Rock of Ages by Walter Jon Williams Page A

sir.”
    “Thank you very much for the gift,” Maijstral said.
    “It was entirely my pleasure, sir.”
    Roman bowed and left the room. Maijstral walked to the table and sighed as he looked at the scroll.
    As if he didn’t have enough to do with ancestors today, he thought. Not only was his father here to urge him to do the right thing, but now Roman had brought in the kinfolk all the way back to Wotan.
    Maijstral had really done his best to ignore the fact that he was heir to a dynasty, and now the whole business had dropped right on his head like a sandbag flung from Heaven.
    It wasn’t that he disliked the Duchess. It wasn’t that he disliked the thought of marriage. But somehow it was all too pat, all too . . . foreordained.
    Oh well, he thought glumly, maybe it was time to marry and settle down and produce more Maijstrals. Though why the universe needed more Maijstrals was beyond his capacity to explain.
    Idly, he glanced at the genealogy—there was a complicated bit of business involving a Prince Boris of Gleb, who apparently married his aunt, and Maijstral couldn’t help but wonder what the family had said about that .
    He very carefully rolled up the scroll and stowed it away in its tube. There was all too much to think about without worrying about Prince Boris’s problems.
    He took a casual stroll about the room, making certain that neither Conchita Sparrow, nor Colonel-General Vandergilt was hiding in the closet or under the bed, and then climbed into bed and told the lights to extinguish themselves.
    The situation revolved slowly in his mind. He would probably not sleep tonight.
    There was a gentle knock at the door. Now what? Maijstral thought.
    He put on his dressing gown and approached the door. Wary force of habit made him keep well to one side as he said, “Who is it?”
    “Roberta. May I come in?”
    Maijstral opened the door and revealed Roberta silhouetted in the hall light. She wore a dressing gown and a somewhat furtive expression. She stepped in, and Maijstral closed the door behind her.
    “Well,” she said.
    Maijstral regarded her in the dim light. She was standing very close, and he could feel her body’s warmth.
    “Well,” he echoed.
    “I was just in my room thinking—” she began, and then stopped. “Look, Drake,” she finally said, “would you mind kissing me again?”
    “No. Not at all.”
    Maijstral put his arms around her and performed as requested. The kiss was a pleasantly lengthy one.
    “Oh good,” the Duchess murmured. “That helps.”
    “I am happy to oblige.”
    Her eyes, dark in the unlit room, looked up at his. “Do you remember earlier this evening,” she said, “when we were alone, and you asked if I could just be your mistress for a while?”
    Maijstral smiled. “I believe I recall that remark, yes.”
    “Well . . .” she drawled, and gave a little laugh. “Here’s your chance.”
    Maijstral’s ears flickered in surprise. “I see,” he said.
    “This one’s free, you know,” Roberta added. “It has nothing to do with whether you should to marry me or not.”
    “You are . . .” Maijstral searched for words, “remarkably direct, your grace.”
    “Roberta.”
    “Roberta.”
    “Bobbie, if you like,” she said. “But only Aunt Batty calls me that anymore.”
    “I think I prefer Roberta.”
    “So do I.”
    Maijstral contemplated the woman in his arms. Roberta kissed his chin.
    “Can we go to bed now?” she asked.
    “Certainly.”
    Well, Maijstral thought, no doubt Prince Boris and Altan Khan would approve.
    He drew her bedward. “I’ve had a very active life, you know,” she remarked. “Going to school, and racing, and running all the planets I’ve inherited . . .”
    “No doubt,” Maijstral murmured. He kissed the juncture between clavicle and neck, and Roberta shivered.
    “And of course I’ve been very thoroughly chaperoned,” she went on.
    “How frustrating.”
    “Yes. So what I’m trying to say is— Wow! ” Maijstral’s