Zoisite slid the bag off of his shoulder, tossed it on the bed, and surveyed his surroundings. The room was small, but well-appointed: green throw rug, wooden floor and walls, large window overlooking the gardens. Large bed, one overstuffed chair, a mirror on the door of the closet. Adequate, he decided. Not perfect, but it'll do.

Behind him, he heard the two servants struggling with his trunk as they lugged it up the steep flight of stairs. Zoisite was accosted with a brief twinge of guilt for packing so much, and then leaving it to the servants to carry - but his guilt didn't last very long at all. They were almost certainly being very well paid by King Anchises, and they simply weren't his concern. Zoisite let his mind flash back to the past ten years of grueling training. I went through a lot worse than carrying somebody's luggage up the stairs, that's for sure. Zoisite swung the window open and leaned out, luxuriating in the rich scent of the rose gardens and the warm air.

"Just leave it in the corner," he instructed the servants curtly, as he heard them come in through the door, not even bothering to turn around.

"Hai, Zoisite-sama," they replied in unison. Zoisite waited a moment for the sound of receding footsteps; nothing came. He sighed, and turned around.

The two men - one blonde, one brown-haired, identically clad in gray and gold uniforms - stood at attention, their heads slightly bowed.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Zoisite snapped.

"To be dismissed, my lord," the blonde one said.

"Oh." Even though he had been raised as the first son in one of the most powerful noble families on Earth, Zoisite was not accustomed to this level of formality. Usually the servants just left, without waiting for a command; he struggled with a surge of irritation for forgetting that here, formality reached a whole new level. Of course he had to dismiss the servants!

"You're dismissed," he said, waving one hand. Then something occurred to him: "Wait! One of you, stay." They both froze, turned around respectfully. Damn. I probably have to specify which one. "Umm . . . you, the blonde one, you stay. You - the other one - you're dismissed." The brown-haired one bowed, and hurried off silently; the blonde one stood, not moving an inch, not even blinking.

"What's your name?" Zoisite asked.

"Yanji, sir," the man said stiffly.

"All right, Yanji. Show me around here, please. I mean - the bathroom, the training range, the kitchen, whatever else I'd want to know about. And tell me what I'd need to know, considering that I'm going to be living here."

"Hai, Zoisite-sama," the servant said, bowing. It might have been his imagination, but Zoisite thought the man looked slightly more relaxed. "If you would wish to . . . follow me . . ."

"Lead the way," said Zoisite, a patina of false cheer brightening his voice. The obsequiousness of this man was already begin to grind sharply on his nerves, and he had a nagging suspicion that all of the servants would act like this toward him, and he would be expected to act like this toward all of his superiors. It was the last thought that angered him the most. Damn if I'm going to bow and scrape for Endymion, Prince or no.

He followed Yanji down the hall. The man was almost a full hand taller than he - humiliating. And I'm supposed to be a Guardian - that same old self-doubt, nagging at his entrails. This wasn't shaping up to be a good day.

"Along this hall are the rooms of your fellow Guardians, my Lord - Kunzite-sama, Jadeite-sama, and Nephrite-sama. They all moved in several days ago -"

"One of my horses broke a leg," Zoisite snapped, annoyed. "Of course I was late."

"I meant no offense, Lord Zoisite," Yanji apologized quickly. "There is a name plate on each door, as I'm sure you've noticed. The door at the end of this hall is the bathroom. It is equipped with a toilet and a washbasin, but not a tub. If you would follow me, I could show you to the bathhouses, which are a little further away but have absolutely wonderful facilities - hot and cold tubs, a sauna . . ."

"No. Just give me verbal instructions to the bathhouse. Show me the practice range first."

"As you wish, Zoisite-sama." Yenji led the copper-haired man down the stairs, out the door, and through the gardens. A large marble building stood on a low hillock, wreathed in roses and morning glory. A broad paved path led up to an open doorway flanked by columns.

Zoisite pulled ahead of his guide, his copper hair bouncing behind him as he jogged up the path, through the doorway, into the practice range. He caught his breath - amazing! Even a decade of training with one of the world's best weapons masters had not prepared him for such an array of spears, swords, maces, shields, daggers, javelins, and other, more exotic weapons, which hung in racks all across the walls. Several large dojo were clearly marked in the middle of the open room; a set of gymnastics bars stood on the far left, a series of targets on the far right. The entire ceiling was a single sheet of glass - doubtless reinforced by magic, but light streamed in in golden profusion.

Zoisite heard Yenji come up behind him. "Gomen nasai, my lord -" "You're dismissed," Zoisite said hastily, and then added, "But thank you."

He didn't even have to turn around to see that the servant was bowing, and hurrying silently off. Zoisite stepped into the center of the room; two pairs of men were fighting in the dojo to his left. Zoisite sighed, ran his fingers through his tousled brown hair, tried to straighten out his jacket. He didn't feel like introductions, but he couldn't simply ignore them, particularly if he wanted a sparring partner.

And he wanted a sparring partner. Very badly. An awareness nagged at the back of Zoisite's mind - that he should be doing something, presenting himself somewhere, maybe to King Anchises or Prince Endymion - but the frustrations of the day, his fear and anger and anticipation, overwhelmed any etiquette concerns. What Zoisite really wanted to do was beat somebody up, work up a sweat, get some of this emotional miasma cleared.

"Hello, I'm Zoisite," he called out, as he approached the figures in the dojo. They all stopped, turned to look at him, and Zoisite realized, muffling a curse on the tip of his tongue, that the tall, black haired man in the closest dojo was Prince Endymion. He hadn't seen the Prince for almost a year - since the last very formal event at the Earthen capital - but there was no mistaking that face, that short, straight raven hair and muscular build, not to mention the black and red cape denoting his rank as Prince and Heir. Zoisite dropped to one knee, and bowed his head.

"Please, please," Endymion said. His sword clattered on the clay floor as he dropped it and grabbed one of Zoisite's shoulders. "Don't bow. We're all nobles here. It is I who am grateful for your presence - you are my Guardian, bonded to me, trained to protect me for all you life - and finally you are here! I owe you a debt of gratitude, and I hope that I may be your friend as well as your Prince."

Endymion seemed to have a way with words, Zoisite noted, and he really did seem friendly enough too, if a bit formal. Zoisite climbed to his feet, searching for the right response.

"It is my privilege to at last be directly in your service, my Prince. I will do my best to protect you, and I thank you for your kind words. I would value your friendship very greatly."

Endymion nodded gravely, and Zoisite breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He seemed to have spoken his first sentence without ruining anything. Let's see how long that lasts, a cynical little corner of his mind sneered. He growled inwardly at that traitorous voice, and turned, smiling, to listen to Endymion speaking.

"Now, I know you all have met at some point, but I feel like I should introduce you all formally. Zoisite-san, this is Nephrite-san -" he indicated a tall, well muscled man with piercing blue eyes and a wavy mass of auburn hair. Nephrite wore a black uniform with gold trim and yellow epaulettes. Not his color, Zoisite decided. But he's still reasonably handsome. "-and Jadeite-san -" short-cut blonde hair, a slighter build, though not as slight as Zoisite's, red trim on the black uniform - "and Kunzite-san." Zoisite couldn't help but take in a sharp breath when he looked at the last. Tall - taller than Endymion or Nephrite - perfectly proportioned, the body of a god, deep tan skin and silver eyes and icily handsome face - before his lip curled up in a bit of a sneer. Kunzite's family, the Iyataba, had been ancestral rivals of Zoisite's family, the Chun Li, for centuries. Zoisite was not much concerned with family tradition, but generations of bloodshed did tend to have their effect on his opinions. Plus he just didn't like Kunzite's looks . . . or maybe you like them too much, that horrid little commentator sniped from the back his brain. Zoisite bowed to each in turn, barely bowing to the last. Each bent at the waist slightly in return - except for Kunzite. The look on his perfect features was one of disdain.

"Pardon me, Zoisite-san, but aren't you a little young for this job?" Kunzite asked, tossing his long white hair over one shoulder.

"No, I don't think so. I'm nineteen years old. And oh, pardon me, Kunzite-san, but aren't you a little stupid for this job?"

"This is going well," he heard someone - maybe it was Nephrite - say in a cynical but amused tone of voice. "Oh, shut up, Cape Boy," Zoisite snapped, and then gasped, amazed at his own audacity. This could not be an auspicious start to his future as a royal guardian.

Much to his amazement, Prince Endymion began to laugh uproariously. "Cape Boy? I love it! That's the funniest thing I've ever heard." A pause. "Well, not really. But it's still pretty funny."

"I'm glad you think so," Zoisite said very stiffly, and Endymion began to laugh again, joined by Nephrite and Jadeite. Kunzite's face was a blank mask, a disinterested statue - but Zoisite imagined he could see his eyes snapping with disdain. Fuck you, Iyataba Kunzite, he thought viciously, and then relaxed just a fraction of an inch. Prince Endymion, it seemed, was really not that bad. Kunzite, of course, was another story.

"Come on," Endymion said, tugging at Zoisite's arm. "You can spar with me. I'll introduce you to my father formally, at tonight' - after you get cleaned up and dressed in uniform, of course. Unless you want to be presented right now?"

"No, no," said Zoisite, a little dazedly. "I'd be happy to spar with you . . ."

"Good. Let's see what you've got," Endymion said. "Incidentally, don't even think about losing to me, just to flatter me. You're supposed to be my guardian; I want to see the best you've got." He's arrogant, Zoisite assessed. He may act very friendly, but he's used to being a prince. I like him though; he's got a sense of humor. And he's cute. "Of course, Endymion-sama."

"All right. Let's start with swords, no magic," the dark-haired prince said, stooping to pick his up off the floor. "Choose any one you like from the racks."

Zoisite groaned inwardly; swords were one of his worst weapons, but he knew he damn well better win this fight. He had to prove that he was capable to Endymion - and to his fellow Guardians. Kunzite, in particular, wore a look on his face that said he wouldn't appoint Zoisite as Guardian of anything, particularly not a prince. Zoisite's instant dislike for the tall, white haired man flared into genuine aggression. I'll show you, Kunzite. He examined the weapons on the racks, slowly, carefully. They were all slightly blunted, but he was certain they could do real damage if they were swung hard enough. That was another thing: he'd have to be very careful to defeat Endymion, but not damage him. Zoisite stole several glance at Endymion's sword; five feet of polished steel, sharpened on both edges - a classic broadsword, huge, heavy, powerful. There's no way I could even pick that thing up, let along fight with it. Endymion's casual but ready grip on the hilt bespoke a true mastery of the weapon; his stance was that of a practiced fighter.Something tells me he'll be more than a capable opponent. After several minutes of careful inspection, the copper-haired man selected a small, lightweight scimitar; he switched it from hand to hand, closed his eyes, made himself aware of its balance. He would much prefer fighting with daggers, but this would do . . . He'd have to dodge Endymion's blows; he couldn't hope to block them with this sword. The scimitar would be an offensive weapon only. Quick. Clean, he reminded himself, bouncing a little on his heels, limbering up his muscles.

"I'm ready, Endymion-sama."

Endymion raised on eyebrow at the slender scimitar his opponent had selected. Zoisite noticed it, but said nothing, instead stepping into the dojo and bowing formally. The Prince bowed back.

"One . . . two . . . three . . . BEGIN!" Kunzite pronounced.

All right, Zoi. You can do this.

They circled each other warily; Zoisite's eyes never left Endymion's. One twitch of the pupils would tell him when his opponent was going to strike - stepping slowly around the ring - a tension in those dark eyes, a focus, now! Endymion lunged, he somersaulted, thrust upward with his scimitar as he landed on his knees. Endymion just barely managed to block with his heavy blade - with his free hand, Zoisite chopped at his opponent's kneecap. Endymion let out a howl of pain, staggered backward, but maintained his defensive stance. Zoisite had done no more than give him a temporary ache - and what was I supposed to do? Break his kneecap? The sword was swinging downward again, a huge crushing blow with a speed that Zoisite had to marvel at. Damn, he's good - the edge of the blade caught his left hand, made his fingers explode with agony. Tears stung his eyes. I hope he didn't break my hand - no. Focus. I've had worse. Just focus. With supreme effort, he came to his feet, began circling again. He lunged inward - stab aimed at the prince's stomach, and as he was deflecting it, kick to the throat. That move could kill if done right, crushing the trachea - Zoisite barely allowed himself to connect, forcing the Prince to move backwards, but no more.

From the edges of his consciousness, he was aware of Jadeite saying something to Nephrite, and Kunzite's aloof and steely gaze. No. You can't let yourself be distracted. He barely managed to twist out of the way as Endymion swung at his shoulders - he could feel the skin his upper arm being scraped off by the sword, was vaguely aware of the wetness of his blood. Endymion pressed forward, and he backflipped out of the way, noticing, with satisfaction, the prince's surprised expression. All right- now! "Zoi!" he cried, aiming a low drop-kick at Endymion's feet, and a second kick, in rapid succession, to his already wounded knee. The Prince staggered, fell backwards, and Zoisite swiftly rose to stand over him, holding the tip of his sword poised at his heaving throat.

"Do you surrender, my Prince?" he asked, slightly out of breath, increasingly aware of the pain in his hand and shoulder.

"Of course," Endymion said, chuckling. "Now let me up."

He climbed to his feet, dusted himself off. "Did I rip my cape?"

"No, I don't think so." Zoisite said, running his eyes perfunctorily over the garment in question.

"Good. I'm really rather fond of this cape. I'm impressed, though. I've never seen anybody kick so quickly and accurately."

Nephrite stepped up, smiling. He towered over Zoisite, and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're okay. I didn't think you'd be able to defeat Endymion with that little scimitar . . ."

"But you did," Jadeite finished. "Congratulations. I think you'll make an okay Guardian."

Kunzite said nothing.

King Anchises lounged on his throne, looking Zoisite over with shrewd eyes. The Emperor of Earth very much resembled his son, although his hair was shoulder length and mousy brown, not Endymion's striking black. He wore unadorned, dark blue pants and jacket, and his white-gloved fingers tapped up and down along the armrests of the throne. Zoisite resisted the urge to squirm beneath his silent appraisal as he knelt before the most powerful man on the planet.

"So why are you late?" Anchises asked bluntly.

"I'm very sorry, sire," Zoisite said. "My horse broke a leg midway through the Tauran Forest. I had to walk the rest of the way out, pulling my luggage in a cart. It delayed me three days. Again, my apologies."

"Why didn't you take one of your servants horses, and ride ahead?"

"I'm sorry, sire, I traveled alone. Again, my apologies."

"You traveled alone through the Tauran Forest? Then you are either very skilled, or very lucky. Tell me, did you meet any bandits?"

"One group of three, your majesty. I killed them."

Anchises laughed. "I've had many doubts about accepting you as a Guardian over the past several years; every time I see you, you look shorter and skinnier. But if you really did travel through the Tauran Forest alone, perhaps I should reconsider. So, Endymion says you defeated him in swordplay this morning."

"Yes, sire."

"That's good. If you hadn't, I may very well have sent you back home."

Zoisite couldn't think of anything to say.

"Kunzite-san, Nephrite-san, Jadeite-san! Step forward, please."

They did, and knelt beside Zoisite; Zoisite tried to keep his emerald eyes fixed on King Anchises, but found his gaze swiveling over to Kunzite, his powerful shoulders, his distant, predatory expression. Bastard, he thought, before returning his attention to Anchises.

Anchises began to address them formally. "You four represent the culmination of nearly two decades of training and planning. As you know, from time immemorial the Moon Princess has been guarded by the crown Princesses of the Inner Planets, who are endowed with certain magical powers. It was suggested to me by my chief advisors that I initiate a similar tradition, training the first son of each of Earth's four noble Houses to be a bodyguard and warrior - a Guardian. This was intended not only to protect my son, but to unite the allegiance four Houses beneath my rule - particularly the Iyataba and the Chun Li. I hope that, among other things, having their two first sons sworn to my son will help to defuse that long standing feud.

"For this purpose, you were all renamed, given certain magical powers, magically bound to my son, and you underwent years of grueling training. I am sure that none of you remember when this first started - you were two years old, Zoisite, and Kunzite was five. Jadeite and Nephrite were in between . . . and now, finally, your training has been completed and you are of an age to take up the duties you were born for. I will not ask you to swear fealty to me, or to my son. I don't know whether or not you realize it, but that fealty has been magicked into you. You are no longer the first sons of your houses. You are the servants of the throne, Endymion's Guardians. You are to obey him at all times, and protect him even at the cost of your own lives. The magical coercions, which have just recently been activated, will give you no choice in the matter. Is that understood?"

A chorus of "Yes, sires." Kunzite, in particular, sounded most bitter. Zoisite said nothing. The bastard! The arrogant bastard! He just told us, in no uncertain terms, that he owns us. That he controls us. That we are under his absolute control. I will not agree. But much to his horror, he heard his own voice choking out, "Yes, sire." A single tear slipped out of his eye. The humiliation of it, the incredible humiliation! I'll kill you, you bastard, and Endymion too. But even as he thought it, he knew he could do no such thing.

Endymion grinned. "Beat that," he challenged.

Zoisite said nothing, just lifted one eyebrow and smirked a little. Energy sizzled at his fingertips, and thwack! Crimson petals and green stem exploded; his ice crystal, buried dead center in the target, had split the rose straight down the center. "Just did, Cape Boy," Zoisite returned, and Endymion groaned in mock consternation.

"Shouldn't you always loose to me, or something? I am your Prince. And speaking of being your Prince, shouldn't you call me Prince Endymion, or Endymion-sama? I mean really, 'Cape Boy' shows a certain lack of respect."

"I'll stop calling you 'Cape Boy' when you stop wearing that silly cape," Zoisite retorted, tugging at the object in question, a long flowing piece of black crepe lined with red silk.

"Get your grubby little hands off my cape!" Endymion snapped. "I think you're just jealous."

"My hands are not grubby," the shorter man said in a tone of wounded dignity, "and I most certainly am not jealous." Zoisite sighed. Another morning of friendly bickering with Endymion at the archery range, probably followed by another afternoon of swimming or riding, which would usually be followed by an evening of reading, chatting, and fierce gambling. Of course, tonight was a formal event, a ball - the Moon Princess was visiting, or something like that - but still. The days were relatively uneventful, but Zoisite could live with that. To date, the Guardians had foiled one assassination attempt, although Zoisite had to admit that the credit for that rested mostly in Kunzite's hands. Other than that, they simply followed the Prince around: at least one had to be with him at all times. Anchises had ordered this, and they could not disobey. Zoisite snarled a little, thinking of the magical coercions which had been woven into his core of being. For years he had trained, struggled, undergone grueling trials to earn this position, always believing that ultimately, the choice was his. If I want, I can always walk away from it, he had told himself many times. I will be a disgrace to my family, disloyal to the throne, but I can still walk away from this Guardian business. And then less than half a year ago he had come to Crystal Miyajima, the beautiful glowing capital of Earth, presumably of his free will, and he had been told that free will was an illusion: he was an absolute slave to the geis placed over him nearly two decades ago. His lip curled up, and he ground his teeth.

"What's wrong?" Endymion laid a friendly hand on his shoulder; Zoisite shook it off. "You shouldn't think about it so much, you know," the dark-haired prince told his slender Guardian. "I've told you before I'm sorry. It wasn't my decision to make you a Guardian either - I was only four when this happened. But I mean, really, it's not like that many people get choices in life. I didn't choose to be born the Prince of Earth."

"But you can choose to walk away from it," Zoisite argued, futilely. They'd had this conversation hundreds of times before. "You can always say, I don't want to be a Prince, I want to be a gravedigger, and sneak out of the palace under the cover of night."

"They'd come looking for me," Endymion said.

"But that's not the point - oh, never mind."

"Look, Zoi, try to focus on the positives. You get power, prestige, and of course, my charming presence, every day of every week!"

"That's supposed to be a positive, Cape Boy?" The words came out a little more harshly than Zoisite intended them to, but Endymion still laughed good-naturedly. It could be worse. I could be sworn to somebody I absolutely hate, not a genuine friend. But then again, it could be better.

"And the girls!" Endymion continued. "Just think of the girls! Jadeite's slept with every passably attractive serving maid, and Nephrite's infatuated with the jeweler's daughter - the red-head, what's-her-name-"

"Naru," Zoisite supplied glumly. He plopped himself down on a bench, and idly tossed a ball of fire between his hands.

Endymion looked at him shrewdly. That's the exact same look that his bastard father has, Zoisite thought. Except a bit more . . . mischievous.

"But I don't think you like girls, do you?" Endymion asked.

Zoisite rubbed his temples. "Please, Endymion. Now is not the time. You've been trying to get some shocking confession out of me for the past two months, ever since I didn't sleep with what's-her-face -"

"Mariko," Endymion supplied.

"But I'm not going to tell you anything, so just leave it alone." Why can't I just tell him the truth, or tell him a lie, and have done with it? But he couldn't. Fortunately, Endymion hadn't ordered him to tell the truth. Yet. Sooner or later, he probably would.

"Fine," Endymion said, rolling his eyes. "Do you know where the others are? I've been practicing targets with you all morning. I think I need to get a fresh opponent."

Zoisite lay back on the bench and looked up at the ceiling. "Nephrite's off this morning, because he had the nightwatch last night. I think he's going riding with the redhead, Naru."

Endymion raised one dark eyebrow. "He loves her more than he loves his sleep? Impressive."

"Jadeite and Kunzite are close by, of course - they're still on duty. They're probably outside, running laps. Although with any luck, Kunzite is being eaten alive by that horrid pet tiger your father keeps."

Endymion made a face of exasperation, and tossed the corner of his cape over one shoulder.

"Really, what is your problem with Kunzite?"

"He's an arrogant bastard and my ancestral enemy. And you look silly like that." Endymion ignored him; he placed the tips of his long fingers together, and whispered, "Jadeite, Kunzite, present yourselves." Zoisite had to close his eyes a moment. The pain of being reminded of this magical link, this coercion so powerful that Endymion's whisper could bring his Guardians running, affected him tangibly. And yes, in less than a minute they arrived, at his beck and call; Jadeite and Kunzite came jogging through the door, clad in their color coded uniforms. Not even watching or really paying attention, Zoisite vaguely heard Endymion joking with them, greeting them. He was a kind slavemaster, yes . . . but still a slavemaster. Zoisite felt ill.

"Jadeite, how about you spar with me for a while?" Endymion said, tossing the Guardian in question a quarterstaff from one of the racks.

Jadeite just grinned and nodded; of all the Guardians, he was the most taciturn, but he had more than his share of boyish charm to compensate for his lack of conversational skills, and when he spoke, it was generally something worth listening to. As Jadeite and Endymion began to fasten protective padding over their chests, arms, and legs, Kunzite moved over to the bench where Zoisite still sprawled, staring up at the ceiling. He stood there a moment, his arms crossed, waiting. The light blue trim on his jet black uniform offset his eyes and his hair. Every time Zoisite looked at him, he still had to repress an instinctive urge to fall on his knees in awe of his sheer beauty and power. That skin - that body -! What the hell am I thinking? he chided himself. Maybe - just maybe - I am attracted to men, but certainly not to Kunzite, the arrogant bastard.

Finally Kunzite spoke, his tone and face inscrutable. "Would you please move over, Zoisite-san."

"Not for you, Kunzite," he said shortly, tossing his coppery curls and stretching out to occupy every last inch of the bench. The taller Guardian looked like he was about to say something, but just sneered and stood immobile. The only other bench in the practice room was almost forty yards away.

"Zoisite, move over and give him a seat on the bench," Endymion called, tugging on one last padded glove. He did not want to - could not - would not - but he had no choice. The Prince had spoken; the coercion in him heeded, moving his limbs against their own will. Kunzite sat down beside him, taller than he, smelling faintly like roses and vanilla. His lips were pressed into a hard line, but Zoisite had to admire their perfect sculpting, imagine what it feel like to . . . no. No.

He watched Jadeite and Endymion clash staves; both of them were very skilled, and determined. The match dragged on for almost an hour; he stared up at the sky through the ceiling, crossed and uncrossed his legs, listened to the clamor of wood against wood. Kunzite was still as marble beside him, his expression both thoughtful and alert. A strand of copper hair tickled Zoisite's nose; he sneezed. The two figures, roughly the same height, in the same cotton padding, circled each other warily in the dojo. He thought he would die of boredom, when Endymion called out "Enough!" in that commanding voice of his.

"Jadeite-san, would you be willing to consider this match a draw?"

"It would be my honor, Endymion-sama."

"Good. Then come with me and get a drink. Gods, I need it after that - I'm absolutely covered in sweat." Endymion stripped off his padding, tossed it carelessly on the floor. "That was excellent, by the way."

"Thanks," Jadeite said.

Endymion bounced out the door, Jadeite following as he was ordered. Zoisite could see that both of their hair was lank with sweat. He started to stand to follow, but Endymion called out, "Zoisite, Kunzite, one of you pick up our padding and put it away, okay?" Then he was gone. Once more, Zoisite reminded that however much Endymion might act like a friend and comrade, he was ultimately a master and a Prince. He heaved a sigh, slumped on the bench, and then wham! He was sitting on the clay ground, back aching.

Kunzite had shoved him off the bench! That bastard! That son of a bitch! That -

"Pick it up," Kunzite said, detached, commanding.

Zoisite stood up; Kunzite was still sitting, and for once he could look down on the taller guardian. He drew himself up to his full height, took a deep breath, and spit in Kunzite's face. "Pick it up, yourself, Iyataba dog. And if you ever touch me again, I swear by my ancestors that I will make you die a screaming death."

"Is that a challenge?" Kunzite asked. His voice was as smooth as silk or steel; his eyes were narrowed. Zoisite met his platinum gaze head-on, his emerald eyes sparkling with fury. He could feel his head whirling. This was happening too quickly, too much - one minute sitting on the bench, watching another sparring match, just like any afternoon - the next minute standing with his fists clenched, his teeth bared, verging on complete violence.

He's stronger than you are, that voice inside his head said, physically and magically. You don't have a chance. Besides, you don't want to fight him, you want to -

"Yes, that's a challenge. A duel. To the death. Or are you too afraid?"

"I am no coward, Chun Li Zoisite."

"Then choose the weapons."

"Swords, no magic. No one leaves the dojo until one of us is dead."

Zoisite's heart pounded furiously at his ribcage. You'll never win! You're going to die! And a resigned part of him thought, At least I'll die fighting Kunzite. And at least I'll get out of this Guardian-ship. Now I must fight bravely and honorably. "Swear on it."

"I, Iyataba Kunzite, Guardian to Prince Endymion, swear I will not leave the dojo until my duel with you is honorably resolved by death."

Zoisite swallowed, tried not to think about what he was saying. He let his anger sustain him as he spoke. "I, Chun Li Zoisite, Guardian to Prince Endymion, swear I will not leave the dojo until my duel with you is honorably resolved by death."

"Then choose your weapon," Kunzite said tightly.

Woodenly, Zoisite walked to the rack of real weapons - the ones which weren't blunted or padded, which were fully combat ready, and selected a small, light scimitar similar to the one he had first used against Endymion. He could feel sweat slicking his palms, and he wiped his hands on his jacket. Adrenaline made his vision blur redly at the edges. Kunzite's face was calm and perfect as he chose a long, gleaming broadsword, huge and heavy, and stepped into the dojo.

This is the moment of truth. Zoisite clutched the scimitar tightly, swung it once or twice, inhaled and exhaled. He knew Kunzite was the better fighter. But I'm pretty good, too - no, I'll never win -

He was standing in the dojo, he was bowing to Kunzite, sky above him and clay below him. At least I get out of the ball tonight, he thought, and then: I will die bravely. "Zoi!" he screamed, and launched himself at Kunzite, scimitar first.

Kunzite blocked; the clash of metal exploded in his ears; Kunzite was pushing his blade forward, and Zoisite couldn't fight his strength. He disengaged, made a low swipe at Kunzite's knees; Kunzite brought a fist down on his back and he screamed, but pressed his attack forward, drawing blood on Kunzite's stomach. The cut wasn't deep, but it was long. He disengaged, stepped back - a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. Kunzite's icy expression betrayed no pain. Zoisite stood in a defensive stance, his feet wide, his sword, its tip red with blood, held in front of him. He waited for the attack - none came - he rushed Kunzite, parry, disengage, lunge, thrust, dodge, kick. Sweat stung his eyes; the clamor of the swords deafened him; his breathing was coming heavily. How long had this been - twenty minutes? Thirty minutes? Zoisite's muscles screamed. He was being worn down very quickly; his only hope was the Kunzite was weakening as well. It didn't seem likely, though; the white-haired Guardian's movements were as swift and graceful as always; Kunzite seemed unaware of the sweat on his brow, or the blood soaking the front of his jacket. Zoisite swung, and could feel that his blow was off balance even before he stumbled a little - a vicious chop to his swordhand - a kick to his waist - he was on the ground, looking up five feet of polished steel into Kunzite's lovely face.

There was a long pause, a sudden gap in the sequence of reality, as he gasped with exertion and what was sure to be his final awe at Kunzite's beauty. He closed his eyes, waited for the swift and killing thrust. None came. He breathed in, out, in again; time began to resume its normal pace. He was still lying at the floor, Kunzite's sword was still at his throat, and he was still alive.

"Well?" Zoisite snapped. "What are you waiting for, you bastard?" He raised his head, pressed his throat up against the razor-edged blade of the broadsword. He pressed hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

"Go on, kill me. Or are you too afraid? You swore to kill me; you dishonor us both. Kill me, you bastard!" He was practically screaming up at the taller guardian, who stared down at Zoisite as if he were some foreign, possibly dangerous object, saying nothing, his silver eyes slightly widened.

"Come on, you -"

"Stop!" Endymion screamed, rushing in from the doorway of the practice room, the pitcher of water he was carrying spilling across the floor. Jadeite rushed closely behind him. "I order you to stop! Both of you! Now! Kunzite, put down that sword! Zoisite, get up! Come over here!"

They did. Zoisite struggled against the coercion, but also against the relief that flooded him. It looked like he wasn't going to die after all. He stood before Endymion, Kunzite on his left, his head bowed.

"Both of you! Kneel! This is not the sort of behavior I expect from my Guardians! I have half a mind to execute to both of you!" A pause. Endymion spoke, a little more calmly, and Zoisite dared to glance up at his face. "But of course, I won't. You are both my friends and you have both served me well and I want you to continue to serve me. So now, I will order you to never again make any attempt on each other's life or welfare, and I know you will have to obey me. You will apologize to me, and to each other, and that will be the end of this. Wakarimasu ka?"

"Hai," the two guardians said in unison. Zoisite thought he might cry. "Gomen nasai, Endymion-sama. Gomen nasai, Kunzite-san. Please accept my apologies for my misbehavior."

"Gomen nasai, Endymion-sama. Gomen-nasai, Zoisite-san. I, too, apologize." Kunzite's voice was so beautiful! Anger and admiration warred in the pit of Zoisite's stomach.

"Now," said Endymion in a cheerful tone, a tone which seemed to deny that anything had just happened. "We still have a few hours before we need to get ready for the ball. Who's up for some swimming?"

Zoisite did have to admit, the ballroom was beautiful. Of course, it always was impressive - a spacious marble pavillion situated in the middle of the rose gardens, open to the night air, with roses growing up the pillars - but tonight's decorations, and lighting, and music, seemed to give the room a transcendental quality. His surroundings did little to cheer him, though. He leaned against one of the pillars, watching Nephrite dancing with his little red-headed lover, Jadeite with some random noblewoman, and Prince Endymion with the Moon Princess. The last two really seemed to be particularly infatuated with each other; they hadn't left each other's arms for the entire night. Spending the last two hours watching them dancing and giggling and giggling and dancing left Zoisite in a rather surly temper. One small part of Zoisite felt happy for Endymion - who seemed to be enjoying himself with his beautiful, if less than brilliant, dance partner - but most of him just felt sorry for himself. And angry at himself. And, of course, angry at Kunzite - why hadn't he just killed him, then and there? Why dishonor him like that, make him beg to die, deny him an honorable death? Honestly, though, that last part wasn't Kunzite's fault. That was Endymion.

But he suspected Kunzite wouldn't have killed him, even if Endymion hadn't come in. Something in his eyes . . . you're imaging things, Zoisite told himself sternly. He fidgeted with one of the cufflinks of him tuxedo - just another wonderful addition to this perfect day. Even if it did make him look strikingly handsome (and a quick glance in the mirror had confirmed that) the discomfort just wasn't worth it. The jacket was so stiff, and the cumberbund! At least you're not wearing a cape, he told himself wearily. Poor Endymion must be sweating underneath that thing. But he wasn't, of course. Endymion always wore a cape, he liked wearing capes, although they didn't really look good on him. Kunzite, for instance, would probably be able to carry if off better - he was taller, and just more imposing . . .

Stop thinking of him! Stop, stop, stop, stop! Zoisite dug his fingernails into his wrist, closed his eyes, leaned back against the pillar. He tried to look at the sky, a deep, velvety-black infinity strewn with stars, the sharp curve of the crescent moon, the scent of the roses and the sound of violins . . .

"Zoisite?" a deep voice said.

"What?" he snapped, turning to survey Kunzite. He had to admit, the man looked incredible in a tuxedo. The black jacket complemented his white hair, the white shirt offset his tan skin, and the perfect fit made his lean, muscular physique apparent - almost uncomfortably apparent. He'd left the top button of his shirt undone, and Zoisite caught more than a glimpse of his smooth chest. He had to force his gaze elsewhere.

Violins and ballroom chatter filled the moment of silence. "Would you care to dance?" Kunzite finally asked, a little half-smile on his perfect lips.

"No."

Kunzite shrugged, his broad shoulders rippling beneath his jacket. "Well, then, perhaps I . . . misjudged you. No offense taken, I hope." He turned, started to walk away.

Say nothing, say nothing, say nothing, Zoisite screamed inwardly. He had to bite his tongue, until the blood flowed, as he watched Kunzite's receding back, watched the silver-haired man disappear into the crowd. I won't follow - I won't ask him to stay - he turned, facing outward into the dark night, and jumped off of the pavilion. The drop was easy, a mere ten feet. Without a backward glance, Zoisite walked into the rose-filled night.

Zoisite slumped on the marble bench in the rose gardens. Thoughts of gleaming swords and tall white haired men tumbled through his head. The heady scent of roses thickened the air, and the strains of ballroom music lent the soft gray night a surreal, magical aura, but Zoisite didn't notice as he ran his hands though his curly mane of copper hair, and tried to sooth the ache behind his eyes.

Footsteps, a rustle in the bushes, a form in the shadows - Zoisite leapt to his feet, sent a high, powerful kick in the direction of the unknown intruder. He felt strong hands clamping around his foot, catching it mid-kick; he stumbled, cursed, but summoned a fireball into his palm.

"Calm down, Zoisite," a deep voice said. "It's just me."

"Let go of my goddamn leg."

"All right," Kunzite said, and did. Zoisite fell gracelessly back into the rosebushes, and cursed for a few long moments.

"Are you quite done?" Kunzite finally asked, a hint of laughter rippling below his voice. He seated himself calmly on the small marble bench.

"What the hell do you want?" Zoisite snapped, heaving out of the rosebushes and plucking thorns and petals from his tuxedo. "I was sitting on that bench, you know."

"I just came to talk," Kunzite said. "And there's room for two people on the bench."

Zoisite growled, but perched on the edge of the bench. If he moved in just six inches more, he would be leaning up against Kunzite, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg . . . and damnit, he wanted to move in those six inches. All right, so maybe Endymion's right. I am attracted. Just a little. "Shouldn't you be watching Endymion?"

"I told Jadeite to take over for me. Nobody argued. Shouldn't you be watching Endymion?"

Zoisite shrugged. "I couldn't deal with it any more. I walked away. I wasn't disobeying any order - the coercion didn't stop me. But the minute Endymion calls me, I'll have to jump."

"You're not the only one who has that problem, you know," Kunzite said, just a little bit bitterly.

Zoisite groaned, buried his head in his hands. "Please, can't you go torment somebody else."

"I'm sorry," Kunzite said, and his voice was truly gentle. "I don't mean to torment you."

"Then leave. Please." Zoisite said, and he started to cry as he heard Kunzite standing up, turning to walk away. All of a sudden everything seemed to be so wrong . . . "No, wait, please stay," he heard himself say in a small voice, and he felt Kunzite sit beside him - close beside him, leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder, one arm around him, comforting him. He wanted to break the embrace, hit Kunzite, kill Kunzite - no, he wanted to stay here, love Kunzite, kill his pride . . .

"It's all right," Kunzite said, softly, slowly. "It's all right . . ."

"Why did you really come?" Zoisite sniffled, pulling away from Kunzite, standing.

"I wanted to apologize for the hostility between us over the past few months, and particularly for today. I should never have agreed to fight you, and I should never have pushed you to challenging me. I was hoping you could let it go." "And I came to ask you if you would want to dance."

Eerie, lovely violin music drifting through the gardens; the argent crescent of the moon in the heavens, and a million stars; the roses and Kunzite's body, Kunzite's face, Kunzite's voice; these things swelled to occupy Zoisite's awareness. With fear and joy, he wrapped his arms around Kunzite's neck, felt strong arms around his waist, and they moved slowly, gracefully, to the highs and lows and crescendos and diminuendos of the violins. Zoisite's head barely came to Kunzite's chin; he pressed his face to the taller man's neck and shoulders, felt lips brushing his hair.

"Why?" Zoisite asked.

"Because . . . you are beautiful and handsome and fast and fierce and I know you've hated me for the past few months, but I haven't hated you. I tested you, but only because I . . . I admired you."

"You defeated me. You were going to kill me."

"And you weren't afraid, at all. You were magnificent. You just lay there on the floor, and pressed your throat against my sword, and told me to take your life or you would be dishonored. And I wouldn't have killed you, even if Prince Endymion hadn't come running in and ordered me not to. I would have got down on my knees and kissed you. You were so brave and beautiful."

Gentle words, loving words, and a sky of stars. Zoisite spoke, slowly. "I was in awe of you when I first saw you . . . you were so much stronger, faster, better, more handsome, more charming, more everything, and it seemed easier to hate you than to hate myself, but I don't think I ever truly hated you. Because you were so perfect."

"Shhh, Zoi-chan," Kunzite said. "Just listen to the music."

It was piano and a single violin, joined a slow, haunting song that made the back of Zoisite's neck tingle with its eldritch harmonies.

"Queens Haruka and Michiru." Kunzite said, softly, by way of explanation.

"It's incredible," Zoisite responded, and then swallowed hard, and said, "Kunzite-san? I'm cold. Do you think we could go inside?"

"I assume you don't mean back to the ballroom," Kunzite said. His perfect lips were curved into an enigmatic half-smile.

"No," Zoisite said quietly, hardly daring to say it. "Not the ballroom." The taller man stepped back, lifted Zoisite's chin with one long finger, and Zoisite closed his eyes as soft lips brushed his own, and pull back. A deep, fierce desire surged upwards in his chest; he twined his fingers in Kunzite's long soft hair, closed his mouth over Kunzite's, and pulled the taller man's tongue into his mouth with a gentle insistence. He heard Kunzite make a startled noise, and then a deep mmmm of pleasure. He arced his neck, and pushed himself closer into Kunzite's embrace, still gripping his long white hair. Kunzite stroked the curve of his cheekbone, the hollow of his throat, and again pulled away, slowly and teasingly. His eyes were half-closed, and more silver than the moonlight . . .

Zoisite gasped in surprise as the white-haired Guardian swept him up, carrying him effortlessly cradled between his arms as he walked through the labyrinthine paths winding between the beds of roses. Even in the dimness of the moonlight, Zoisite knew this path well - back to the wing of the palace in which the Guardians were housed. He smiled, without even meaning to. It seemed that he and Kunzite were going to . . . well . . . and to think that he'd been trying to kill him this morning! His new position in Kunzite's arms afforded him a tantalizing view of the latter's bronzed collarbones and upper chest. He reached out with his tongue and lips, nibbling at the base of Kunzite's throat.

Kunzite laughed, lowly, softly, gently: a beautiful sound. "You know, you're going to have to walk if you behave that way. You're distracting me very badly."

Zoisite laughed too, but did not stop. He was being carried through the doorway - up the flight of stairs - down the hall, Kunzite's feet padding on the thick red carpet - but he was only peripherally aware of all these things as he continued his ministrations along Kunzite's neck and chest. They stood before the door marked "Kunzite," which swung open upon Kunzite's soft command - over the threshold - the furnishings mirrored those in Zoisite's room exactly - only the color scheme differed, an icy blue instead of forest green. Kunzite gently deposited his passenger in the soft turquoise overstuffed chair, and stood for a moment, smiling. The window was open, and the heavy perfume of the rose gardens wafted inwards, accompanied by the milky glow of starlight. A single crystal illuminated the room with a soft and golden shine.

Zoisite inhaled, exhaled, fingered the fabric of the chair, trying to make sure that this was really happening. Perhaps he did kill me in the duel. Perhaps this is some sort of afterlife, or deathbed hallucination. This can't be real. But it had to be real, because Kunzite was removing his shirt, his jacket, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots - he was wearing nothing but his pants, now, and his hair, his skin, his face, his body were all too perfect to be fantasy or falsehood. Transfixed, Zoisite kicked off his own boots and peeled off his shirt and jacket, carelessly tossing them to the floor. He did not remove his gaze from the perfect bronze glow of Kunzite's skin as he lounged gracefully at the edge of his bed, the hard sculpted edges of his muscles, and of course his hair and his eyes . . .

Zoisite knelt on the floor, between Kunzite's legs, and wrapped his arms around the older Guardian's waist. With his lips, he traced slow circles along Kunzite's abdomen, and was gratified by hearing the white-haired man half-moan as he licked at his navel.

Kunzite wound his strong, slender fingers through Zoisite's red-blonde curls, pulled Zoisite's face up toward his own; Kunzite's tongue entered his mouth fiercely, insistently, and he gasped with pleasure and surprise as Kunzite shifted his weight, pulled him up and rolled him over on to the bed, pinning the slender man beneath him with a feline grace.

A brief pause for breath; Kunzite's hands were lightly massaging his chest and shoulders, and Zoisite felt an unusual, almost unreal heat coursing through his limbs as he returned the favor in kind, luxuriating in running his fingers across Kunzite's smooth, firm torso.

Kunzite straddled him, and even through the fabric of the pants he could feel the persistent pressure of the older man's sex throbbing against the hardness in his own groin. His breathing was heavier, now, and his field of vision narrowed until he saw nothing but Kunzite's face, and eyes, and felt nothing but his touch and his weight and his warmth.

He reached out, with trembling hands, and began to unlace the front of Kunzite's pants, pulling them down around his hips. He squirmed out from beneath Kunzite, moaning at the friction of body against body, and pushed the taller Guardian down onto the mattress. To his surprise, Kunzite did not resist, stretching out smoothly beneath him, reaching up to pinch at his nipples. He gasped, arced his back as Kunzite rubbed at those tender nubs of flesh, and Zoisite leaned down to kiss him once more, lingeringly, this time forcing his tongue into Kunzite's mouth. The white-haired man seemed to receive this initiative with gratitude, thrusting his face up toward Zoisite's.

The blonde guardian drew away, and ran a slow, amazed gaze down the length of Kunzite's body, naked except for the pants shoved down to his knees. He is so beautiful, he thought, and he was startled to realize he had said it aloud, as Kunzite whispered up at him, "And you are too. You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen." Kunzite tugged at the front of Zoisite's pants. "Don't you want to take these off, though?"

"In a minute," Zoisite breathed, and bent down to close his lips around Kunzite's engorged organ.

He was aware of Kunzite's fingers clutching - somewhat desperately - at his hair, as he moved his mouth up and down, teasing the underside of Kunzite's manhood with the tip of his tongue. The white-haired man groaned, deep in his throat, and thrust his hips upward.

"No-" he said "-no. Not just yet." And Zoisite felt long strong hands wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him back up; he stared raptly into Kunzite's silver gaze, keeping his eyes open even as the white-haired Guardian kissed him deeply, probingly, and nibbled at his earlobes, the edge of his jawline.

"Kunzite-sama," he whispered, not even aware of what he was saying. He thrust and ground his hips against Kunzite's, trying to trigger release from the waves of sensation that coursed across his body.

"Just a moment, Zoi-chan," Kunzite said, his voice husky, his breathing heavy. Zoisite watched as Kunzite kicked his pants off from where they hung around his knees, before he unlaced the front of Zoisite's pants, and tugged them down, impatiently, urgently. Zoisite heard fabric ripping, but did not care - and at last, the feeling of his bare legs against Kunzite's, bare chest to bare chest, arms locked around him a possessive embrace, lips spread upon his own.

Again Kunzite drew away, and Zoisite almost sobbed, quickly approaching the verge of desperation. "Just one more moment -" the older Guardian whispered, as he turned the slender man facedown on the bed with one strong arm. "-this might hurt a little -"

And oh god! it hurt, but the pain was gone more quickly than it came, and there was only the overwhelming sensation of Kunzite moving within him, and then Kunzite's hands beneath him, stroking along his length to the same rhythm of his thrusts . . . he heard Kunzite cry out, softly, felt him force his hips forward in one fierce spasm, and felt a warm wetness spreading between his legs, trickling down his thighs. Kunzite gave his sex one sudden squeeze, and from a distance, Zoisite heard his own quiet cry of ecstasy, felt the explosion of sensation radiating out from his groin, along his arms, his legs, the heat and the rapture and the weight of Kunzite on him, in him . . . "Kunzite-sama," he was murmuring, "Kunzite-sama," and he found that he was crying as well.

"Shhh," Kunzite said, pulling out of him, pulling him over, pulling Zoisite's head close to his chest. Long, gentle fingers brushed away his tears, stroked his curls. Zoisite let himself rest there, one hand draped over Kunzite's stomach, his head above his lover's heart, listening to the soft ka-thup, ka-thup of the heartbeat, marveling in the warmth of skin against skin.

"I love you," he whispered, terrified of what he was saying. Sex, even sex with another man . . . that was one thing. But love . . . "I didn't know it, Kunzite, but I know it now. I love you."

"And I love you, Zoi-chan." The brief silence was filled with the rhythm of Kunzite's heartbeat and the ubiquitous perfume of the gardens, the lambent glow of the stars through the window. "But I think I always knew it." Another pause. "Now if you'd get up for just a second, I think I'd like to change the blanket before we fall asleep."

Zoisite sat up quickly, and felt himself blushing all over. "I guess we did . . . leave a bit of a mess." Kunzite laughed, as he swung off the side of the bed and padded over to the chest of drawers, opening the bottom one and pulling out a new blanket - a finely woven icy blue, of course.

"You don't need to blush . . . although I have to admit it looks rather cute on you. Now strip off that other blanket, will you? You can just toss it on the floor, with the rest of the clothing. The servants will get it tomorrow."

Zoisite complied without thinking, and only when he was halfway through helping Kunzite spread the new blanket across the bed did it occur to him that for what had to be the first time in his life he had responded to an order without anger or reluctance, without even thinking twice about it. And didn't I call him Kunzite-sama when I . . . and I usually have such a problem with authority. It really must be love.

Kunzite climbed beneath the blanket and patted the bed beside him. Zoisite lay down next to him, snuggling his body close to Kunzite's, simply enjoying the older Guardian's warmth and presence. Kunzite whispered a single syllable, and the glowing crystal in the center of the room dimmed and died. The only light was the moon, the stars, and the faint platinum glitter of Kunzite's eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" Kunzite asked him, stroking the back of his neck with warm, gentle hands.

"I was just . . . wondering what the servants will think when they see all this mess in the morning."

"Not too much, I suppose. They're paid not to think about things like this, and they know it damn well. Besides, I'm sure they've seen far more scandalizing scenes than this the morning after. Now what were you really thinking about it?"

Zoisite sighed softly in the shadows, laid his head against Kunzite's shoulder. "Mostly that I usually don't take orders too well; I don't like it when people tell me what to do, lord over me."

Kunzite chuckled quietly. "Yes, I've noticed that."

"But . . . with you, it's different." Zoisite felt himself cringing with the effort needed to override his pride. Kunzite wrapped one warm, muscular arm around him and squeezed him closer. "I don't think I'd mind . . . having you in charge."

"I never would have guessed it this morning," Kunzite said, in that impossibly smooth, beautiful voice of his.

"I'm . . . so sorry about that. I just - oh -"

"Consider yourself forgiven, and more. I also owe you an apology, for behaving like that. I was certainly no model of restraint, either. I have to admit that I was - frustrated - by your continuing animosity. I really did have to admire you after you first beat Endymion in sparring, and you proved yourselves worthy of that admiration many times. I'd hoped that we could overcome our family animosities, and become friends . . ."

"Or lovers," Zoisite finished.

"Well, of course. You are simply the most breathtaking man I have ever laid eyes on; you can't blame me for wanting that. And I suspected . . . strongly . . . that your preferences were similar to mine."

"I wouldn't have guessed that of you at all."

Zoisite could almost hear Kunzite half-smiling in the dark; his voice, when he spoke, was a little sad. "You learn to disguise something like that. I don't know which would scandalize my family more - your gender, or your House. Anyhow, openness was never really an option . . ."

"I understand. Exactly. Although I think Endymion's guessed, about me, anyway. He's been prodding at me constantly ever since I didn't sleep with what's-her-face -"

"Mariko," Kunzite supplied.

"You know?"

"Oh, yes. I wasn't there, but Endymion told me he was going to introduce you to an attractive lady-friend of his who would be more than happy to spend the rest of her life worshiping and serving you."

"And . . . "

"I was insanely jealous, of course. But as it turned out, you ended up ignoring her existence completely, more or less confirming my suspicions." Kunzite sighed, shifted his position a little. When he spoke again, his voice seemed almost vulnerable. Almost. "You don't - regret - what we -"

"No, never," Zoisite said, winding a long gossamer strand of Kunzite's hair around his finger. "How could I? Of anything I've ever done, I think that has to be the one thing I regret the least."

"Good," Kunzite said. "Good." Zoisite could feel him relaxing, the tension in his muscles easing as he lay against his wiry partner. Kunzite turned, brushed Zoisite's forehead with his lips. His kiss was warm and sweet and gentle. "I love you, Zoi-chan," he murmured in that incredible, powerful, beautiful voice of his.

"And I love you, Kunzite," Zoisite whispered as he clutched his lover's hand, and drifted down into a warm and welcoming slumber.

"So," Endymion said, half-grinning. "How did it go?"

Zoisite shook his head and groaned. Endymion's high level of perception, and his fierce curiosity, was not exactly what he wanted to deal with at the moment. Endymion had summoned him perhaps an hour ago, through that damn coercion, telling him to 'come at his leisure.' He had slipped out from Kunzite's sleeping embrace, marveled for a long moment at the gentle half smile on the older Guardian's face, and then hurried back to his own chambers. Washed up, in a clean uniform, with a hasty breakfast of bread and tea in his stomach, Zoisite felt almost prepared to face that knowing, teasing tone in Endymion's voice. Almost.

He'd knocked on Endymion's door, heard him call "Come in!" The Prince, Jadeite, and Nephrite had all been sitting around a mahogany table with ivory inlays, eating breakfast and playing cards. Endymion had immediately taken his leave, ordering Zoisite to walk with him. The youngest Guardian had not failed to miss Jadeite's rolled eyes and Nephrite's conspiratorial wink as he obediently, but reluctantly, trotted beside Endymion down the garden path.

"Well, tell me," Endymion pressed. "Confess every juicy detail."

"Every juicy detail of what?" Zoisite tried to look at the tangle of the roses, the blue of the sky, the flagstones beneath his feet - everything except Endymion.

"Oh, don't play stupid with me. I'm perfectly aware that you and Kunzite kissed and made up last night - emphasis on the kissed."

"I hate you, Cape Boy. Do you know that? I really hate you." Zoisite kicked at a stone lying in the middle of the path. It landed somewhere in the rosebushes with a less-than-satisfying rustle.

"And what did that stone ever do to you?" Endymion asked. "And anyway, don't call me Cape Boy. I'm not wearing the cape today."

"Whyever not?" Zoisite inquired in a detached tone, tugging absently at one green-trimmed sleeve of his uniform.

"I gave it to the Princess Serena," Endymion admitted. A slight brush crept across his fair cheeks, and Zoisite couldn't help but laugh.

"So, back to my original question," Endymion pressed.

"What makes you think anything happened, anyway?"

"I was worried about you and Kunzite - after the unfortunate events of yesterday morning. The duel, trying to kill each other - and when I saw you disappear off into the gardens, and him follow you, I had reasonable cause for concern, I think. I couldn't just sneak out of the ball, of course, and anyway I didn't want to stop dancing with Serena . . . but I did ask Jadeite to go check on you, just to make sure that you two weren't ripping each other's throats out."

"You knew damn well we weren't!" Zoisite snarled, genuinely angry. "You ordered us not to, we couldn't! You were just spying, satisfying your own petty little gossipy nature, like some idiot adolescent girl! Well fuck you, Endymion!" He slapped the prince across the face, not nearly as hard as he could have.

Zoisite could almost feel Endymion's good cheer, his friendly camaraderie, evaporating, and the wrath of a willfull ruler setting in. The two had become friends - perhaps, almost, as much as the situation permitted - and Endymion cheerfully tolerated a great deal of friendly bickering from Zoisite. But real anger? He looked at Endymion, saw his eyes harden, felt the coercion squeeze around his mind.

The order came directly to his muscles, even as his consciousness resisted their motion. He raised his hand (no, the geas raised his hand, the damnable spell driven by Endymion's will) and moved it perhaps half a foot from his face; his muscles tensed. The coercion was moving him like a puppet - he's going to make me slap myself, and a hot rage settled into his chest and throat. I'll never forgive him for this.

But then, a look of shame - of fear, and regret, and the horror of innocence - flashed across Endymion's handsome features. The pressure of the coercion was gone, all at once. Zoisite's hand dropped to his side. "I'm sorry, Endymion-sama," he choked, unsure if he was or wasn't.

Endymion sighed. "I'm sorry, too. I really am. I had no right to pry like that, and you had every right to be angry." A pause. "Although I'd prefer you didn't hit me in the future."

"Yes, my Prince." Zoisite bowed, snagging the cuff of his uniform on a particularly thorny rosebush as he did so. "Damn, damn, damn, oh damnitall," he yelled, as he worked to disentangle his sleeve. Endymion laughed a little - the storm and steel in his demeanor just half a minute ago were nowhere to be seen.

"I was fairly certain you two wouldn't find someway to circumvent the command and hurt each other - that wasn't really what I sent Jadeite to check." Endymion sighed. "I suppose the best case scenario would have been that you just talked, made up in a friendly fashion - not the whole dancing, kissing, carrying-you-away bit."

Zoisite reddened a little, from anger as much as from embarrassment. He has no right . . . but what can you do about it? he counseled himself. Wait and see where this is going.

"But, of course, that was what did happen, like I pretty much figured it might. Kunzite hides it very well, but he deeply admires and respects you. Not that he exactly shows it in conventional ways - duels to the death really aren't standard romantic fare, although hopefully you two are over that. But of course, that's not the point. The point is . . ." Endymion sighed, turned away from Zoisite a little.

This can't be good, if he doesn't even want to face me. One thing I can say for Endymion: he usually looks you straight in the eyes. But now he wasn't. He was staring at some distant point in the horizon, his profile silhouetted against the morning sun.

"Well, you're engaged," Endymion said very quickly.

"What?" Zoisite screamed. He put a hand on the taller man's shoulder, spun him around, and looked straight up into his face with a ferocious snarl. "What did you just say?!"

"You heard me right: you're engaged. To Princess Ami of Mercury."

Zoisite clenched his hands into tight, white-knuckled fists; his eyes were narrow slits prickling with green fire. "Well, then unengage me. Right now!"

The Prince sighed. "I'm very sorry. I can't. The engagement won't be formally announced until a year from now - I guess it's sort of a pre-engagement thing, though it's pretty binding. And the wedding won't be for a year after that. So you do have time."

"Whose idea is this? Why me? What - who -" Zoisite actually found himself incoherent with rage.

"Please," Endymion said. "I really am sorry. Just - listen. I met Princess Serena for the first time in my life, last night. But I fell in love. I know it sounds - trite, stupid, impossible - realizing in just one night you've met the person you want to spend the rest of your life with -"

"I think I know how it feels," Zoisite said, a little harshly. "A similar thing happened to me last night too. And it damn well wasn't with Princess Ami!"

"Look. I knew we were destined to be together - when I held her hand, looked into her eyes, I could see things, amazing things, that I can't even begin to describe or remember - but she's so beautiful. So pure. I know we're destined to be together. So I asked her to marry me . . ."

"And she said yes. Well good for you, I wish you happiness, but what the hell does this have to do with me?"

"Her mother, Queen Selenity, and my father, called a council immediately. It was agreed that Serena and I would be announced as engaged in one year, and marry a year later. Her mother was somewhat worried about how young she was . . ."

"And how young is she?"

"Fifteen."

"This just keeps getting better and better," Zoisite snapped sarcastically, kicking at a large, delicate rosebush and doing considerable damage. Endymion said nothing.

"Look, I love her. And I never meant for what happened to happen; but it was agreed that to further strengthen the ties between the Moon and the Earth and the Inner Planets which would result from this marriage, and to provide Serena and myself with a common base of powerful allies, my Guardians would marry her bodyguards - who are, of course, Princesses of the Inner Planets as well. Ami's Princess of Mercury; she's short, she has blue hair, I'm sure you've seen her at some court function . . ."

"I don't care what she looks like! I don't want this, I never wanted any of this! I didn't ask to be made into some puppet-slave Guardian when I was two years old, and I certainly never asked to be married to some strange woman with blue hair . . ."

"She's really quite attractive," Endymion said in a soothing tone.

"I don't care what she looks like!" Zoisite couldn't think of anything else to say; everything had been moving too quickly, all of a sudden. One emotional ambush after the other . . . he wanted to cry, or kill something, but instead he sent a ball of flames into the roses.

Endymion said nothing about this sudden and violent display of temper; he did nothing to stop it. Zoisite inhaled the scent of singed roses. At least he's letting me be angry . . . of course he's letting me be angry. What's a few roses, after all. He owns me and he may try to be nice about it, but the horrible truth of it is, I belong to him. And I don't want to. I want to belong to myself - or maybe Kunzite. Zoisite folded his arms confrontationally across his slender body.

"Queen Selenity was all in favor of it," Endymion continued, "as were her advisors, which, incidentally, are talking cats My father was also enthusiastic; only my father's chief advisor opposed the whole quintuple engagement."

"Good for him," Zoisite muttered bitterly.

"Her. She's Selenity's half sister, actually - Beryl. She keeps to herself a lot, which is just as well. I think she's more than a little unhinged."

Zoisite filed this piece of information away, carefully, bit did not pause to examine it closely. "So Kunzite's engaged, too?"

"To Minako, the Princess of Venus. Nephrite's with Makoto, Princess of Juptiter, and Jadeite's with the Mars Princess, Rei. He was actually dancing with her at one point last night - they, at least, seemed to like each other fairly well."

"And when, exactly, did all this happen?" Biting, bladed anger burned in Zoisite's voice.

"A little past midnight . . . probably when you and Kunzite were . . . well . . ."

Zoisite just groaned. Ironic that if last night had probably been the best night of his life, it had been the worst as well. "So obviously Kunzite probably doesn't know yet; he's probably still sleeping. Do Jadeite and Nephrite know?"

Endymion nodded gravely. "I don't think it will be as difficult for them as for you and Kunzite, given that their . . . inclinations . . . are a little more orthodox."

Zoisite was exhausted, beyond anything but a numb sort of ache and anger. His complete lack of control terrified him; he could feel it gnawing at him from the inside out. I won't cry in front of Endymion, damnit.

"Look," Endymion said. "I have two options, here, and I want your input. I know you've been used badly in this whole affair, and in the past five months, and probably your whole life. Jadeite told me about some of the training he underwent to become a Guardian, and if yours was anything similar, I don't envy you. I know how incredibly angry you have been to be - well - bound to me like you are. It wasn't my choice either. None of this was my choice. But I know that what I'm getting - freedom, a throne, the woman I love - is much better than what you're getting. I'm not a conspirator, but I'm hardly a victim either.

"You and Kunzite could have perhaps two more years together - until the weddings. Assuming you were discreet. Very discreet. Then that would be the end; once you were - married - anything you had would have to stop. Immediately. We simply couldn't risk that sort of scandal attached to the thrones of the Moon and Earth. Even by offering you this, I'm risking scandal. You know that . . . the way you are . . . doesn't really bother me. But it would bother my father. And your father, I'm sure. And just about everyone else. You could be banished for this, you know." Endymion's eyes were terribly, painfully, serious beneath his dark bangs. Even through his caustic anger and being so consistently and thoroughly manipulated, Zoisite had to admit that the Prince would one day make an excellent King. With his beautiful Queen. And his four Guardians, each with their matching wife . . .

Endymion sighed deeply, and lowered his head. "Or . . . I think, I'm not sure, but I think, the coercion is strong enough for me to order this out of your head. To make it like it never happened. Perhaps to even convince you that you love Ami. I can't promise the magic would work that way, but I could try . ."

For half an instant, Zoisite was tempted. I'd lose last night, but it wouldn't hurt. I'd never know what I had lost . . . and I'd be happier. I'd almost certainly be happier. But then that ancient, obstinate rage flared again his brain. And what would submitting to this further manipulation accomplish, accept to make him so blind and stupid and completely under Endymion's coercion that he wouldn't even know he was being manipulated? I'll hate it, but I can deal with the official engagement and the marriage when they come. In the meantime, I'll have Kunzite. I can't lose that. I'd lose myself.

"Are you going to make Kunzite this offer?" Zoisite asked.

Endymion ran one hand through his thick tangle of bangs, and avoided the short Guardian's eyes. "Just give me your answer," he said.

"No," Zoisite said, firmly, finally. "I'll take what happens, when it happens. And until it does, I will stay with Kunzite."

Endymion smiled, a little sadly. "Exactly what he said."

Zoisite gaped up at him. "You - bastard -" he choked out. The Prince laughed, but his laughter was without mirth, heavy with sorrow.

"Last night. As soon as the meeting was over, the decisions made, the papers signed. Jadeite had told me what he'd seen between you two, and I tried to . . . find the best way, I guess. I summoned Kunzite, told him to come without waking you, made him the same offer: I'd use the power I had over all the Guardians to obscure these memories while they were still fresh, maybe make his eventual . . . destiny . . . easier. He refused, of course. And you did the same. I'm impressed."

How old was Endymion - twenty? Twenty one? And something in his tone, his bearing, seemed so ancient, almost eternal . . . the Prince normally seemed like a reasonably intelligent young man, but this aura of wisdom and sorrow . . .

"So are you happy?" Zoisite asked him.

"You don't need to be sarcastic. I told you before, I'm sorry about this whole thing."

"I wasn't being sarcastic," the copper-haired Guardian said. "I wasn't the only one who got engaged last night, and they way you tell it, you actually proposed to her."

Endymion laughed, with a little bit of real humor. "Oh, Serena? I couldn't be happier. She's the best thing that ever happened to me in my entire life - last night was the first time I'd ever really been with her for any amount of time, but it just felt so right. Like destiny. Like we were dancing in the stars . . ." his tone grew dreamy, contemplative.

"Then why do you sound so sad?" Zoisite ventured.

"The things . . . I saw in her eyes . . . the things I felt in her . . . Zoisite, do the words 'Tuxedo Kamen' mean anything to you?"

"No, Endymion-sama. Not a goddamned thing," Zoisite replied, forcing a sort of bouncy false cheer into his voice.

"I thought so . . . but when I kissed her, I thought I heard . . . no. Never mind. It's just . . . been with me, that's all. That, and some other stuff. I told Kunzite to fill you in on it when you got back."

"Got back where?"

"Oh, that's right. Just walk with me back to my room - Jadeite and Nephrite are still waiting there, off course. Then you and Kunzite have the morning off. Jadeite and Nephrite can protect me, make sure that I don't get kidnapped or assassinated or whatever they're supposed to do. Actually, I'm not going to much today - just sleep, mostly. I didn't get much sleep last night. But you and Kunzite do have to be at my quarters, by sundown, dressed presentably. There's a banquet, tonight, for Queen Selenity and her entourage. I'll introduce you to Ami," Endymion concluded, with an expression that was somewhere between a conspiratorial wink and an apologetic grimace.

By the time he was finished speaking, they had reached Endymion's room, and as soon as the Prince was seated beside Nephrite and Jadeite (still sitting faithfully at the table, as they had been ordered . . . but then it's not like they had any choice, Zoisite thought) he dismissed his youngest Guardian with a single flick of the magical reins of the coercion spell. Zoisite had never been so glad to be dismissed in his entire life.

"It's intolerable!" Zoisite screamed, conjuring a lethally pointed ice crystal to his hand and launching it into the wall of Kunzite's room with a force born of fury. Nearly half of its length was buried in the wooden paneling.

"I'm certainly less than thrilled with the situation myself," Kunzite replied calmly, chin resting on his steepled fingers. The powerful Guardian leaned forward in the overstuffed chair, his posture tense, his long silver hair hanging curtainlike about his face and shoulders, while his younger partner moodily paced the small room, inflicting grievous damage on whatever physical object presented itself for the damaging. At this moment, Zoisite was slashing brutally at an azure throw pillow with a particularly wicked dagger of ice.

"And who are you wishing you were ripping to shreds, instead of that poor pillow?" Kunzite asked, laughing just a little.

"Damnit, Kunzite, this isn't funny! I can think of about four or five people I'd like to disembowel right not, starting with Endymion and ending with Ami, the fucking princess of fucking Mercury who just happens to be my fucking fiancée!"

"Believe me, I really don't think it's all that funny either . . . it's just, well . . ."

"Well what?" Zoisite snarled.

"You have down from the pillow in your hair, that's all."

The slender guardian abandoned the mutilated pillow, and gingerly pulled at a strand of red blond hair, and sighed as he began to disentangle several small white feathers.

"Come here, I'll help you with that," Kunzite called from the chair, and Zoisite walked over and perched on one arm. He closed his eyes, tried to relax the muscles clenching along his jaw and neck, and he felt Kunzite's hands unbinding his hair from the ponytail he usually wore it in, and Kunzite's long, strong fingers running slowly through his curls.

Zoisite began to speak, a little distantly. "I know that Endymion feels bad about all this. He really does. And I know he tried to give both of us a choice, although it wasn't much of one . . . but it's so easy to be angry at him, to blame him for the whole situation. And I want to have somebody to blame. I want to have somebody I can rip to shreds for all this - not just for the engagement, but for the fact that my entire life was shaped and directed for this one purpose, namely to be Endymion's Guardian, and as far as I'm concerned, that's no title of honor. It's just a fancy way of saying 'slave.'"

"You're right, of course," Kunzite replied, pulling the smaller man off the arm of the chair, into his lap. "But if you absolutely must stab somebody, I'd strongly suggest someone other than the Prince. He's fond enough of all of us - he really is - but he's also absolutely in control. At least of us. Though he's being controlled by his father and Queen Selenity almost as much as we're being controlled by him."

"You mean his engagement with that Moon Princess girl?"

"Well, I'm sure he wanted that - he proposed to her, without any prompting from King Anchises, I believe that much. Although it was a little hasty . . ."

"The first night they'd ever really spoken. Yeah, I'd say it was hasty."

". . . I still think he was in love. He talked to me about it right afterwards . . ."

"Yeah, when I was still sleeping," Zoisite said, a little bitterly.

"Look, all these secret meetings weren't my idea either. He talked a lot about a feeling of destiny; 'eternal meaning' might have been the phrase he used. Anyway, I believe it's real, he really does love her. Or thinks he does. Or he's destined for her. Something like that. But if the engagement hadn't run parallel to Anchises' and Selenity's own wishes . . ."

"They would have said no," Zoisite said. "Flat out no. Endymion's only being allowed to marry her because they want him to marry her, and of course our feelings don't figure into the equation at all, what with Ami and Mirako or whoever you're paired up with -"

"Minako. She's actually rather attractive," Kunzite said.

"Fine!" Zoisite snapped. "Then maybe you don't mind this whole thing after all! Maybe you're thrilled that you're getting a pretty wife out of this! Maybe you were lying when you said you loved-"

"Nowhere near as gorgeous as you," Kunzite said. "Jealousy doesn't suit your beauty, Zoi-chan." Energy flickered between his fingers, resolved itself into a lush pink rose, which he handed to the slender Guardian. "And I didn't lie. Not about that. Never about that."

"I'm sorry," Zoisite whispered, leaning his head against Kunzite's shoulder, playing idly with a strand of his silver hair. "It's just that I'm so on edge."

"Well," Kunzite said, sighing deeply, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news . . . but it gets worse."

Groaning, Zoisite said, "I thought so. Endymion said there were other things he'd told you, but he was too tired to tell me. He said you'd fill me in. I didn't even really want to think about what it was you'd be filling me in on . . ."

"He was probably too afraid to tell you, after how you reacted with the other bit of information. I still can't believe you slapped him . . .!"

"And that was even before he told be about the engagements. I don't think he was afraid of me, though - how could he be? He owns me, after all. Probably more like he was afraid to hurt me, or just too tired . . . but tell me, what's this bad news?"

"We're going to war," Kunzite said.

Mud. Everywhere. The entire world was filled with goddamn mud. And of course, the pounding of the torrential rain.

"Will it ever stop fucking raining?" Zoisite screamed confrontationally at the gray, overcast skies. They responded with another, particularly vicious, burst of freezing, driving downpour. "Fuck this all!" Zoisite yelled. The wind whipped one sodden tendril of his hair loose from his ponytail and it lashed at his face. Mud crusted his boots, his pants, even his jacket. And damnit, he was cold. He started to cry. He'd been crying a lot, over the past few months. It seemed his life had progressively gone from bad to worse, and like the rain, his year-long streak of bad luck showed no signs of letting up. The only thing that had made it bearable - even enjoyable, though only for those precious few brief, private moments - was Kunzite. And to think that he might have lost him . . . His shoulder ached like all bloody hell, the icy rainwater stinging the half-healed wound even through his shirt. He fell to his knees in the mud, and sobbed. The rain washed away the salt before he could even taste it; thunder made the clouds and the earth and the air tremble.

"Stop raining, goddamnit!"

A voice spoke behind him, rather peevishly. "That's not going to stop the rain, you know. It rains almost constantly during the winter on this part of Neptune."

Zoisite didn't turn around. "Go away, Nephrite."

"Not without you. Endymion sent me to get you."

"Then he can order me in. He doesn't need you to come extend me an invitation."

"He's trying to be polite."

"You go tell Cape Boy -" the epithet was bitter, without jest - "exactly where he can put his politeness. The only way he's going to get me inside is to coerce me inside, with the bond. Until then, I'm staying out in this fucking rain, and I won't leave until it stops."

Nephrite sighed noisily, and kicked at some mud with his stained and sodden boots. "Look, Zoisite, you're behaving like a five year old. I'm under orders not to come back without you."

"Then you can stay out in the rain and get wet with me."

"Listen, Zoisite, Endymion sent me to tell you - "

"I don't care."

"-that they found Kunzite."

Zoisite clambered to his feet with an almost unusual speed, splattering mud across his hands and face in the process - but he didn't care. He grabbed Nephrite by the shoulders, glared into the cool blue eyes of the taller man with desperation in his emerald eyes. "Is he all right? Is he hurt? Is he awake? What happened?"

Nephrite stiffened a little, turned away. Zoisite could see that the taller Guardian's eyes were wet with something he didn't think was rain. "Zoisite . . . when I said they found Kunzite . . . I meant that they found . . . what was left of him."

No no no no no no no . . .Zoisite was unsure if he was screaming aloud, or inside his own head. The world turned red, then gray, with his agony; a whirlwind of cherry petals whipped around him, and fire rose to his fingertips. Oh gods, not Kunzite, it can't have been Kunzite . . . Nephrite's wrong. He must be. How dare he! How dare he say that Kunzite . . . is . . .

"ZOI!" he screamed, launching a somewhat unbalanced punch at Nephrite, who stood beside him on the muddy field, looking blindly at some point on the horizon the color of lead. Nephrite caught his punch, held tightly to his wrist.

"Stop it, Zoisite, now. I'll break your wrist. I swear I will. I know what Kunzite meant to you, and I'm sorry for you, but I don't have time for these theatrics. If you don't come with me now, I swear I will knock you unconscious and drag you back through the mud."

"I'd kill you," Zoisite said flatly, but he turned and started to trudge dully back through the distant encampment - nearly half a mile through the hostile rain.

Nephrite followed him. After a long pause, filled by the dismal slap of raindrops on mud, the auburn haired guardian said, "I'm sorry if I sounded harsh back there . . . this is so very difficult . . ."

Zoisite turned, and glanced sullenly at him, then returned his gaze to the muddy ground. Nephrite pulled absently at the soaking fabric of his uniform jacket, plastered uncomfortably to his skin by the brutal Neptunian weather. After transversing the long and desolate fields of mud, they reached the camp, situated on a broad, low hillock, surrounded by guards who stood dispiritedly at their posts, rivulets of water running from their spears and helmets. The armies of Earth were normally a grand sight, resplendent in black, silver, and crimson. The mud, the rain, the gray sky, and five months of grinding war, had robbed them of that splendor, or perhaps granted them the grimmer reality. Armies only look good in peacetime, Zoisite thought inanely, But what does that matter, what does any of that matter, because Kunzite is dead, the man I love is dead, oh Kunzite please don't have left me, I can't bear it without you, I don't think I ever could or did, I don't know what I did until you came and asked me to dance, Kunzite I love you I love you and you can't be dead but you are, no, no, no, no . . .

Zoisite shoved aside the flap of Endymion's tent reflexively, without thought. Even on the battlefield, the Prince lived in luxury . . . although, of course, that luxury was completely relative. Endymion wasn't sleeping in the mud with the common soldiers, but he didn't exactly have the Earth palace with its vast rose gardens and marble colonnades, either. What he did have was a large, square tent, with his heraldry woven into the sides in black and crimson - at least, until the rain and the mud got to the tent. The floor was covered in soggy matting, and condensation dripped from overhead. There was dirt everywhere. The furnishings consisted of a small cot and a plain wooden table. It was on the latter that the Kunzite's mangled body lay, and Zoisite saw only that gory, heart-rending tableau - the carcass on the makeshift bier - as he stepped into the tent.

If it hadn't been for the uniform and the hair, Zoisite would never have associated that wreckage of meat with the beautiful, powerful man who had fought him and kissed him and held him gently and loved him fiercely; the flesh and the phantom simply could not equate. That isn't Kunzite, it can't be, thank the gods, Nephrite was wrong, or he was lying . . .There was no skin on the corpse. None. Mud, the ubiquitous scourge of Neptune, had plastered the mangled knots of bone and muscle and organs. The hands were gone. The entire skull had been . . . plucked out of its casing of flesh. A faceless hood of raw skin sagged atop the cadaver's ruined shoulders. That's not Kunzite. But attached to that horrible red skin-hood was a thick long mane of silver-white hair, splattered with blood and mud of course, but still all too recognizable . . . the tattered uniform, crusted to the skin with congealed blood, was clearly that of Endymion's honor guard, with the glacial blue trim that Kunzite had worn. Can't be. It looked to be about the right size, the right shape, the right build, although with the missing skull and hands and all that mutilation, that terrible mutilation . . . the stench of decay was pungent, but not yet overpowering. Hasn't been dead more than two or three days. Kunzite disappeared a week ago . . . Zoisite forced himself to step nearer to the table, examine the body - Kunzite's body, because let's not lie to ourselves, little sakura, who else had that hair and that uniform and that build whom we might just find lying around, tortured to death?

And oh gods, the thing is moving! Zoisite jolted backwards, his fist in his mouth, before his mind realized that the movement had been nothing more than maggots, performing their gruesome parodies of the last acts, feasting in the lungs and ribcage. Sudden sobs racked his slender body.

"I know," Endymion said, seated slouched over on his cot, his cape drawn closely about him for warmth. "That gave us quite a start, too, seeing the - the -" he couldn't quite bring himself to say it.

"Seeing the maggots," Jadeite finished from where he at by the prince, his back formally straight - almost rigid - and his gloved hands clasped before him.

Nephrite squatted silently on the dampened rugs; little pools of filthy water filled the indentations around his boots. Rainwater dripped off his face, his clothes, his hair. He watched, distantly, as Zoisite tried to reach out and touch the carcass, make some final, futile contact with the ruined flesh. The slender Guardian's hand drew back, trembling. At length, he buried his fingers in the hair that had been Kunzite's, and sobbed from the very depths of his throat. "Who did this?" he whispered hoarsely.

"We don't know," Endymion said, hollowly. "The body was found on the same hill where Kunzite had first disappeared. Obviously, it wasn't there all along . . . somebody must have put it there, probably after . . . after he was . . . "

"Killed." Zoisite said flatly. "After he was killed." He did not move from beside the corpse stretched lengthwise on the table; only thunder and rain disturbed the silence.

"Endymion-sama," Zoisite said formally, "I would request that you witness my oath of vengeance."

Endymion buried his head in his hands. "I can't let you take that oath, Zoisite. I'm sorry."

"I, Chun Li Zoisite, do solemnly swear that I will avenge in blood the death of Iyataba Kunzite, and until I have paid this debt of blood, I-"

"Zoisite, stop." Guilt and grief racked Endymion's voice, but he used the coercion, the damnable coercion and Zoisite had no choice but to fall silent, gagging on the words that could not leave his mouth. Within himself, he swore, and until I have paid this debt of blood, I have no name, no soul, no freedom. To the gods of honor and vengeance do I commit myself, now and until the price is paid fittingly. Thus I swear.

Endymion was shaking his head slowly, Jadeite stared blankly and blindly into the middle distance, and Nephrite had closed his eyes. "Zoisite, you can't stay and . . . try to find whoever did this." Endymion said slowly. "We're leaving; I mean me and the Guardians. You, Jadeite, Nephrite. My father decided it's too dangerous, now. He's making me leave. We're going back to the Moon Kingdom - I'll be safe with Queen Selenity."

Zoisite made a scoffing noise. "And what, our safety matters now? Only now that Kunzite's dead, we run away screaming? It's too late to retreat now. You can go. I'm staying, and I'm fighting this war to the finish. I have taken my oath."

"The oath you have taken to me supersedes it," Endymion said softly.

"No. That oath I took because I was forced to, and the power of that oath was magicked into me against my own will. I will not forget my blood debt because of your fucking coercion!"

Jadeite shifted uncomfortably. "Talk respectfully," Nephrite snapped, from where he huddled tiredly on the floor. Endymion raised one hand, shook his head at the auburn-haired general.

"Zoisite, I know that what you have chosen in you heart matters far more to you than what has been forced upon you. But I can and will force you to return to the Moon Kingdom with me. I have to . . . Zoisite, you've been sitting out in the rain and the mud, mourning, for the past half a day, so you wouldn't know . . . but the youma armies have the Neptunian capital surrounded. My father, and Queens Michiru and Haruka, are going to launch an attack from the north and the west, try to break the front lines . . . but it's a suicide attack. They are going to be killed. My father is going to die tomorrow, leading the troops of Earth into battle. He will not retreat; he will be in the front ranks. He is sworn to his death."

"It would be a picture of gallantry, if it weren't for all that damn mud," Zoisite sneered acidly.

A deep hurt flared in Endymion's eyes, and clear anger rose on Nephrite's features in response to this incredible effrontery.

"Zoisite, I know you're in pain right now. We're all in pain right now. The point is . . . I need to leave. I'm going to be the last of the royal line. Do you understand what's happening now? These youma can't be allowed to take over Amphitrite. Once they do they'll gain control of Neptune and with control of Neptune they'll gain control of the Outer Planets and once they have that . . . they'll take over everything. So my father is going out there to die, do you understand, die to try to stop it; and I'll be the last. The last of the Earthen Imperial Line." Endymion looked very, very sad, very lost, and for a moment, Zoisite struggled for words to comfort his sometime friend and Prince. Then his eye fell on the bloody, tortured carcass of the man he'd loved. Ice edged into his heart, and he said nothing, deliberately turning his back to Endymion.

Kunzite was dead. Kunzite was dead, and there was nothing else that mattered. Zoisite and Jadeite carried the remains on a makeshift stretcher; the faceless, handless cadaver had been covered with a ripped and muddied piece of canvas sheeting. There was nothing else available, and the body was simply too gruesome to be left bare. Oh gods, Kunzite was dead.

It's him under that sheet, Zoisite thought. It's his dead weight between the poles that's making my arms ache. It's the stench of his decay that's fouling the air, when he always used to smell like roses and spice.

King Anchises was bidding farewell to his son. No hugs, no kisses, no tears; what was most likely a final goodbye was painfully stiff and formally: We have no choice, Zoisite thought, and he could see on Nephrite's and Jadeites faces that they were thinking the same thing. We have no choice.

Queen Michiru, who wore some sort of thick cotton kimono over ceremonial armor of blue metal, was more demonstrative. She gave Endymion, Nephrite, and Jadeite brief hugs; she whispered some soft blessing over the remains of Kunzite; and she hugged Zoisite as well. He tried to shrink away from her comforting embrace, but found himself unable or unwilling to move. A strand of her short aquamarine hair tickled his nose; she was almost as tall as Zoisite, and could look eye to eye with him. "Be strong," she whispered. "Please, be strong." A surprising depth of wisdom and compassion seemed to wait beneath the cerulean glimmer of her wide, round eyes; but then Zoisite remembered the long silver eyes of Kunzite, and he could take no comfort. "Just open the fucking warp portal," he whispered into her delicate ear, and she smiled, very sadly, and stepped back, and folded her hands in front of her in the wide sleeves of her kimono.

"Neptune Eternal Gateway," she whispered, her eyes closed, her hair whipped around her delicate face by a non-existent wind. Kunzite's hair had done that, sometimes . . . A shimmering turquoise hole rent the fabric of the cold, humid hair; a single barb of incandescent light twinkled in its center, so brightly that Zoisite had to turn aside his eyes.

With one backward glance at his father - brief, but filled with Endymion's dark-eyed intensity - the Prince stepped into the aqua-tinted glow; his silhouette flared briefly in the purest of light, and then he was vanished. Nephrite followed, flinching a little at the threshold. Jadeite, holding the front end of the stretcher, hesitated in front of the portal. A single bead of sweat traced its way down Queen Michiru's pale porcelain forehead. "Move," Zoisite hissed at the short-haired blonde, and Jadeite did, and his backside disappeared into the portal, and then the stretcher was swallowed up by the aqua glow, and then Zoisite himself was being consumed with that very same light, exploding outwards from the backs of his eyes, scouring his skin and his brain and his being like the force of the oceans . . .

we're going to war, Kunzite had said, and he had frozen, unbelieving.

damnit Kunzite that isn't funny.

but it's true.

then why haven't I heard anything about it - with whom? Queen Selenity has effectively engineered interplanetary peace for hundreds of years, there's no one to go to war with.

now there is. they appeared all of a sudden, about a week ago, on the outer planets - they're called youma, because they pretty much are monsters, but nobody knows what exactly they are or where they came from. it's being kept very secret of course - not exactly the sort of information you want to give out to your political enemies, or even the common people. but it's bad, particularly on Neptune, which hasn't had anything more than ceremonial armies for more than a century. the marriage wasn't the only thing that was decided tonight - King Anchises also agreed to deploy most of Earth's troops to help Neptune. Queen Michiru begged him, and I know she doesn't like to beg for help. she doesn't even like Anchises, really. if she's that desperate . . .well it can't be good. Endymion will be leading one division of cavalry and footsoldiers, and we're going with him, of course. I understand we're going to be used as fighters as well as bodyguards.

oh gods. and it hurt his pride to admit it, but he did: Kunzite, I'm afraid. it seems that everything is moving so fast . . . destiny and love and marriage and now war. I have this terrible sense that . . . well, I'm not sure what. just a deep and abiding terror waiting underneath my heart. and I have no choice; I want to walk - no, run - away from the whole thing, and I can't.

I know how you feel, Zoi-chan, but you have me, and I have you, and let's let that be enough for now. come, we have the morning off, let's walk through the rock gardens and make love on the bench beside the mossy fountain - no one ever goes there.

and they had and they had sat with their arms around each other in the afternoon sun, leaning against the cool stone lip of the fountain, watching the clouds, saying I love you and how did I live without you and you are so beautiful, never speaking of war or destiny.

The instant of blue brightness was killing him. He was being torn apart. He couldn't feel his body, and wasn't sure if there even was such a thing as body in these distances between the worlds. Oh boy Michiru did you fuck up royally. This isn't a portal, it's a fucking deathtrap. Spikes of light transfixed the slender Guardian's unflesh; reality doubled back on itself, nibbled at its own tail.

mud. all this fucking mud; how are we expected to fight a war in this?

he and Kunzite had stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the fray. the white haired general desperately bellowed commands to the small, desperate band of Earthen elite fighters, clashing with a force of youma outnumbering them almost ten to one. green blood slicked his sword; whirlwinds of cherry petals spiraled from his fingers, but they only drove the youma back the youma for so long. it seemed for every one that fell, two more hurried forward to take its place. an ambush - a terrible ambush - they were supposed to be on an in and out raid, but they had been caught, forced to battle (and how did our mysterious enemy manage to hide all these youma on a bare flat plain? Zoisite wondered as he swiped desperately at one of the nearby monsters? magic, it had to be magic. but then anyone with shit for brains could figure out that there's magic involved in this war; look at the youma; you don't think those are natural, do you?)

a world of swords and arrows and the hideous twisted countenances of the monsters as they surged forth in wave after wave - a few feet to the left, one of the Earthen soldiers crumpled into the mud as a youma ripped out his bowels - and then o gods the arrow heading straight for Kunzite! anger and terror blurred his world; he shoved Kunzite aside, felt a terrible aching pain explode just below his collarbone. blood. o shit the arrow had lodged into him good, nearly halfway along its shaft. and the world reeled around him and he realized oh damn the thing was poisoned and now undying. a slow slide into half-consciousness brought him to his knees.

take him back now! now, damnit! retreat, retreat! Kunzite had been screaming, and his voice was terribly distant.

the last thing he'd heard was hang on, Zoi-chan, just hang on . . .

The portal turned him inside out, ripped him to pieces, scourged him and scoured him and left him to drown in an aqua blue beauty. Arrows of turquoise light entered the wound in his shoulder, again and again. He was not-screaming with his not-mouth, for here was the land of unflesh, unsound, the terrible lapse in spacetime, the path that led nowhere . . . I'm going to die. I'll get used to it, I suppose.

(hang on, Zoi-chan, just hang on)

A sudden silver flare washed across his face, his flesh, his mind. Some strange beautiful glowing power held him in warm gentle hands, pulled him up from the fugue state and back into himself, one body, one mind, one place, one time. Me, Chun Li Zoisite (sometime lover of Iyataba Kunzite) grounded in the here and now. And where's here and now?

Zoisite opened his eyes, unaware that he had even closed them. He lay half-collapsed across Kunzite's body, half sprawled on a gorgeous mosaic floor. A woman stood over him; she was very short, very slender, but her presence was regal and imposing. She wore her white hair in two knots on her head; a golden crescent moon symbol glowed on her forehead.

"Thank the Light I was able to pull you out of that, Guardian-san," she said gently, in dulcet tones.

Zoisite had just enough time to mumble, "Arigatou, Selenity-hine," before the darkness rose up to meet him.

"Go away. Please."

"No, Zoisite-san. I insist. You must get medical treatment - the inflammation is getting worse and worse, and look, your bandages are soaked already."

"I don't remember giving you permission to come into my room."

"And I don't remember asking. Now take off those bandages and lie down!"

"If I wanted to see the doctors, I'd go see the doctors," Zoisite snapped, "not some idiot teenage girl trying to play nurse. Now get the hell out before I blast you."

Princess Ami did not move. The petite blue-haired girl just stared him straight in the eye for a very long second. "You're going to die, you know. Everyone else thinks it's just a simple arrow wound, but you and I know better, right? I can sense the poison in you. I may be young, but I've been trained at Mercury's best medical academies, and more importantly, I have the gift of healing. I can see the wound getting worse every day. Now, Zoisite-san, I am going to look at that shoulder, whether you like it or not!" Her voice was level, but very firm, as if she addressing a recalcitrant child. Zoisite, who sat on the sofa in his private quarters with his feet propped up, massaged one temple.

"Fine. I'll let you look at my shoulder if you'll go away. But don't think this is going to make me fall madly in love with you."

"That," Ami said matter-of-factly, "is most certainly the farthest thing from my mind. I'm pretty much aware that I'm not your type, anyway. Now lay back on the couch and peel back those bandages . . . or do you want me to?'

"I can do it myself, thanks," Zoisite snapped, and yanked that bandages away from his shoulder, which howled in agony. A quick glance at the wound, which was surrounded by a ring of blackened flesh, swollen and oozing, reminded him that Ami, however he might wish otherwise, had been right. This wasn't just an ordinary arrow wound. It was something . . . dangerous. Very dangerous.

"You're not proving anything by ripping the bandages away like that - or by refusing medical attention for so long," Ami lectured. "But I think you know that. Now - this is going to hurt a little -" she pressed two slender fingers down on the edges of the wound, hard. Very hard. Zoisite screamed.

"Did that hurt?"

"No. That was earsplitting howl was a scream of pleasure," Zoisite snarled.

"You don't need to be so sarcastic." Ami was busy probing the wound, more gently. She took his pulse, felt his forehead, the chest, and the back of his hand. "How long ago did you get this?"

"About three weeks," the slender blonde sighed, almost resigned to his fate of unwilling patient.

"And how was is treated?"

"The same way all arrow wounds are; it was pushed through, the head was cut off, the shaft was pulled out, and the wound was cauterized with a hot poker and cleansed with alcohol."

"Barbaric," Ami sniffed. "Really, the type of medicine they use in the field . . . begging for infection. I wish it were an infection, though. This doesn't seem like any that I've ever seen; the discharge is completely different, and that pattern of inflammation - none of your lymph nodes are at all swollen, though, and your breathing, heart rate, and body temperature are actually all a little low. All I can think is that it must be poison."

"Of course. The arrow was coated with something - I fell unconscious almost immediately after I was hit."

"It could have been shock," Ami said, rummaging through a small blue bag. She pulled out a length of bandaging and two small phials.

Zoisite frowned. "It wasn't shock. I've taken arrows before, and worse. Part of my training as a Guardian was to carry live coals on my lips."

Ami blanched a little at this last. "That's disgusting. Who came up with training procedures like that?"

"King Anchises, I suppose. Of course, I didn't really mind at the time. I thought I was training for the greatest honor I could ever achieve: to become a Guardian, the elite honor guard of the Prince Endymion."

Ami swabbed at the wound with a wad of cotton doused with a yellowish fluid. It stung, but Zoisite said nothing. "Sounds like your opinion's changed."

"Of course. Finally, I was old enough to take on the duties I had been trained for all my life . . . and then I discovered that from my earliest childhood, a coercion had been forced upon me, one I hadn't known about until now. The coercion made me Endymion's virtual slave. Of course, I was less than thrilled to learn that my free will had been nothing more than a figment of my imagination, and my honor was nothing more than glorified bondage."

"Ahh." Ami shrugged gracefully, and slathered some ointment on the edges of the gaping wound. Zoisite gasped as a sudden delicious coldness and numbness eased the burning ache. "I was born into the position of bodyguard to the Moon Princess; it comes with the territory of being an Inner Princess. But it seems like my training was never as . . . intense . . . as yours was. I learned more about math and science during my training then anything else; I only know a few attacks. And I always considered what I was doing to be a great honor. And, of course, there was no magical geas on me."

She began to wrap a clean, light bandage tightly around his shoulder. "You have my sympathies, Zoisite-san." Her eyes were a very dark blue, and huge, as she made this solemn statement. "I'll leave you now. I've changed your bandages, given you some disinfectant and a general anesthetic, but I can't tell you what's causing it, other than to say that it's some sort of poison. And obviously, I can't cure it. I don't even have any idea how to begin to treat it. I'm almost certain that's its not entirely natural, that there's some supernatural angle involved. I'm going to send Princess Rei to see you; she specializes in energy purification and combating negative magic. Failing that, I'll arrange for Queen Selenity to heal you with the ginzuishou. I'm sorry, Zoisite-san. You were right. I couldn't do much more than play nurse."

And Ami turned and walked away swiftly and quietly, her silken blue dress billowing around her knees. She closed the door very gently behind her; Zoisite imagined he could hear muffled sobs in the hallway, but wasn't certain. What could he do . . . call her back? Apologize to her for being who he was, what he was, in love with a dead man and now probably dying himself?

The past two weeks had ground away his last bits of strength, eaten at him from the inside out. All contact had been lost with Neptune - whatever had made his warp away from there so painful, nearly fatal, had now blockaded the Ocean Planet altogether. King Anchises was missing; almost certainly dead. Youma forces had launched very successful, brutal attacks on the other Outer Planets - Pluto, Neptune, Saturn. Jupiter, Venus, Mars, Mercury, and Earth had suffered smaller, less debilitating attacks - but the pattern was clear, and certainly not a pleasing one. Most of the planetary nobility had fled to the Moon Kingdom, the only planet thus far immune to the youma attacks. Queen Selenity's great power seemed to hold the mysterious adversary with his limitless supernatural armies at bay . . . but how long is that going to last? Zoisite thought cynically. The worst part was, they had no idea who was attacking, why he was doing it, where he was getting this immense power . . . the war was insane, with no seeming motive. And the youma, those malformed, inhuman shock troops with their blank twisted faces and glowing eyes . . . . I think we're probably all going to die before I have to marry Princess Ami anyway, so I suppose that's something to be grateful for. Only Endymion seemed oblivious to the sudden terrors racking the galaxy; he had thrown himself into his courtship of Princess Usagi with myopic abandon. The pair had created a world of dancing and roses and moonlight walks and eternal love, and Zoisite (along with Jadeite and Nephrite, who too had covertly voiced their disgust) could almost despise him for it. Zoisite called Endymion "my Prince." Never Cape Boy. It hadn't been Cape Boy for a long time.

Kunzite's mangled remains had been cremated, and he had been interred with highest honors in the cold granite vaults where the royal family of the Moon Kingdom lay in dusts and ashes in silver urns. The service had been perfunctory, though, almost military. Zoisite had cried softly and angrily throughout the interment, whispering to himself the oath of his heart: I, Chun Li Zoisite, do solemnly swear to avenge in blood . . .

And the arrow wound his shoulder had puckered, putrified, wept pus. I think Ami's right. It's going to kill me. The realization failed to disturb him.

A knock rapped at his door, loudly, quickly.

Who . . . Zoisite wondered.

"Open up the door! I know you're in there!"

Ah. He placed the voice Rei, the Mars Princess, the perpetually angry raven-haired beauty who supposedly could drive out his negative energies. Damnit, why was everybody around here so fucking prompt and concerned?

"Zoisite! I'm not standing out here pounding on your door because this is my idea of a good time, you know. Open it up!"

The slender man almost had to laugh. The door was unlocked, of course - Ami had just walked in only half an hour ago. But it hadn't occurred to Rei to try the handle - not that she was stupid, of course. Just too . . . forceful. It sounded like she was kicking on the door now.

"Let. Me. In. NOW!"

Zoisite half-stood, half-rolled off of the couch. A brief bolt of pain shot through his left shoulder; he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. The tall, narrow windows on the far wall all stood open, and pale blue squares of earthlight - reflected off of the crescent Earth in the lunar skies - fell on the silver carpeting. Zoisite smiled a little as stood on the ledge, listening to an instant to Rei's verbal and physical assault on his unlocked door. He grabbed the window ledge, swung down to the ground - an easy fifteen foot drop. Of course, his wounded shoulder screamed, so much that he almost blacked out.

Zoisite lay panting, curled rich silver soil of the moon, in a bed of night lilies. Distantly, from above, he heard Rei exclaim - "Damn. And it was unlocked all this time." He stared at the waning earth-crescent, a slender arc of light in the smooth black skies, marbled with blue and green and silver. The stars rained their icy-pale fire down on him. At length Zoisite stood, and began a slow and silent pilgrimage across the grounds of the Moon Palace.

Milky starlight swam along the impossibly polished granite walls of the mausoleum. Zoisite's boots tapped on the stone floor - a floor inlaid with spirals that were actually the fossilized shells of ancient Earth beasts. The granite walls answered the slender Guardian's footfalls with eerily distorted mockeries.

Zoisite knelt before the small granite shelf he knew so well, pressed his forehead to it. Iyataba Kunzite-sama, Guardian and Warrior of Earth, read the inscription. The inscription was very deep, the lettering plain and unpainted. In the half-light of the earth and stars, it was nothing more than a line of scrawlings and shadows, but Zoisite ran his finger across it, slowly, mouthing the words. My love, he added at the end. The cold of the tombs was invading his shoulder, making it burn . . .

Footfalls, behind him.

"It'll kill you, you know."

He knew that voice. He was afraid to turn around. It's all in my head. It's the starlight and delirium from the wound and night air and the goddamn stress.

Warm fingers fell on his shoulder, squeezed the swollen flesh just hard enough to be painful. Zoisite started to cry, fear and hope and sorrow and amazement all burning in his tears.

"Kunzite?" (It can't be, it can't be, but oh I think it is . . .)

A sudden bolt of agony raced through his wound; from the edge of his vision, Zoisite could see a crackle of blue energy.

"You will address me as Kunzite-sama."

He was afraid to turn around. You don't want to see this, Zoisite told himself. This isn't good at all. Close your eyes and run like hell.

Instead he stood, and turned around, and there was Kunzite, as glorious in face and form as always - perhaps even more so. His silver hair cascaded over his shoulders; his deep tan skin almost glowed in the starlight, and those eyes . . . long, silver, perfect . . . But the sometime Guardian wore a gray uniform, high collared and trimmed with icy blue . . . high black boots - tight black belt - a long cape, epaulettes - certainly not the uniform he had worn in Endymion's service. And there was a lingering aura of darkness about him; a steely coldness waiting in his eyes, a ruthlessness in the tight set of those perfect lips . . .

For a long moment, Zoisite was afraid to move. Afraid to speak, approach Kunzite (no, Kunzite-sama, he calls himself Kunzite-sama). But the taller, stronger man stepped forward, wrapped him in a close embrace, kissed him lingeringly, teasingly on the lips. And against all his instincts, all his fears and cautions, Zoisite found himself melting into Kunzite's arms.

"What happened to you?" He whispered. "The uniform - the cape - the -" Zoisite couldn't think of a proper word for the cold hungry power that seemed to wait just behind Kunzite's eyes and fingers. You hurt me, he thought. You ran a bolt of energy through my wound . . . oh gods, what has happened to you?

"You'll understand soon enough." Strong hands slid expertly across Zoisite's bare chest, tracing featherlight circles around his nipples, his navel. Without willing it, he moaned a little, and Kunzite laughed, but the laugh was cold and razor-edged.

"But - we found your body -"

"My old body," Kunzite said, impatiently. "I was remade with the grace of Metallia; a little of my blood, a few of my bones, a dozen or so youma . . ."

"Youma?"

"Of course, my sweet little sakura." His voice was mocking, so cruel. His hands had moved beneath Zoisite's pants, and the shorter man was torn between the desire to kiss him and touch him and cry out, and the need to cry or scream, because something was so terribly wrong . . .

"I know," Kunzite was saying. "Of course you're confused. But not for long. Not for long at all."

And they were disappearing into darkness, in blue streaks of light, and Zoisite's stomach lurched as he felt himself enter that not-space between the worlds. Where are you taking me? What are you doing? He tried to scream this at Kunzite, but how can you scream in a world without tongues to make sound or ears to hear?

And then he was standing on a stone floor, in a dark cavern, the ceiling fanged with stalactites and the corners flooded with shadows. A terrible, sibilant whispering seemed to vibrate through the stone; the rock beneath his feet seemed alive with malignance, and terribly cold. He was shivering. Kunzite stepped away from him and fell to one knee, his fist to his chest, his head lowered.

He's bowing . . . but who is he bowing to?

And then he saw. A woman. A terrible woman, seated on a vast throne beneath the huge cathedral vault of stone. Even the shadows seemed to prostrate themselves before her, bending unnaturally about her, and Zoisite was not surprised. She was the most fearsome thing he had ever seen, and he thanked every god he'd ever known that he was at least fifty paces away from her, and he prayed that he would never come any closer.

"You may rise, General Kunzite," the woman said in a voice of silk and iron. And he stood respectfully, and silently, before this demoness. Long red hair . . . slanted snake eyes . . . sallow skin . . . gorgeous figure, marred by spikes rising from her shoulders . . . some sort of onyx headpiece on her forehead. I can't have seen her before, Zoisite thought. That's not the sort of face I would forget . . . but something about her seemed naggingly familiar. And then he placed her.

"Councilor Beryl!" Zoisite exclaimed. She hadn't had those spikes, or those eyes, and he'd only seen her once or twice - mostly at court functions, very briefly - but yes, it was she.

Kunzite kicked him at the kneecaps, and he fell, prostrating himself against his will.

"You will address Her Majesty Queen Beryl," Kunzite corrected coldly.

Zoisite spoke angrily, trying to hide his terror, hoping that rage would burn away the fear. "How dare you? What is this? Maybe you'd like to explain . . . Beryl." He spat out the last name, his lip curled. He tried to stand, but couldn't; something was forcing him to stay on his knees. It wasn't Kunzite - it was Kunzite's energy, he realized. The touch of this new force seemed slimy, unwholesome. The floor seemed to be freezing through his hands.

"You may leave us, Kunzite," the woman - Beryl - said, raising one hand in a languorous wave. Kunzite bowed once more, and his form blurred into brilliant blue bars, then into nothing at all.

Beryl crooked one finger at Zoisite. Her fingernails were like crimson claws, Zoisite noted. Think. Beryl. What do I know about Beryl. She opposed Endymion and Usagi's engagement . . . there must be something else. Wait . . . she's Selenity's sister. Is she trying to usurp the throne?

"Come here, sakura," she commanded. Her voice was a terrible, twisted parody of friendliness; Zoisite felt himself shifting backward, against his will.

"Come here," she repeated, this time with a force behind her words, and Zoisite was crawling towards her on hands on knees, humbled on the cold cavern floor. And he was kneeling before her, at the foot of her throne, looking up at her terrible predatory visage, its edges sharper than razors.

"Where am I?" He whispered.

Silence. Dully, he noted the ache in his shoulder was getting much worse.

"Where am I, Beryl-hine?"

"That's better," she purred. "You are in the kingdom of the all-powerful Metallia, Empress of the Darkness."

"And why did you bring me here, Beryl-hine?" He made his voice as acid as possible, through the pain and the fear.

"To make you of Metallia, her servant and my loyal general."

"So that's what you did to Kunzite . . . . You bitch."

Energy crackled from the dark crystal sphere beneath her hands; black fingers of lightning crackled across Zoisite's chest, and he screamed. He couldn't help it. Beryl was laughing, her dark crimson lips parted to reveal delicate fangs.

"So, you think you're brave, then? So did Kunzite . . . even after I chopped off his hands. It was when I began to peel off his face that he started begging for mercy."

"Die, bitch," Zoisite hissed.

Beryl kicked him with one pointed shoe. Hard. Right on his cheekbone. "You can't fight me, you know. I made you. I named you."

"What are you talking about?"

The terrible demon queen gloated at him as she spoke. "Who do you think advised King Anchises to create four Guardians for his sweet little baby Endymion? Train them as warriors, endow them with magical powers, rename them as gemstones, tie them to the throne?"

"I hate you," Zoisite said flatly. His words were a simple statement of fact. Beryl leaned down, reached out one long slender arm and cupped her long bony fingers around the lean Guardian's chin, forced his gaze up into her terrible fiery eyes. Her touch was pain beyond anything Zoisite had ever known.

"Of course you do," she said. "I wouldn't have it otherwise. Metallia thrives on hatred. You were always such a slender little thing - physically disappointing. I often considered terminating you. But your anger . . . oh, your anger has made Metallia proud. Even now -"

Zoisite tried to wrench his chin out of her clutch, but her fingers were iron strong. He bit at her pale hands, and she laughed.

"I'm only reaping what I've sown, darling. I've waited for years - and the Empress Metallia has waited longer, for centuries and centuries. And now, the time is almost here . . ."

"But I don't understand," Zoisite protested, beginning to weep. "I don't understand . . . "

"You will. Oh, you will."

She reached out her other hand, and ran it across her ebon crystal, gathering up a strange black glove of energy which glowed and crackled around her fingers - she pulled him forwards by the shoulder, incinerating his bandages in a rush of black flame. And then (oh gods oh powers no, I beg you) she was thrusting her fingers through the wound on his shoulder. Lambent tongues of dark energy radiated outward, ran along Zoisite's flesh. He began to scream, and felt blood in his throat. I'm dying, but no, she didn't let Kunzite die, she won't let me die, but please, let this be the end . . . the black fire engulfed him.

Kunzite!

There was no answer, only the pain. And the pain. And the pain, the terrible pain . . .

He woke up, naked, in Kunzite's arms, in a dark and empty cavern of stone. The gray fabric of the older General's uniform was scratched against his bare skin, but his presence was as aphrodisiac as ever. The slender blonde pressed his lips against Kunzite's chest, were he let his uniform front fall half-open, and exhaled gently, teasingly, on his deep tan skin.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry," Kunzite was saying. "It was the only way."

"Sorry for what, Kunzite-sama?"

His lover heaved a deep sigh. "For nothing. It's just words, really. I don't suppose the Goddess Metallia allows us any regrets. Mostly . . . I'm sorry that I can't be sorry."

Zoisite was vaguely aware that some monumental knowledge was encrypted here, in his lover's regret, but he did not know and did not care.

"Take me to the bedroom," he whispered, and Kunzite did. Ah, the bedroom . . . black marble floors inlaid with silver, walls tiled with polished anthracite, the huge, round bed with the black silk coverlet . . . I've never been here before, what is this? but a soothing darkness buzzed behind his eyelids and took the questions away.

And Kunzite laid him down, so very gently, on the mattress, and knelt over him. The white-haired general pulled off his jacket, his boots, his pants, and his weight covered Zoisite, and mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, hand to hand, skin to skin, they made love in the shadows. And they climaxed between each other's thighs, and Zoisite cried his ecstasy into Kunzite's mouth, and they disentangled themselves, lay panting in the cold half-darkness.

"Kunzite-sama?"

"Hmm?"

"When do we attack Selenity?"

Kunzite chuckled, a little cynically, and Zoisite felt the white-haired General's breath on the back of his neck.

"So eager . . . soon, Zoi-chan. Soon enough. Mercury and Earth are still resisting, and we need that energy. And we still must bring the last two Guardians before Metallia . . ."

"Jadeite and Nephrite," Zoisite murmured, vague blurred images half-rising at his recall.

"Yes."

"And we were Guardians once?" he asked, somehow aware that this was a point of great relevance; but the darkness took the urgency from the question.

"Yes. But that was . . . that was a very long time ago."

Side by side, they stood, the shittenou, and a vast army of snarling youma rallied behind them. Kunzite was leading the attack, and he, Zoisite, stood just a step behind, and Nephrite and Jadeite, as well, standing on the other side . . . and Beryl watched over them all, and Metallia thrilled through their minds and their bodies. And the Moon Kingdom screamed, and screamed. The silver moonrock glistened black-red with blood.

"We've destroyed them, Kunzite-sama!" Zoisite exulted. The wonderful energies of pain and sorrow pulsed through him; the spirit of Metallia howled a terrible, wonderful song of victory in his heart.

"Yes we have." A nasty smile twisted Kunzite's handsome features. "But we still have to capture Endymion . . . those were her orders . . . Jadeite, Nephrite!"

The two stood at attention.

"Jadeite, you take the third and fourth regiments of the youma, and find and kill anyone trying to escape the city. Nephrite - take the first and second regiments, and slaughter anyone still alive within the city walls. Zoisite, you come with me."

Zoisite was vaguely aware of Nephrite's derisive snicker, "Kunzite's pet faggot," but the glow of victory transfixed him as he disappeared in a whirlwind of cherry petals, following the senior General's teleport.

They materialized in a rose garden; blue earthlight rippled eerily on crimson roses; the earth was nearly full, on the horizon. We've conquered Earth, Zoisite thought smugly. Nothing left there but savages and mud and mass graves. The scent of the roses, and the memories of the slaughter, left him nearly delirious with something that wasn't quite joy. Ecstasy; fever; hunger; those were the things that filled Zoisite's awareness. That, and the presence of Kunzite at his side.

"Endymion! Come out!" Kunzite called, in a voice not so much loud as imposing.

Footsteps on the path behind them, and there stood Endymion, dressed in his ceremonial armor, black and red cape billowing behind him. He held a single rose, balanced, between his fingertips. In a very, very weary voice, the Prince of Earth said, "Kunzite, I order you to stop this madness."

"You can't order us anymore, Cape-Boy," Zoisite snapped, and grinned as the sorrow on Endymion's face seemed to deepen. "We're free, now."

The Prince drew back his hand, threw his rose. It missed, quivering in the ground at Zoisite's feet.

"You're loosing your touch, Cape Boy," the copper-haired General sneered. "You'll never be able to kill me like that."

"I won't have to kill you," Endymion said tiredly. "Just hold you off. I don't know why you did this - why you betrayed me, or who you're following now - but it doesn't matter. You can't win. You're going to be dead in a few minutes. We all are. Queen Selenity is using the ginzuishou . . ."

Zoisite cursed, softly, and from the corner of his eye, he was aware of Kunzite's features hardening, his jaw clenching.

Endymion continued .". . . I came out here . . . just to say . . . I'm sorry for everything that happened. We were friends once, although I don't expect you remember. And I forgive you . . . for all this. Even this. Please . . . stop. Come back to me. This is your last chance."

"How very noble," Kunzite drawled, sarcastically.

"I spit upon your forgiveness," Zoisite screamed, launching himself at the tall, black-haired prince. But even as he did so, Endymion seemed to fade away, float off into the darkness. Zoisite fell on the ground, hard.

Somewhere in the distance - where the marble palace stood in a world of roses - a pink glow blossomed on the horizon, accompanied by sad and ghostly music. Kunzite offered Zoisite one white-gloved hand, and he took it, and stood, resting his head against his beloved's shoulder. The glow intensified; rays of rose-colored light split the darkness.

"The ginzuishou," Zoisite whispered. "We never thought she would dare . . ."

"Sshhh," Kunzite whispered, and pulled Zoisite's lips to his own.

In a garden filled with thorns, in a night filled with the music of phantom violins and the glow of Selenity's dying, they kissed, and held one another close. The air smelled of roses and the acrid stench of smoke from the burning city. "I love you," Zoisite whispered, as they waited for the world to end.