_______________________________________________________________________

As the light of transport faded from around her, Esmeraude found herself drawing in quite a sharp breath. She couldn't quite tell why she was doing it -- whether it was concern for Saffir's well-being or simply because Saffir assaulting a member of the Dark Kingdom hierarchy didn't bode well for either of them.

Kunzite immediately stormed over to where Saffir was actually banging Zoisite's head against the wall, and stood there for a second.

It was indeed a surreal sight, from Esmeraude's point of view. Eyes narrowed, hands tightly clenched about the collar material of Zoisite's uniform, Saffir was holding the bishounen about an inch or so off the floor, shaking him back and forth to punctuate his words. It didn't appear that he was trying to make Zoisite's head connect with the wall; it seemed more a bonus than a maliciously devised undertaking.

"Don't -- you -- ever -- tell -- such -- bull -- shit -- lies -- a-gain -- or -- I -- will -- tear -- your -- heart -- out -- and -- play -- squash -- with -- it -- do -- you -- UN-DER-STAND -- me?!"

For a moment, Kunzite appeared entranced by Saffir's rhythmic, monotonous chanting, but the second a strangled cry escaped Zoisite's throat when he saw his Kunzaito-sama, he sprang into action.

The tall silver king stepped up behind the oblivious blue prince, and reached out either side of him, taking both of his wrists into his large, unyielding hands.

Saffir didn't even notice, so intent on his prey was he. It wasn't until Kunzite tightened his grip so taut it was enough to cut off his circulation that Saffir released the small man and remained oddly silent, staring at Zoisite. His arms were still held out as if he were about to throttle the pretty boy, his eyes maniacal and wide.

Zoisite, who had fallen the inch or so to the ground and just barely managed to land on his feet, backed away from the prince, held firmly in Kunzite's grasp. He promptly met with the wall, still not taking his eyes from the strangely silent royal.

"Kunzaito-sama..." Zoisite said softly. "Kunzaito-sama... he's... smiling... at me..."

"Nanii?" asked Kunzite, his brow furrowing. He was finding this situation laughingly surreal -- he was still holding the prince before him, his hands tightly about his slender wrists. Saffir had barely even tried to struggle against him.

Esmeraude cast the motionless prince a curious glance, before slowly opening her fan once more. She looked to the red fabric for a second, a little lost. Then she looked up again. Nothing had changed.

Zoisite was pressed against the wall, looking for all the world like a deer caught in a hunter's sights. Saffir simply stared at him, a tiny little smile upturning his lips in a peculiarly malicious manner. Kunzite was still behind him, holding his wrists, his argent eyes baffled and confused as he looked to the copper-blond man.

Esmeraude slowly moved towards the prince. Standing to one side, she tentatively waved her fan in front of his face.

He didn't even blink.

"I think he's in shock," she said finally, stepping backward from him. Kunzite could easily see the complete mystification of the woman; obviously, it wasn't usual for the blue-haired freak to pull such a stunt. "I think you can let him go now."

"Don't you dare, Kunzite-sama!" shrieked Zoisite, wincing at the very thought. "Don't even think about that!"

Understanding dawned in Kunzite's argent eyes. "Zoisite, what did you do to him?"

Zoisite bit his lip, not taking his verdant gaze from the prince's almost frozen features. "I didn't do a damn thing," he denied vehemently. Even though it actually sounded as if he were telling the truth, the fearful look in his eyes indicated otherwise.

"Saffir?" asked Kunzite finally, and the prince jerked beneath his grasp. "Can I let you go now, or are you going to continue to be a problem?"

Saffir blinked rapidly a few times, the insane look fleeing from his eyes. Now, he looked young, very confused, and actually, remarkably innocent. "W-what's going on?"

"We were hoping you could tell us, Useless," remarked Esmeraude dryly, though she then regretted the use of that word when she saw the flash of fire in his eyes.

Saffir looked over to Zoisite, who positively wilted underneath the glare. It was most definitely a talent gleaned from his elder brother. Then he turned this gaze on the only woman present. "I thought I told you never to call me that, Esmeraude."

"I don't care to hear your discussion on name-calling," Kunzite interrupted suddenly, as if breaking up a playground fight. "I would like to know what is going on here."

"He tried to kill me!" blurted out Zoisite, pointing at Saffir. He then shuddered as the ao no oji smiled sarcastically at him.

"Oh, I did, did I? I wonder why."

"Enough," snapped Kunzite through gritted teeth. "There is something very peculiar going on here, and I would very much like to know just who you are and what you are doing here."

Saffir feigned innocence, though a strange light glowed in his eyes. "Why, Kunzite-sama, I'm hurt. Have you already forgotten our introduction to your Queen? Did I not make myself clear then? Must I repeat myself? Were you not listening? Kunzite-sama, how may times must I introduce myself and my motives to you?"

The incessant barrage of questions served to tick off the king in a more than satisfactory manner. He frowned and interrupted Saffir's speech. "I think youâve been lying to us all along, your highness."

Saffir chuckled. "Oh? So you want the truth?"

Esmeraude snapped her fan in her agitation; only Zoisite's sharp ears caught the sound. The prince and the king were too immersed in one another to pay much attention to the other, more feminine pair.

Zoisite's verdant eyes sought the chocolate brown of Esmeraude's -- and he seemed to ask her "What the Hell is wrong with that prince of yours?"

Turning away from Zoisite, Esmeraude snapped one of the two halves of her already-broken fan, giving Saffir a terrified, speculative look. What the Hell is Useless going to do now?

Kunzite smiled derisively. "I think I'm entitled to it."

Zoisite couldn't resist. "I think we're all entitled to it," he piped up, his voice oddly high-pitched.

Saffir cocked an eyebrow lazily. "Zoisite, you want to hear the truth?"

He swallowed, and then quashed his irrational fear of the blue-haired prince. "Yes," he snapped.

"Oh, all right then," replied Saffir mildly. He turned to give Esmeraude a brief look, and she shuddered. His eyes -- she had never seen them like that ever before. So blank, so emotionless...

Saffir looked back to Zoisite. "This is the truth Zoisite," he said softly, dusky eyes vacant and unforgiving. Then he laughed slightly, before screaming as he launched himself at the stunned bishounen. "I'M GOING TO RIP YOUR FREAKING HEAD OFF!"

­ ­ ­

Dimando stiffened.

He closed his eyes in pain, trying to sort through the strange energies that had somehow permeated his mindscape. However strange they were, he still recognised them.

He and Saffir had been together all their lives, they had barely been apart. Without a mother, and with a father who was usually too busy to pay much attention to his sons, the pair had become the equivalent of almost best-friends. However, it wasn't until their father's death and Saffir's kidnapping that this mind-bond between them had been forged.

And it was down this bond that now radiated all the pain and frustrations of Saffir re'Adamant, telling his oniisan that not even time and space could completely separate them.

Before Dimando could even try to reverse this strange form of almost-communication, the air before his dais wavered, and the form of the Wiseman appeared.

The beautiful violet eyes narrowed. "What is it, Wiseman?"

The old, cloaked man spoke after a second of silence, which annoyed the shiro no oji to no end. Not only had he arrived unannounced (even though the Wiseman always had tended to come and go as he pleased), he had the gall to make him wait before telling Dimando the reason behind his presence. "Prince Dimando, you have neglected your duties in lieu of your brother's disappearance. Such behaviour is not only irresponsible, it is also dangerous."

His lips whitened as he pulled them tight. "I hardly think it is your place to say anything, Wiseman."

"As your only existing advisor, I think I am well within my rights," he replied softly, and Dimando winced at the reminder of the lack of his brother and his last highly-placed officer.

"Very well," Dimando said after a moment's pause. "We shall resume the attack on the thirtieth century Crystal Palace."

The Wiseman jerked from his sitting position. "Prince... don't you mean the twentieth century crystal points?" he asked, slowly and distinctly.

"No, I don't," remarked Dimando, and he smiled slightly. It was a melancholy smile, but also a very determined one. "My brother always insisted that we attack within our own time, and not mess about with the past. He said it was dangerous -- and now he has proved it by relinquishing his own place in this timespace. So, in light of my brother's sacrifice, we shall do as he always desired, and fight our battle here. Within our own time."

The Wiseman only nodded, even though he was far from pleased. Even though he did not agree with this about-face in the slightest, he knew he had to bide his time. Defying Dimando's frivolous whim now would, quite possibly, be a mistake he was not willing to make. "I shall gather your remaining officers, and bring them to you presently," he replied carefully, as Dimando stared down at the near-empty glass in his pale hand.

"See that you do," Dimando replied steadfastly without looking up, though internally, he sighed. Marshalling his forces was bound to be depressing -- he had no-one left who was anywhere near the field of Esmeraude or Rubius. And certainly, none of his remaining tacticians could hold a candle to Saffir...

As the Wiseman vanished, he reflected on the unfairness of it all. Even when Saffir was trapped, he still held an annoyingly tight rein over the fanciful Prince's mind.

­ ­ ­

­ ­ ­

Saffir shook his head slightly, feeling the agony of a first-class migraine as he tried to open his eyes. When he finally managed to do so, he abruptly closed them again, wincing in pain. "The light's... too bright..." he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. However, he could feel the presence of someone else in the room, though it was not malicious company.

At least, he hoped it wasn't.

Cracking open his eyes again, a flash of verdant hair caught his vision, and he sighed. Even though there were other people he would much rather have in his presence, he supposed Esmeraude was better than one of those annoying Dark Kingdom flunkies. "Hello, Emmy-dear."

She started at the nickname, before glaring at him. "Shut your face, Saffir -- do you know how much trouble you've gotten us both into?"

Saffir finally opened his eyes all the way, those eyes languishing under the brightness of the lights. "What happened?"

Esmeraude snorted. "Well, as you tried to 'rip his freaking head off,' Zoisite, understandably enough, tried to fight you back." Was he dreaming, or was that a flash of admiration in her brown eyes? "I must say, Useless, you certainly managed to knock that bishounen around a bit. And you're not even trained as a warrior."

"Adrenaline can work miracles," Saffir said, groaning as he tried to sit up. Taking in his surroundings, he discovered that he was lying in his bed, in his assigned room. "Tell me, Esmeraude -- what is my little escapade going to cost me?"

"Well, youâve probably got a life-long enemy in Zoisite -- what did he say to you, anyway?"

Saffir recoiled at the memory. "Never mind," he muttered.

Esmeraude adjusted her short skirt where she sat in the chair at his bedside, and seemed on the verge of pressing the subject. However, something in his eyes convinced her otherwise. Changing tack, she swept on. "Kunzite-sama is obviously less than pleased, but I managed to convince him that you were uncontrollable, and it wasn't actually your own fault."

It was Saffir's turn to be impressed. "He's going to overlook the incident? How on Nemesis did you manage to pull that one off, Esmeraude?"

She looked to one side, and then back to Saffir. "I... I told him that you hadn't had your medication."

Saffir decided not to ask her any further questions ö he had the sneaking suspicion he'd rather not hear about it. "Actually, Esmeraude... what are you doing here?"

She seemed startled by his question. "What?" she asked, absently stroking the silk of her new fan.

He indicated the chair beside his bed. "I never thought you cared."

She actually blushed, as she giggled slightly nervously. "Oh, I don't, I... I just..."

He smiled wryly. "Don't knock yourself out, Esmeraude. I know you don't like me."

The verdant-haired woman shook out her mane in a tense gesture, not looking at him. "It's not that, Saffir... I was just... worried about you. If something happened to you, Dimando-sama would never forgive me."

Saffir nodded slightly, a small smile on his lips. "I understand, Esmeraude."

The words hung heavy in the air for a moment, and Esmeraude felt compelled to break the uneasy silence. "When can we go home?"

The words shot a bolt of pain through his heart. "I don't know, Esmeraude," he said finally, with great difficulty. "I have tried to reopen the gateway, but it has never worked..."

Esmeraude watched as Saffir's hands worked nervously over the bedspread, noting the way he clutched it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

For the first time since their arrival, Esmeraude began to feel some of that hopelessness Saffir had entertained ever since Sailor Pluto had banished them to the past.

It was not a feeling she enjoyed.

­ ­ ­

In point of fact, Saffir's momentary loss of control and its aftermath actually helped their cause, not hindered it.

"Well, Prince Saffir," Beryl said in smoky amusement, "I see that you would easily gain a place in my hierarchy."

Saffir bowed, keeping his face still. "I hope that I have not displeased Your Majesty in my ... reply to Zoisite-sama?"

It was the third day after Saffir's temper had gone the way of the Great Auk and exploded all over Zoisite. He had been called to a private audience with the dark queen, and Esmeraude, wonder of all wonders, had quietly agreed to stay behind. For seconds at a time, there were actually instances when Saffir could forget how much he detested the green-haired Lord Marshal of Nemesis.

"Of course not," Beryl said, studying him with those predatory yellow orbs. "Only the strong survive, Saffir-sama, and occasionally even my Shitennou require a reminder of that fact. You will pardon me - " not a request at all - "but if Zoisite was lax enough to allow you to catch him by the throat, then he badly needed the lesson."

And hang him if the ancient witch-queen didn't actually smile at him in fanged amusement.

Saffir barely concealed his shudder.

"I thank Your Majesty," Saffir said, still as formally as if Dimando-oniisan were hovering over his shoulder, parsing every word along with him. There were certain occasions, and this was one of them, when Saffir could appreciate his brother's iron-handed decree that Saffir learn the art of court diplomacy. He didn't like it, but there was no denying that Dimando-oniisan's hated lessons were saving his skin.

Beryl glanced at him from under impossibly long eyelashes, then stood from her massive, immensely ugly throne and stood looking down at him from her dais. Her throne room, unusually, was empty save for they two (and, of course, the dying youma strung up high in the vasty nave; but even if they could hear Beryl's private audiences, they were certainly in no position to report to anyone).

"Come," she said abruptly. "Come with me, Prince Saffir. We have much to discuss, and I believe that I shall accord you the honor of being allowed to sit in my presence."

Saffir just barely managed not to gape at her, but it took all of his willpower. Kunzite wasn't allowed to sit in Beryl's presence; she was one monarch who took the concept of lŽsŽ majestŽ very seriously indeed.

"Certainly, Queen Beryl-sama," he said politely, and moved to follow the dark queen. He hesitated not at all when setting foot on the first step; if Beryl were going to blast him for being disrespectful, then she wouldn't have invited him to come to her.

When he had reached the top of the dais, a surface which had not felt any foot save Beryl's for countless millennia, he stood by Beryl's side and turned, wondering, to look over the throne room as Beryl must see it.

A vast, dark room: inky blackness reached up to the yawning ceiling with shadowy claws. Tall twisted pillars, looking uncannily like fangs. The polished obsidian floor like black ice; swallowing all light and refusing to refract or throw back reflections. Anyone standing on that floor, gazing up in hopelessness at the great throne-dais must appear as a worm to the woman sitting upon the Throne Under Metallia.

Saffir remembered the only time he had ever ventured to sit upon Dimando-oniisan's throne: he had been a very small boy, just ransomed from the prisons of Lord Alabaster by Dimando, and he had wanted to discover what value sitting in such an ugly chair could hold for his oniisan. Sitting in the green Throne of the Winds, looking out over Dimando's Presence Chamber, Saffir had viewed the double doors at the far end of the room, the proud white pillars ringing the chamber, well-lit and airy dome overhead - but most of all, the Petitioner's Square directly in front of the Throne. The Square was the most well-lit place in the Presence Chamber. Comforting yellow light fell upon the petitioner; light in which he could look directly into the face of Prince Dimando as the Sovereign sat his throne.

The worlds of difference between autocratic, domineering Dimando-oniisan and autocratic, domineering Beryl-sama were entirely apparent to Saffir: his oniisan held at least some regard for the clan and for the people of Nemesis. Beryl cared for little more than her own glory and revenge upon the Kingdom of the Moon.

"Your Majesty," Saffir said composedly, turning to look up at the fire-haired dark queen. "I await Your Majesty."

Beryl smiled; the crystal staff which usually occupied a place of honor before her throne was in her right hand. Her left hand gripped Saffir's shoulder, and the world vanished in the dazzle of Beryl's teleport.

They reappeared in a small room, comfortably furnished in Late Gothic Gloom: dark heavy "leather" (Saffir was horribly aware of a growing suspicion that it was youma-hide), deeply polished "ivory" (the same suspicion pertaining to youma bone), and many many tall candles that burned with a deep red flame.

"Charming," Saffir lied easily. Amazing how being in the company of Esmeraude so much could have facilitated his ease with lying....

Beryl waved this away with a slim hand. "Please be seated, Prince Saffir," she said, eyes fastened disconcertingly on his face.

Saffir sat, or rather fell gracefully into a hideous blood-red armchair; Beryl sat directly opposite, somehow pulling Dimando's trick of making any chair he occupied seem a throne.

"Prince Saffir," Beryl began, "tell me of your lord brother, Prince of Nemesis."

Saffir was mildly surprised by this request, but not too put out; his brother was his favorite subject. Dimandology was Saffir's speciality.

He began with Dimando's flight from the Usurper Lord Alabaster after Alabaster had assassinated Dimando and Saffir's father, Prince Adamant; Dimando's gathering of the powerful lords; Dimando's ransoming of Saffir, who had been kidnapped by Alabaster as a precaution against Dimando's reprisals; and - here Saffir began to falter - at Dimando's empire-forging, aided by his most trusted counsellor, the dark magician, the Wiseman.

"I see," said Queen Beryl, when Saffir finally paused. He could bear no more; after the Wiseman's emerging pre-eminence among the counsellors of the White Prince came all the memories of Dimando-oniisan's growing obsession with Earth - all the planning and tactics with Lord Marshal Garnet, Esmeraude's now-deceased father (he had died on the April Fool's Day attack on Crystal Tokyo) - the endless feuds and backbiting between Esmeraude's infantry and Rubius' navy - all the horrible, horrible memories of dear beloved Dimando-sama becoming more cold and distant, removed and preoccupied with his vengeance on Earth and his coming rule at Serenity's side.

"Your brother, the royal Dimando, rules absolutely on Nemesis," Beryl said thoughtfully.

"Yes, Your dark Majesty," Saffir replied. "Of course, Rudra oversees the bureaucracy, but even he is only a prime minister to Dimando-sama's principality."

"Yes," Beryl said, even more thoughtfully. Her yellow gaze ticked over Saffir's features; he didn't dare move under that unblinking regard.

"And you have no treaties with any from Earth?"

Saffir blinked. Well, there was the fact that currently, all of thirtieth-century Earth belonged to Dimando, and before that they'd had that agreement with the Senate of Roma Aeterna, but nothing that could really be categorized as a treaty, not as such... "No, Your dark Majesty," Saffir replied. "We have no ties at all with Earth; my lord brother prefers only to ally himself with the strong."

He was rather proud of himself for pulling that out of nowhere; Beryl surely ought to be flattered by the implication that Dimando considered Earth worthless and the Dark Kingdom strong enough to be worth the notice of Nemesis.

Ha! See, Dimando-oniisan, your lessons weren't totally wasted on me. I can still be diplomatic, oniisan, I could survive in the politic gymnastics of your Court!

Beryl frowned, now, and Saffir wondered frantically what he had done to incur the dark queen's displeasure.

"You are sure? No ties at all with Earth? Not - oh - marriages between members of the Black Moon royalty and certain members of the Imperial line of Earth?"

Well, now, this query just took Saffir completely off guard. What does one say to a suggestion that one's own family has committed miscegenation with those repulsive nitwits from Earth? A voice deep inside Saffir said politely and just a bit smugly, But isn't that what Dimando-oniisan wants to do with Serenity?

"No," Saffir said in bewilderment. "Your dark Majesty - um - may I inquire as to why Your dark Majesty would ask?"

And now Beryl smiled, actually leaned forward at him, displaying her chillingly long canines in a gentle, almost tender expression.

"Because, dear Prince Saffir," she explained, reaching up to brush away that rebellious lock of hair from his brow, away from the sigil of the Black Moon, "you resemble minutely one of the Imperial line of Earth, Crown Prince Endymion."

To say that Saffir was shocked and nonplussed by this would have to rank right up there with the Top Five Understatements of the Eon.

­ ­ ­

Esmeraude sat quietly in her chair, mending her fan and applying a froth of deep pink lace to it. She was fond of deep pink and of dark purple and of forest green; they complimented her pale, verdant-haired beauty, and soothed her eyes, as they retained their brilliance under the almost blinding light of the Sun of Earth. Really - back in Nemesis one had proper pale light, barely enough to highlight the horizon. What were these idiots of Earth thinking, living so close to the Sun? She really didn't know why Dimando-sama bothered.

She picked out a few crystal beads from the small dish on the table beside her, and stitched a dainty filigree of blue beads over the scrim of her beloved fan. She held it up to admire her handiwork. Saffir wasn't the only artisan in the family; Esmeraude could never hope to equal Useless' skill and dexterity in shaping crystal, but her fans were works of art in themselves. And stupid baka prick Rubius had dared break one of her babies...

Esmeraude dwelt for a moment in simmering malice upon the perfidy of the late and unlamented baka prick, Rubius re'Stephanite. He was no great loss; he had scarcely been an adornment to the Family. And had she mentioned that he had actually had the gall to break one of her fans? Not even Useless had ever quite dared to harm one of Esmeraude's beloved fans...

She glanced up, and happened to meet the gaze of Nephrite, who was lounging against the doorframe.

"Esmeraude-san," he said, quite politely, inclining his head to her. "May I come in?"

She regarded him with barely-concealed speculation for a moment, then shrugged gracefully. "If you like."

Nephrite seated himself across from her, and actually smiled. "I was pleased to hear that Saffir-sama could defend himself," he remarked. "Surprised, but pleased. Anyone who could whap Zoisite across the head is bound to gain my approval."

Esmeraude blinked. If this had been Nemesis, she could name at least three ways Nephrite would've died after he left her chambers; he was actually confiding in her, in someone whom he did not know well and whom he had every indication of disliking. Well. That was something new. She continued stitching in quick, even jabs of the needle, and gave a small chuckle. "Saffir-sama is not quite as.. useless.. as he appears," she allowed coolly. She might be able to insult Saffir, but he was after all her cousin and Dimando-sama's brother; no outsider was allowed to set a verbal finger on him.

Nephrite smiled genially. "Of course not," he said. "And may I say, Esmeraude-san, that you have impressed me considerably more over the past few days than when you originally appeared."

"Oh really," Esmeraude said, warming up slightly. If they were going to talk about her, then this conversation might be worth her time after all.

And Nephrite was really quite attractive, with that mass of auburn hair and those deep blue eyes... Not up to Dimando-sama's standards, or even Kunzite's, but he would do for now...

They chatted away like old friends for quite some time.

­ ­ ­

Dimando sat his throne coolly, looking over his reduced ranks of tacticians and marshals with a jaundiced eye.

He shuddered mentally. Only two of them were actually worth anything at all: Lord Serpentine re'Carnelian Seven Stars, who technically speaking wasn't even a member of the Black Moon Family at all; and Lady Kimberlite re'Chert, who was one of the most able spymistresses on Nemesis but who could not interpret a battleplan nor command troops if her life depended on it.

There was, of course, Lord Savant Lychnite re'Serojin over in the corner, jealously watching over his clan's lord Serpentine, but Dimando trusted Lychnite about as far as he could throw him. As Savants went, Lychnite was extremely capable and deviously subtle; he was Saffir's mathematical equal, but he was not Saffir's peer in anything else.

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? No one could really take Saffir's place among Dimando's counsellors. As much as he missed Saffir as his beloved otootochan and only true friend, right now Dimando missed him in his tactical capacities much more.

However, he already had Esmeraude's replacement staked out.

"Serpentine re'Carnelian," he said calmly. "Step forward."

The singularly massive young man, Dimando's own age and a proven politician, orator, and commander, obediently stepped out of the ranks and stood before the Throne of the Winds. He was a few inches taller than Dimando himself; his eyes were Dimando's own clear violet, and his waist-length hair, in a single plait wrapped in a leather sleeve, was the same rich purple.

He was utterly devoted to Dimando and to the cause of Nemesis' conquest.

"You are now Lord Marshal of Nemesis," Dimando decreed. "You are second-in-command of all our operations on Earth; and your first objective is to pick up where Lord Marshal Garnet re'Purl left off: with the siege of Crystal Tokyo."

Serpentine looked up in surprise. "Crystal Tokyo, my Prince?" he repeated. "This Crystal Tokyo?"

"Certainly," Dimando said. There was a quick susurration of wonder through the ranks of counsellors and commanders; it was quickly stifled by the appearance of the Wiseman at Dimando's right hand.

Dimando, taking no notice of the cowled magician, went on, "My brother Prince Saffir has convinced me of the need to concentrate on our original target, Tokyo of the Gemstones. The four Guardian Senshi are weakening noticeably, and if we could but hammer away at them for as little as three days' more, the siege could at last be broken, and all of Earth will belong to Nemesis. We would finally be revenged for our ancestors."

Few watching could resist the urge to shudder at the cold light burning in the eyes of the White Prince.

Serpentine bowed. "As you say, Serene Highness," he murmured, and composedly about-faced to walk through the double doors. Technically, Dimando had not yet dismissed him; but the counsellors of the White Prince had long since learned that when Dimando wanted something done, he didn't give a damn for the proprieties: he wanted it done now.

Dimando ruminated in silence for a bit over the remaining counsellors. He sighed at last, and said wearily, "Lord Savant Lychnite."

The gray-haired older man stepped forward confidently. "Serene Highness?" Both his voice and his eyes showed that he had arrived at a calculation he liked: that he had been selected as the replacement for the strangely absent Prince Saffir, as main tactician and senior legate of the Field Marshal Lord Serpentine.

Dimando confirmed this; Lychnite was ordered to his post at Serpentine's side at once. If nothing else, Dimando thought, he could certainly trust the honest Serpentine to keep that wolfshead Lychnite's depredations in check. He smiled a bit sourly. Things were sad indeed when he had only one watcher to watch over his errant-tending subordinates. Usually, Saffir's mere presence, that aura of innocent honesty about him, was enough to keep things at least fairly smooth.

"That's enough," Dimando snapped abruptly. "The rest of you, to your duties."

Startled, they all scattered as quickly as decency allowed; no one wanted to be within range of the White Prince's unpredictable temper.

Dimando buried his face in his hands, allowed a brief strangled sob to escape him. Saffir, brother, please come back to me. For you I would destroy the world or save it.

The Wiseman noted silently that Dimando was nearly ready for the final push.

Not yet, of course; let Crystal Tokyo fall first. Then, without his so-trusting little brother to protect him and warn him, the weakened Dimando would fall easily to the Death Phantom.

The Wiseman vanished as silently as he had come, leaving Dimando alone with his grief and his despair.

­ ­ ­

"I hate him," Zoisite wept into Kunzite's shoulder. "I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him..."

Kunzite, in a rare moment of affection, had allowed his sakura to burrow into his lap and snuggle into him, but instead of the cuddling and whatever activity that might have led to that Kunzite hoped for, Zoisite had instead begun moping over his humiliating treatment by Prince Saffir.

"I'm certain all the youma know about it," he sobbed. "If they know that Lord Zoisite can be beaten by some stupid punk outlander, they'll figure I'm fair game to be taken down and replaced by one of them, and I'll be exhausted all the time by those stupid youma challenging me, and then I'll be tired one night and one of them will kill me, and I'm dooooooooomed!" he wailed. He buried his face in Kunzite's neck and cried as if he fully intended to fly apart at the seams.

Kunzite didn't quite know what to do about this. Had it been anyone else, he would've picked up the whiner by the scruff of his neck and shaken the thing silly. But then, would anyone else but Zoisite dare to cry on Lord Kunzite? No, of course not. Which made it altogether a unique situation.

He sighed. Occasionally, the same mercurial temperament that so amused and charmed Kunzite drove him mad when his sakura chose to be ... trying.

"Easy," he soothed. "None of the youma could possibly know."

"Yes they can!" Zoisite was inconsolable. "Baka Nephrite told all of his highest-ranking ones, and they told their lower circles, and now even Jadeite's defunct units know! I'm ruined!"

"Well, then," Kunzite said in exasperation, "just kill Nephrite."

This was meant solely as a joke, an attempt to jolly Zoisite out of his current despondent mood.

Unfortunately, Zoisite seized on it.

His tears dried up instantly and his sweetly lovely face became animated. "Oh really! What a terrific idea!"

Zoisite planted a quick happy kiss on the startled Kunzite's lips and vanished in a haze of cherry blossoms.

Out of nowhere, Kunzite heard Zoisite bubbling, "Now let's see, I could probably get off a shot best when he's occupied with that stupid human paramour of his.... I could have my youma kidnap her and hold her somewhere... Oh what fun!"

Kunzite shook his head in bemusement. For such a seemingly innocuous individual, Prince Saffir of the Black Moon certainly touched off some interesting situations.

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To Part Seven