I found the fur of the floor rug very comfortable, despite being the slightest bit ticklish against my skin.

The two of us were lying there on the rug, neither of us moving a muscle. Talia had her head propped up atop my chest, right next to where it met the shoulder. The rest of her felt like she was curling against me, but in a supremely relaxed fashion. She wasn't actively pressing against me, but was instead allowing something more natural to occur. It was as if we just fit, or something.

I was in a weird frame of mind, and had been for a while - that strange, surreal feeling you get when something completely unexpected happens, and you start thinking to yourself 'Did that just really happen?' Every time I had that thought, I'd review my memories of the past hour or so just to assure myself. Each time I did, I felt a strange mix of panic, and elation, and wonder, and several other feelings I wasn't really able to pin down just then.

Briefly, I thought back to the person I had been a mere hour ago, and found myself feeling sorry for that poor, sad fragment of a man.

Quite suddenly, and without warning, I was taken by the panicked notion that I somehow might be dreaming.

I performed a quick check. Yes, arm still resting atop her bare shoulder . . . her head still pressed up against my collarbone, her golden ringlets of hair cascading down one side of my chest. I breathed a deep, relaxing breath, noticing as I did that it caused her head to rise slightly, then fall as I exhaled. I watched that for a while - found it fascinating somehow.

Relaxation. Contentment. It was something far more than either of these things, quite possibly the most at ease I've ever been at any point in my life. I didn't have fifty things going on in my head at once. I wasn't preoccupied with trying to ignore aches and pains, nor could I even notice any. There was just this feeling of warmth, and happiness, and serenity that covered me completely, like a gossamer shroud.

I took another slow, deliberate breath, and watched as Talia's head rose fractionally, then gently fell back down a moment later as I exhaled.

Breathe in, head goes up. Breathe out, head goes down.

Amazing.

"Wow," I said, finally.

Enough of Talia's face was visible that I could see a ghost of a sleepy smile cross her lips.

"Mmm. Good word," she said, adjusting her head position slightly.

"Only word I could think of that seemed to fit, really," I said, idly tracing some of her ringlets of hair with one of my fingertips. "Seems much more romantic a thing to say than, 'I think my arm is falling asleep' . . . "

She shifted her head so she was facing me, and then sent me a look of concern.

"Would you like me to move?"

"Don't you dare. It's just an arm, after all. And it's not like it'll ever be doing anything quite as important as what it's doing right now." I squeezed her shoulder lightly with my left hand for emphasis.

Talia smiled, allowed her eyes to close, and then adjusted how her head was positioned, somehow becoming even more beautiful in the process.

I allowed a few seconds to pass.

"How do you do that?" I asked.

"Hmm?"

"Just when I think you're the most beautiful sight I've ever seen in my life, you go and do something, and somehow you become even more beautiful than before. It- . . . there, see? You did it again!"

Her smile is just one of those things I've never understood, and may never understand. I've seen people smile before, but there was something so different that seemed to happen when Talia smiled . . . it was as if there was a completely new facial expression that only she was able to do.

There had always just been something about her that spun me around, making my thoughts all dizzy and uncertain . . . which made things like communication impossible. It seemed as though the two of us waited until things got as tense and desperate as it was possible for two people to be, until we finally broke down and released everything in a pent-up flood of information and insight. I couldn't exactly see why that was, but I knew I wanted to try to change things - to try to keep it from happening again.

I cleared my throat.

"Talia?"

"Hmm?"

"I apologize for being so clueless, earlier. I mean, I consider myself a smart guy, and I try to pick up on things, but-" I frowned at the ceiling. "Have you ever wanted something so desperately that simply being around it somehow caused your entire brain to stop working?"

"Mmmm," she murmured, her tone suggesting agreement. She gave a lazy stretch that seemed designed to press herself closer to me, then sighed gently. "Sounds pretty familiar. Something exactly like that happened to me recently, I think. Why? Are you saying that this sort of thing has happened to you as well?"

"Absolutely," I said, taking a deep, relaxing breath. "When I was nine years old, I really wanted a puppy."

Talia gave me a playful look of open-mouthed indignation, followed by a gentle swat to the chest with the back of her hand. Laughing lightly, we both settled back into place, my residual chuckles causing her golden ringlets of hair to dance slightly for a few moments as I watched on. Her hair continued to fascinate me for some reason. Hades, everything about this entire situation was fascinating to me, really.

I realized at some point that she'd taken to gently tracing her finger over one of the scars on the right side of my chest. Surprisingly, and contrary to every expectation I had, I discovered that I was fine with it - wasn't uncomfortable with her actions in any way. Strange. I would have to ponder that later.

While all these thoughts passed through my head, I merely lay there, watching her lightly run her finger over the scar, like she was memorizing its shape.

"Ever been to that one marble temple up the street a ways from Tucat Court?" she asked, sounding a tad wistful. "The marble they used is this amazing blue-white, but it's got these ribbon-like veins of gold running through some of them. Beautiful. I seek those ones out when I'm there, always finding different pictures and shapes hidden within them. So fascinating to look at. I always end up considering how they got there . . . back when the rock was being formed. They kind of remind me of you, in a way."

She continued tracing lazy circles around the scar with her finger.

"Are you suggesting that I'm made of marble?" I asked. "That I'm some sort of statue?"

Talia smiled an enigmatic smile.

"Well, there are some similarities," she said, her finger arresting its movement for a moment. "This one here . . . it kind of looks like a crown. Edges up, curling in on the sides like that . . ."

"Well, from that angle, maybe. Look at it here, from my perspective."

She adjusted her position slightly, briefly uncovering enough of herself to make my heart leap, and my pulse quicken. Just the sight of her bared shoulders seemed enough to rob me of speech entirely.

Soon her head was repositioned on my chest, and my entire world was a mass of golden curls.

"Err," she said, her voice sounding hesitant. "A . . . crown on its side?"

"Think ocean-dweller."

Talia did a double-take, and sat up abruptly in surprise, some of the fur rug falling away from her rather artfully. Then again, just about everything she was doing seemed like art to me all of a sudden.

"Oh my goodness, you're right! Look at that . . . a seahorse!" She squinted at my scar briefly, smiled, then repositioned herself so that her head was once more laying on my chest. "So amazing. What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one."

"Well, he's got to have a name, silly! Otherwise, the other seahorses will make fun of him!"

"You're in a decidedly silly mood all of a sudden," I said.

"Well, I suppose you're just going to have to get used to that."

"It could take me a while, but I'm game," I grinned. "What are you doing for the next, say, hundred years or so?"

Talia shrugged. Have I mentioned how much I adore her shrugs? I think I have.

"Well, I've got lots of work to do, so I'll probably end up having to okay something like that with my boss . . . see what he says."

"Your boss? Clever, dashing fellow, right? I'm pretty sure he'll be fine with it."

"Well, I'm not entirely sure - he may be angry with me shortly." She dropped her voice to a conspiratory whisper. "I'm supposed to be working right now."

"Now? He's got you working on your . . . day after your birthday? Tsk," I announced, shaking my head sadly. "Sounds like a real hard-case, your boss."

She turned her head and gave me a wolfish grin.

"He works me mercilessly!" she leered.

Quickly kissing my chest, she returned her head to the same position as before. My right hand came up to idly stroke her hair.

That particular moment lasted for minutes, or it went on for hours. I can't really say.

"What are you thinking?" she murmured.

"About you. Mostly."

"Hmm. Mostly?" she asked, archly.

"Almost entirely, yes," I said. "Would you like all of my current thoughts to be broken down for you?"

"Please."

"Well, let's see. A good chunk of my forebrain is just sitting back in awe of how good your hair smells."

I could see that my words had elicited a smile from Talia, but she remained silent. I took a breath and continued.

"And then, of course, there's the part of my brain that wishes I hadn't been so Baal-be-damned clueless about this whole situation, but it's losing some of its fervency now that it realizes exactly what's just happened here, just now. Uhm, let's see . . . there's this other part on the left side of my brain that's just going through a list of the gods, trying to figure out which one would be appropriate to thank right about now. There's another section on the right that's busy trying to sort out everything that's happened, going over details, and trying to figure out how to make something like that happen again, and as soon as possible . . . all while somehow allowing me to remain a perfect gentleman in your eyes. And, of course, right now the artistic part of my brain is thinking about your feet . . ."

"My feet?"

"You have very nice feet, darling."

"Oh. Thanks," she said, turning her head enough to give me a slightly confused look. "You're not just thinking about my feet, are you?"

"Your feet are the safest at the moment. I fear that if my brain thinks about too much of you, it may explode."

"I see," Talia said, suppressing a giggle. "Continue."

"And, well, a tiny, silly sliver of thought in the back of my head is currently thinking about my vest, and the card inside of it, which contains the frustratingly elusive and puzzling encoded message I received from the palace. It's wondering if that note's gotten folded or creased during that whole clothing-removal process."

"Encoded message? From the palace? Oooo . . . I love puzzles!" She shifted in place so she could look at me, an excited twinkle in her eye. "What does the note say?"

I gave her a reproachful look.

"Really?" I asked. "All those other lovely, touching thoughts, and that's the one that grabs you?"

Talia shrugged, an action which made my entire sarcastic comment worthwhile.

"I like puzzles," she said, simply.

"Well, you can have a look at it if you like. I can see my vest right over there, next to the cabinet. However, sadly, I may need some help propping myself up in order to retrieve it for you."

She looked at me a moment, confused. Then she gave me a knowing grin.

"Your arm's fallen asleep, hasn't it?"

"Almost entirely, yes."

"Why didn't you ask me to move?"

"Because then you would no longer be resting your head against my chest, and I find that notion completely unacceptable."

"You know, I'm going to have to move eventually. We can't just stay here like this forever."

"Such cruel words! How could you tell me such a thing?"

Talia gave me an exasperated, yet playful sigh.

"How about this?" she asked, becoming very businesslike, her spontaneous grin turning into a serious, somber look in half an instant. She pointed her finger casually to the side. "I shall go over there, fetch your vest, bring it back here, and when you've got some feeling in your arm again you can once again demonstrate what a lovely pillow you make."

"I can find absolutely no fault with this plan."

Chuckling lightly, Talia propped herself up from where she was laying and rose to her feet.

Quite honestly, I've re-read those paltry words over a dozen times and chided myself for them. Talia did no such thing whatsoever.

What she did was elevate herself somehow, locating some portion of her dress and draping it over herself as she did so. That done, she moved with infinite grace towards the slightly crumpled vest that lay by the cabinet. Once there, she stood for half a moment, looking very much like those ethereal, scantily-clad statues of maidens they display at the temples. Then she casually bent at the waist, reaching down towards the garment, her hand outstretched towards it.

Talia froze in place, her hand just shy of its target, and it was as though all my heart's dreams had come true in that moment, just seeing her like that. It was artistic epiphany.

She arched a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Inside pocket," I said, desperately praying my voice wouldn't crack as I spoke. "Left side."

Talia retrieved the note from the pocket that housed it, brought it to chest level, and read it as she walked back over to me, gently lowering herself back onto the rug. I noticed her nose wrinkle slightly at the note as she read it aloud.

"Any fool can complain of the sourness of lemons, but rare is the man who can take a bite of one and then express how much he suddenly appreciates sugar," she said, with a touch of distain. "Not much to go on. Sounds like some sort of proverb, really. Are you familiar with it, or where this saying might come from?"

"It doesn't sound familiar, no. Plus, the way he's written it, it sounds like the prince is quoting himself, not someone else. So, no, I don't think the note is referring to some other book of proverbs, or pithy little sayings. Even so, I looked for it." I sighed. "I've already been through just about everything I can think of. Dogsun's Star, entropy compression, sequence symbols, Fauromoon's wheel, Linq's code . . . both the simplified and complex versions. I've even tried Terncrest's encryption method, whatever that ungodly mess of complexity ended up being called."

"Hmm . . . Henmarsh sequencing perhaps?" Talia asked, her brows furrowing together in concentration as she stared at the note. "Seems ideal for how short the message is. But most of those messages barely make any sense at all when you read them unencrypted, and this one is fairly cogent."

I felt my eyebrows raise.

"That was the third one I tried. How the deuce did you learn about Henmarsh sequencing?"

"I had a friend growing up, and we passed messages back and forth . . . between my house and her keep. She was a Lord's daughter, and had a tutor who would teach her whatever caught her fancy, at which point she'd teach it to me. She learned all sorts of things about sending cyphered messages, petty intrigue, stuff like that. We never really had much to say when we'd been using what she'd learned . . . it was always stuff like 'Your butler smells like wet dog' or silly things like that. But for some reason, sending coded messages just seemed more exciting somehow, even when you didn't really have anything to say." Talia scrutinized the note further. "I suppose you've already tried using heat."

"Heat? Not sure if I'm familiar with that sequencing method," I said, adjusting how I was laying. "What does it involve?"

Talia rolled her eyes.

"You know, heat? As in . . . heat? Warmth? Like, holding the note close to a candle, maybe?" She shook her head at my perplexed look. "Well, obviously you've never had to send secret messages on a budget before. Do you really think that lemons were mentioned by accident?"

"Lemons?"

Her eyes spied the lamp burning on a nearby table, and she rose up and headed towards it. Curious, I got up as well, though it took some doing, what with the feeling in my arm only half-returned. By the time I arrived at the table, Talia was artfully covering herself with her dress in on hand, while the other was holding the note up against the glass of the oil lamp, mere inches away from the gently flickering flame, slowly sliding it back and forth so that no one spot would get too hot.

"The lemon juice soaks into the paper or parchment and eats away at it, making it weaker than the rest of it. Even once it's dried and there's no trace of the juice left, the damage done to the paper still remains."

"So, when you slowly expose it to heat-"

"The weakest parts of the note start to get singed first, turning the paper . . . brown," she said, triumphantly angling the note so that I could see it.

Broad, light brown lines now appeared on the face of the card. I could feel my heart speeding up.

Rather than spelling out words, the newly uncovered brown lines seemed to be forming a pattern of some sort . . . radiating away from a particular spot on the note. Upon closer inspection, it turned out that these brown marks weren't lines at all, but crudely drawn arrows.

Ten of them.

Each arrow was pointing to the elegantly penned word 'man', although that word was no longer the only thing occupying that particular section of parchment all of a sudden. There was also a faint brown heart sitting on the paper, drawn in such a way that it encircled the three letter word. I could see ten arrows, pointing to-

Heart. Man.

The room was silent for a good, long while.

"Lord Hartman," I managed to whisper.