside from the volume she often spoke at, she was Shiro’s favorite and the one he reckoned as being their best potential inroad on any issue.
	Frex was Tespod’s yes-man. Representing the wealthy, he rarely had to be brought in line because he’d fallen in step the instant any subject was brought up. That was a lost cause, and the two of them represented a formidable obstacle.
	Welx spoke for the clergy. There were three main religions on Grashnaria, and Welx represented them all equally, as indicated by her wearing a necklace with three different symbols arrayed on it: sun, moon, and a cluster of three stars. She was a different sort of quiet from Hing. She appeared far more calculating in when she spoke and what she said. Ultimately, she supported the main opinion, but she didn’t seem to like it. Another potential ally.
	And, of course, there was Tespod, representing business and trade. The basis for his opinions was inscrutable but he freely declared those opinions to the entire room, expecting and receiving his backing from the rest of the Council – even if Giani took some time to come around.
	Allura had her work cut out for her. Shiro’s opinion was called for sometimes, and he answered when it was, but mostly he just watched and listened and tried to formulate a plan of attack, as it were. As Coran had told him, the Grashnarians didn’t like to say “no” directly. The Councilors were pros at it. Their favorite phrase was, “I would be glad to,” but they had a lot of ways of denying requests while sounding like they were considering it or actually agreeing to it. Shiro marveled at Allura’s composure.
	The negotiations took breaks for the various scheduled rituals, as well as lunch and two brief “rest” breaks, but otherwise went from breakfast to dinner. Allura warned him quietly that there should be no discussion of “business” at the dinner table, and so it was more of the same empty chit-chat they’d had at the party. 
	So it wasn’t until the end of the quintant that they had enough time alone together to discuss things. 
	“Help me out,” Shiro said as soon as they were back in their room, “Did we get anywhere today?”
	“I don’t think so,” Allura admitted. “They’re still an impenetrable wall.” She stretched her arms out ahead of her.
	“Giani doesn’t seem to like being part of that wall. Not sure Welx and Hing like it much better,” he pointed out.
	“But they’re still part of it.” She rubbed the back of her neck.
	“You okay?” he asked.
	“Fine, just… we sat for so long and talked around issues instead of really talking about them.” 
	“Here, let me help.” He walked around behind her to rub her shoulders.
	Allura let out a sigh of relief. “Ohhhh, that’s nice. Thank you.”
	“If we can get Giani alone, I think she’ll talk to us.”
	“She is fond of the sound of her voice. Get my neck, will you?”
	“Yes, my princess,” he said in amusement, moving a hand there. “But the trick is the ‘getting her alone’ part.”
	“Maybe during one of the rest breaks? She and I use the same bathrooms. But it’ll be tricky to… ahhhh, right there. By the Ancients, thank you so much.”
	Shiro smiled. “What’s tricky about it?”
	Allura didn’t answer at first, just leaned back into his hands more. After a dobosh, she explained, “Grashnarian culture. We don’t discuss business outside of the conference room.”
	“Then don’t discuss business. Schmooze.”
	“Do what now?”
	“You know: ingratiate yourself. Carefully, because I know they don’t like that. Work to befriend her. Make her see you as someone she can trust. She can’t help but take that attitude into the negotiations with her.”
	“Ah. Wretheldop.”
	“Sure, that.”
	She pulled away from his hands to turn and face him. “We really need to work on your Altean.”
	“‘I would be glad to.’” He couldn’t help grinning.
	“OH, THAT’S IT.” And she attacked, hands going for his ribs.
	“Ah! Hey! No fair!” Shiro backed away, trying to swat her hands away from him (gently). 
	“What’s not fair is you saying that! How many times did I have to hear that today?” She was pursuing him, keeping up her attempted tickle assaults.
	“You’re attacking me after I was helping you out? What happened to ‘By the Ancients, thank you so much’?!”
	“That was before you showed your true colors, fiend!”
	His back hit the wall, and she redoubled her efforts, getting in a strike or two that made him squirm away. “Allura, stop it!”
	“Take it back! Or at least apologize!” She was grinning though.
	“Hey, it’s the truth! I haven’t had much time to learn Altean, but I’d…gyah!” as she got in a good shot at his side. “Okay, enough of this.”
	She wasn’t stopping. “You’re going to apologize then?”
	“Nope.” He grabbed hold of her hands and held on as tight as he dared. “Taking out the enemy’s weapons.”
	She was a little breathless from her onslaught. “Oh, am I the enemy now?”
	“You attacked me!” he pointed out, trying to get his own breath back.
	“You deserved it.”
	“And I have defended myself.”
	She didn’t answer that. The grin on her face was fading. Was it his imagination or had her body swayed a little closer to his? He lost himself in the colors and depths of her eyes. It was too easy to picture his hands letting go of hers, of his arms wrapping around her, pulling her in as close as he could, of…
	He didn’t know if he had actually let go or not, but her hands were suddenly on his chest. His arms started the imagined motion, but she pushed herself away from him gently. “I should get a shower. Get ready for bed. F-for sleep.” She licked her lips.
	“Oh, right. Yes.” He dropped his hands to his sides to make sure she didn’t think he was trying to do anything… even if he almost had been. “Absolutely. You’ve had a hard quintant. I should do my meditation.”
	“Right. Yes.” She backed away a couple of steps. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it.” He definitely caught the blush in her cheeks before she turned and hurried off to the master bathroom.
	When the door shut, he closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall. He focused on calming his breathing and tried not to think of how close he’d come to Way Too Far.
	Ever since the ball, I can’t stop thinking of her as…
	As what? Beautiful? Radiant? Amazing? He’d always known she was those things. Why was it only now affecting him so strongly? Was it just because they were supposed to be married? Just because they were pretending to be newlywed and in love, but only in the distant, Grashnarian-approved ways? 
	Everything was a contradiction here. We’re married, but we’re not, and we can’t show that we’re not, but we can’t be too obvious about being in love, either. They don’t say ‘no,’ they say about a dozen other things that sound like yes but aren’t. Everything looks shiny and polished and prosperous, but the people are in rags and fighting in the street. We’re guests who can’t leave. We were invited to come, but we don’t seem to be all that welcome. The planet is ruled by a council ruled by one man.
	Another headache was coming on. He shook his head to clear it and pushed off the wall. He wanted the calm steadiness of some meditation. He had to re-center, re-focus. At this rate, we won’t be leaving here anytime soon.
~End of Chapter 2~