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interlude with Tabrel Kris had been a pleasant afternoon spent in a dream. That Dalin Shar, who had given away his heart so quickly and so freely, seemed somewhat distant now, somewhat foolish. After all, how could one tell, from a single brief meeting, that one had met the love of one's life? How could a king, ruler of a planet, declare true love with his heart before his head had had time to be brought in for consultation?
    After all, Dalin Shar had known love before. There had been other meetings in that garden, other gazings into various eyes, of blue, of hazel green, of violet—yes, he particularly remembered those violet eyes, set in the perfectly chiseled bronze face of the daughter of his Nubian governor. Hadn't that been an afternoon to remember! And hadn't the rest of her body proven to be as perfectly sculpted as her face.
    But something tugged at the corners of Dalin Shar's memories of these other garden meetings, seeking to push them aside to inconsequence. Yes, there had been kissing involved, and groping limbs, but—
    A measure of the misery Dalin Shar had felt the night before, on learning that Tabrel Kris was betrothed to another, returned like a wave through him. He suddenly felt sick in his stomach, short of breath, a pain no doctor could treat moving through him from head to toe—
    "Damnation!"
    He ran to the window, sought to draw the fresh morning air into his lungs, feel the warming sun on his face, sought to forget—
    But no, there was her face, in his mind, in his heart. Burned there as if by raser fire. He knew that he would never be able to burn it out without tearing his own heart and brain from his body. It was as if some hideous disease had taken hold of him—hideous and wonderful at the same time—and he would always, from now on, be beholden to this parasite within him.
    From the window, he looked out over the beauty of the royal grounds, the topiary sculptures of extinct animals—lion, elephant, tiger — bordering the perfectly clipped lawns, the rolling hills of verdant green, the bloomed flowers in riotous colors in the mazed garden—and once more, all he could see on this beautiful day was her face.
    "Damnation!"
    Concurrent with this oath came a brisk knock on the door, and Dalin Shar turned his attention to it rather than bask in his present anguish.
    "Come in!"
    The door opened, revealing his valet, the manlike, chromed length of his body bedecked in a crisp black and white servant's uniform. The smooth oval sphere of his head, eyeless and bald, turned in Dalin's direction as the valet rose from his bow.
    "It is time for you to dress, sir. And eat. Have you showered yet? Shaved?"
    "No . . ." Dalin said absently.
    "May I serve your breakfast then, sir?"
    "Yes . . ."
    Instantly, another robot, not more than a table with wheels, rolled in around the valet and stopped by Dalin Shar's side. An arrangement of covered dishes smoothly slid their silver covers off, revealing a perfect slice of deep green melon, steaming scrambled eggs, a neat row of bacon.
    Absently Dalin reached down to pick up a slice of bacon; absently he chewed on it while he turned his attention to the breezy day outside the window.
    "Valet, has Minister Faulkner arrived yet?"
    "Funny you should ask, sir. He has arrived and is awaiting you in the conference chamber."
    Dalin Shar absently chewed on his bacon, staring toward the gardens.
    "Valet, do you know anything about love?"
    Behind him, the valet straightened. "What is it you wish to know, sir? I can access anything you desire." The valet's even voice retained its flat demeanor. "If you meai physical love, there are precisely two hundred and fourteen positions between human female and human male—"
    "That's not what I meant, valet," Dalin Shar said. "I was speaking of being in love."
    "Ah. I can, of course, access love poetry, or other classical allusions to the subject, such as Mahideen's Chasteness of the Lair or Shakespeare's