“I’m clearly not leaving now,” Jainan said. “This should be obvious. I love you.”

“You do? You do. I mean. Yes!” Kiem’s face was incredulous and joyful. “I do too! Of course I love you! I have for ages! Ressid thought—”

The dam inside Jainan burst. “Kiem,” he said, and grabbed his wrist. “How did they let it get this far?” Kiem came with him, confused but willing, as Jainan turned to the front of the stage.

“Your Grace!” a reporter shouted, cutting across the babble of voices. “Will you make a statement?”

“Yes,” Jainan said. He took the microphone from the podium. Elation was running through him like a drug. “I certainly am going to make a statement.”

That was enough to quiet the room down. A reporter called out another question from the back but cut off in the middle as Jainan tapped the hovering button.

“I think I may have been misleading before,” Jainan said. “I am not very good at talking about my feelings. I said in my previous interview that Kiem was a great help. What I meant was: I love Kiem, he is truly extraordinary, and there is nobody I would rather be married to. I hope this is now clear.”

A ripple went through the room—half shock, half amusement, but the only

sound Jainan focused on was a low, involuntary noise from Kiem beside him and the way he pulled his wrist out of Jainan’s grip so he could take Jainan’s hand.

Jainan clasped it tight, and it buoyed him up like a wave. He leaned over the microphone and gave the crowd of reporters a beatific smile. “Questions?”

Several people shouted over each other. Jainan picked out a woman in the front row, who called, “What about the treaty? Is the Emperor granting concessions?”

“She will be,” Jainan said. At the back of the room, the Auditor had sat up.

Jainan turned his head to Ressid, who had the same look on her face as she’d had when Jainan blew up his first experimental shuttle drive. Jainan was exhilarated enough to nearly grin, but he suppressed it and then turned his attention on Kiem. “Does Your Highness have a statement?”

“Honestly,” Kiem said, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “I think my partner covered it.” He was talking to the reporters, but he was only looking at Jainan, and his words were only the edges of what he was saying, like the breaking crests of waves on a tide. Jainan didn’t laugh, but only because laughter was no more than a fraction of what he felt. He stepped up and kissed Kiem.

It was easy to ignore the cameras this time. Jainan shut his eyes and didn’t break away even in the bustle that surrounded them, encouraged by Kiem’s arms wrapped possessively around him. They didn’t stop until the coordinating steward announced, “Honored citizens, I believe we should suspend the conference here,” and the Ambassador coughed politely behind Jainan and said,