It was in Budapest where they at last came to their senses.

It happened first to Everett. He awoke that morning with the first light, not knowing where or when he was. Lying next to him, sunk into a meringue of goose-down comforters and more pillows than any reasonable human being could possibly need, was a slender young black woman, splendidly nude, her fists pulled up to her mouth, her eyelashes lush against her skin, her sleeping breath sweet and steady. At first, when Everett didn't know her, he panicked. Then, when he did know her, his panic nearly knocked the breath from his body.

She was Princess Shuri of Wakanda, a girl half his age, a girl he'd known less than three weeks, a girl who was his superior in rank and intellect, and a girl who was, by the authority of a Priest of Wakanda and the Standesamt of Vienna, his wife.

He rubbed his hands over his face and throttled a dismayed groan into a sigh. He got out of the bed quietly, so as not to wake her, went into the bathroom, and turned on the cold water tap. He splashed icy water over his face, drank more from his cupped hands, stared at his dripping reflection in the mirror.

God, he looked old, and tired, and an utter fool. His head ached as if with a hangover. And he had been on a bender, hadn't he? A sexual bender, more potent than any drink or drug. And what of that little fairy, sound asleep in that ridiculous pile of goose-down? Was she the belle dame sans merci, or was she a hapless Titania enamoured, through trickery, with a monster? For at that moment Everett was not inclined to think very charitably of himself or his behavior.

"At least you don't have the head of an ass," he muttered to his reflection. "But what in the hell are you going to do now?"

Shave. He could shave. He lathered his face as if his life depended on it and began to methodically scrape two days' stubble from his cheeks and chin. Focus. Focus on this ordinary, necessary task. You've done this thousands of times. And then he thought of his superiors. Why hadn't they contacted him? Why hadn't they brought him in? They knew where he was. The whole fucking world knew where he was. The press loves a princess. The press especially loves a princess in love.

He nicked himself and hissed with pain. Watching the blood run watery and stain the lather on his face, he felt a flash of gratitude. Such an ordinary wound brought him back to himself. Finish the job. Shower. Dress. Become normal. And get the hell out of this hotel room.

And do it before she awakens.