By Ruth, for Mystic Knight

George rubbed his eyes with a sigh, staring gloomily over the uneven rooftops of Port Caynn.  With all the wishful dreaming he'd had last night, he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"Being married to you is a great responsibility.  I need more time to think about it."

"More time!  Be serious.  After all these years, I'd think your answer is plain."

"Not to me."

"Stop it Alanna…"

"I refuse to marry you.  Find yourself someone more feminine, Jonathan of Conte!"

He'd heard bits and pieces of their yelling, seen fragments of the fight as it unfolded, felt the tension mount…  It was killing him to have witnessed Alanna's pain, but he couldn't help but feel hopeful.  Perhaps, if she turned away from Jonathan, she would turn toward him…

George slammed his hand on his desk.  It wasn't possible.  He knew that anyone with the Gift was hidden from his Sight, so his dreams had to be just that: dreams.  It was useless to speculate the implications of the non-vision.  The gods knew he had wasted enough time already doing just that.

His stomach rumbled.  Where was Rispah?  He stood up and strode over to the door, slamming it shut behind him.  "Rispah!" he hollered down the stairs.  "I asked for charts of the Merchants' Guild-House t'be sent up with my breakfast –"

"You have visitors, cousin!" he heard Rispah call flippantly.  "Right noble guests, if I'm any judge!"

Noble guests?  It took him but a moment to deduce that the only noble guests he'd be getting would have to be…  Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he dashed down the stairs, pulling Alanna's small frame into his arms.

"And I've been thinkin' you forgot me," he murmured, spinning her around.  He loved the feel of her against his chest.  "Just look at you!" he said, holding her in front of him.  She'd changed so much.  "Tan and fit and wearin' the clothes of a Bazhir –"

He stopped, startled, as Alanna's beautiful purple eyes welled up with tears.  Had he done something wrong?  No, he thought, as she buried her face in his chest.  Someone else had done something wrong, and it had hurt her terribly.

George looked at his cousin meaningfully.  Rispah nodded and led Coram, Alanna's muscular man-at-arms (whom he hadn't even noticed before), out of the room.  He looked down at Alanna's cat, Faithful, who looked back up at him with innocent purple eyes.  "You too.  Scat," he told it, knowing all too well that it wasn't any ordinary household pet.

She won't tell you anything, you know, said the cat haughtily.  Not that there's anything you don't already know, it added, before leaving the room with a dignified swish of it's midnight tail.  George eyed it suspiciously.

"Will you not?"  George asked Alanna, choosing to ignore the last of what the cat had said, and hoping Alanna would, too.  She was desperately trying to dry her eyes and was sniffling madly.  He handed her a large, well-made handkerchief and held it to her nose.  "Blow," he ordered, letting her clean herself up a bit.

"How long have you been able to understand Faithful?" she managed to ask, after she had dried her eyes.

"I understand him only when he wishes me to," he answered.  "Now, what're you cryin' for?" he asked, determined not to let her change the subject.  "Did somethin' happen while you were in the desert?" he questioned, feeling as though he already knew the answer.

She hesitated.  "Yes," she admitted. "But it had nothing to do with the Bazhir.  They treat me with respect," she added angrily.

He felt his eyes widen, as his dream came rushing back to him.  "You had a fight with Jonathan."  He hoped his voice didn't betray too much joy – Alanna needed comfort right now, not another suitor.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"He hinted to me when he was ready t'leave for the South that he was planning t'pop the question," he lied smoothly, anxious to confirm his suspicions.  "Are you tellin' me you refused him?"

"I really don't want to talk about it," she said miserably, and his eyes softened.

"And you shan't," he whispered, pulling her close again.  He hated seeing her like this.  "Come.  Take breakfast with me, and tell me what the Bazhir tribes are like."  His work could wait.  Right now, his lioness needed him.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

"Prince Jonathan, may I make Princess Josiane known to you?  Josiane is the second daughter of the King of the Copper Isles; she has come to stay with us for a time.  Josiane, my son, Jonathan."

"Prince Jonathan.  It is an honor to meet the man who fought so bravely in the Tusaine War."

"I was just a boy then, Princess.  Would you care to dance?"

"I would love to."

This time, he knew the dreams were real.  The man who had subtly entered his still-sleeping mind had assured him of that.

"What is this for?" growled George.  "I thought we made a deal: I do your dirty work and you leave me be."

"Now, George, don't get too worked up.  You've helped me out a bit with my work, so I thought I'd simply return the favor," said the Crooked god's voice.

"You – you mean –" stuttered George, anger welling up in his chest.  "You've been foolin' with Alanna's life!"

"No… I've just been hurrying things up a bit.  Alanna and the Prince could never have been able to work out a relationship.  You, on the other hand, are a perfect husband for her."

"Then she doesn't love me at all!" exclaimed George, now thoroughly upset.

"On the contrary," and the insufferable god winked, "she does love you.  She's just in denial.  You only have to place her in a situation where she can come to terms with herself and then…" he jokingly put a hand to his ear.  "Are those wedding bells I hear?"

George opened his mouth, but hesitated, seeing the god's smirk.  He knew, out of experience, that the dishonest god would not be doing him a favor if there wasn't anything in it for him.  George didn't want to be a pawn anymore, but really, what choice did he have?

The god, as if reading his thoughts, flashed him a grin.  "Seize the opportunity," he advised, before vanishing.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

It didn't come as much of a surprise to him when Marek gave his report of the court gossip.  Apparently, this "Josiane" princess had Jonathan wrapped around her little finger.

"She's that beautiful," murmured George, his thoughts presenting himself instead with an image of Alanna.

"One of your tall and shapely blondes.  Queenly, with lips a man would think were on the Goddess herself," elaborated Marek, eyes glazed.

"Ye're certain the Prince returns her regard?" rumbled Coram.  George had invited him to listen in on the conference, seeing as Coram had spent some time in the Prince's company and far more with people who talked of him.  He would, no doubt, have some valuable input.  Besides, Rispah had (rather forcefully) insisted.

"Why, man, he's with her every moment of the day, treatin' her like they was betrothed.  And their Majesties seem to approve.  When Princess Josiane's not with him, she's got her head together with the Queen, plannin' the weddin', doubtless."

George frowned.  If Jonathan was so taken with the woman, why hadn't he proposed?  It felt to him as if this new romance was just a ploy – a ploy of the kind that young men and women use to inspire jealousy in the hearts of their beloveds.

He must have voiced his thoughts aloud because Marek was offering an explanation.  "The betting went from even odds to her favor the day I returned here.  Stefan at the palace stables says she couldn't've laid siege to him better if he was a castle and she the General of all the King's armies.  The minute he returned from that mysterious trip away he had, they was introduced; and he's not left Josiane's side since."

"We'll want to keep this from the lass," said Coram, his voice laced with worry.  "She's been half-crazy since their fight; I don't want to think of what she'd do if she heard this."  George glanced up, alarmed.  He'd just felt Alanna leave his presence.  How could he not have realized that she was listening?  He made a mental note to pay much closer attention to his Sight in the future.

"So much for 'keepin' it from the lass,'" he muttered, standing up.  "Pardon me, but I think our dear knight might need some comfortin' right about now," he said to the two men, and hurriedly left the room.

It didn't take him long to find Alanna.  She was standing on the terrace, looking unsure and forlorn.

"How much did you hear?" he asked, his voice low and serious.  He saw her composing her face, fixing it into a happy smile.

"Hear?  Was I supposed to have heard something?"

He shook his head mentally.  She was a terrible liar.  "Lass, I'm not blind or stupid.  You overheard Coram an' Marek an' me talkin' about Jon's latest conquest."  At the surprised (and slightly guilty) look on her face, he continued.  "I can tell when you're about, did you know that?  It's the only glimpse the Sight gives me of you."

"I forgot you had the Sight."

"When it comes to you or anyone else with the Gift, it's well-nigh useless, since those with the Gift are veiled from those with the Sight.  In any case, it's not as strong with me as it is with my mother.  Still, I can feel you near me, and so I know you were eavesdroppin'."  He paused for a moment.  She seemed to be lost for words.  "Will you tell me now what passed between you and Jon in the desert?"  He questioned, deciding that she needed to get it off her chest.

Alanna's composure vanished.  She let him guide her over to a bench, where she collapsed next to him.  "We had a fight," she said softly.  He listened closely as she told him about everything: Jon's proposal, his changing and increasingly aggravating attitude, his assumption that she would go along with his plans, and his comments about her femininity.  "Perhaps I was being falsely proud," she said when she had finished.  "Perhaps it wouldn't have done me any harm to go along with him and not make a fuss about asking me first.  I didn't like the things he was saying, but I didn't want to chase him away, either."

George felt a stab of guilt.  "It's your fault," he said silently to the Crooked god.  "You provoked this little fight, you hurt Alanna's feelin's, and just so you could return a petty favor t'me!"

"Go ahead, George, blame it all on me.  But you still have the woman of your dreams in your arms.  Make the most of it."

George took a shaky breath.  "You're askin' the wrong man." His voice sounded unusually gruff.  Their eyes met, and suddenly he felt very daring.  He pulled her around until she was sitting practically on his lap, her face inches away from his.  "I'm glad he showed you that nobles are a proud, ungrateful lot, thinkin' of no one but themselves."

"I'm a noble."  Her voice sent delightful chills up his spine, and he stared longingly into her eyes.

"No.  You're my own sweet lass, and all the woman I could ever want."  He leaned in, pressing his lips against hers, pulling her body against his.  He could feel her tense up for a moment, and he almost let her go, when she relaxed and returned the kiss with enthusiasm.  Finally, he drew away, unable to take his eyes off her face.  "There's plenty more fish in the sea than Prince Jonathan.  And this particular fish loves you with all his crooked heart."

Her eyes crinkled into a smile and she buried her head in his chest.  "I'm glad," she said frankly.  "I need to be loved right now.  Kiss me again, please."

Her statement caught him off guard.  "Oh, no," he said.  "If I kiss you again right now, one thing will lead to another, and this isn't the proper place for that sort of carryin'-on."

"Then take me to a place that is," she said, insistent.  He hesitated. He was beginning to suspect that Alanna was trying the same trick as Jonathan.  What if she was just using him, as he suspected Jon was using the princess?  As if reading his thoughts, she added, "I know what I'm doing, George.  And it's not just because Jon found someone else.  This should've happened between us a long time ago."

George stood up, nervously clearing his throat.  "Well, then."  A hazy figure that suspiciously resembled the Crooked god appeared behind Alanna and winked at him.  He laughed, all previous feelings of murder aimed at the meddling god dissipating in the moment.  "Come with me, darlin' girl," he said, swinging her into his arms and heading toward his rooms.