House of Steel The Honorverse Companion - By David Weber Page 0,18

most attractive women Roger Winton had ever seen, and the crown prince saw many attractive women. She wasn’t classically beautiful, no, but “classically beautiful” women (and men) were a dime a dozen in the Star Kingdom, where personal affluence made biosculpt and genetic beauty mods readily obtainable. And she didn’t need classic beauty, he thought. He’d actually seen imagery of her before, although Jonas might or might not be aware of that, yet that imagery hadn’t done her justice. In person, face-to-face, she had a unique, fresh, gray-eyed attractiveness which was wholly her own, and an oval face which had clearly been designed for the laughter and zest which lurked in those gray eyes. Her natural skin tone was far lighter than Roger’s, but she had the deeply tanned, bronzed complexion of someone who clearly spent a lot of time outdoors. Her kinship to her brother was obvious, but Jonas’ strong features had been softened in her, and she turned with a quick, friendly smile of her own, automatically holding out her hand, as her brother introduced her.

“Hi,” she said. “Pleased to meet—”

Her voice died in a peculiar sort of half-squeak, her mouth froze half-open, her eyes flew wide, and Jonas chuckled in obvious delight.

“Hello,” Roger said, reaching out to grasp the hand which had stopped halfway to him. The imp of the perverse touched him abruptly, and he bent over the hand, brushing its back with his lips before he straightened. “Your brother has a peculiar sense of humor, Ms. Adcock.”

She stared at him for several more heartbeats, and then seemed to come back to life again. She shook herself, smiled more than a little crookedly at Roger, and turned her head to glare at Jonas.

“No,” she said tartly. “He thinks he has a sense of humor . . . Your Highness.”

She looked back at Roger as she addressed him by his title, and he shook his head, still holding her hand.

“This isn’t a social occasion, Ms. Adcock,” he told her with a smile of his own. “I’m perfectly well aware Jonas deliberately threw me at you cold, but I really don’t use any of that long, dreary list of titles when I’m on duty. Or with friends. Which, somehow, despite your entirely accurate observation on the state of his sense of humor, Jonas has become. For now, at least.” He turned his gaze on Adcock. “You do realize, don’t you, that any Machiavellian monarch worth his salt has hordes of sinister retainers lurking in the shadows at his beck and call to visit retribution on those who irritate him? Retainers who could make you disappear just like that!”

He snapped the fingers of his free hand sharply, and a soft little chuckle spurted out of Angelique Adcock.

“True. Too true, I’m sure,” Jonas replied. He’d long since gotten over any uncertainty about addressing his future monarch on such familiar terms. “Fortunately, you’re not King, only crown prince, and your mother doesn’t like to have people disappeared.” His expression darkened suddenly, and his lips tightened. “Unlike some,” he finished in a far harsher voice, and Roger felt the slender fingers still clasped in his tighten, as well.

“Sorry, Jonas,” he said quietly. He gave those fingers a small squeeze, without really noticing what he was doing, before he released them. “Probably not the best time to be making jokes about people disappearing after all, I guess.”

“Actually,” Adcock inhaled deeply, “there’s no reason you shouldn’t.” He glanced at his sister, then back at Roger. “As Dad always said, shit happens. Sometimes it even happens for a reason. And whatever else, Angel and I aren’t Maslowans anymore. Haven’t been for thirty-five T-years now, and glad of it.”

Roger nodded, but he was watching Angelique from the corner of his eye as he did, and he saw how carefully she was watching her brother, in turn.

Roger had learned a lot about Jonas Adcock over the last two T-years. He’d learned that Adcock had to be one of the most brilliant men he’d ever met, although it was a peculiar form of brilliance. Adcock would have been hopelessly miscast in the role of a research scientist, but he had a phenomenal gift for synthesis. For looking at other people’s work, often in totally different fields, and seeing connections, possibilities, which would never have occurred to the people doing the actual research. He was a generalist, not a specialist, yet he was capable of talking to—and understanding—specialists in wildly diverse areas, and young Sebastian D’Orville had told Roger