Steven Leonard Trevor was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed, his breathing even. In sleep, he seemed so much younger. The line of his jaw not so sharp—the tiny laugh lines around his eyes were hidden, waiting for his smile to show themselves. His tie was loosened, and slightly crooked, and his shirt was rolled up to his elbows and in need of washing and ironing.

She loved him. And no matter what happened, she would always love him. "Promise me..." she whispered as she crouched next to his chair, unable to resist the urge to brush the brown hair from his forehead one last time. "Promise me you will love, and be loved in return."

What are men like? Dru had asked her, the first time she had come to Washington. They're like children, she had said, and they're like gods. They are like geniuses... and fools. They are all things. She couldn't help but smile through the tears that pricked her eyes. Blinking them away and taking a deep breath, she reached out to touch his shoulder.

"Steve?" she said softly, and he stirred at her touch. "Major Trevor?"

"Diana?" He opened his eyes slowly, smiling at her as he stretched. "I must have..." he trailed off, staring at his desk. And then up at her, and she held her breath as she waited. "I must have fallen asleep?" he finally asked, and she forced herself to smile.

"Looks like," she said, handing him a fresh cup of coffee. "According to the General, Jodl signed the surrender papers in Riems last night, at just before 2100 hours."

"Surrendered..." he said, still foggy from sleep, and she nodded. He frowned as he took a swallow of coffee and then set the cup on the edge of the desk and stood. For the first time, he noticed her skirt and blouse—she wasn't wearing her Navy uniform. "You're going home," he said as the realization dawned. "So soon?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice. He seemed at a loss for words—staring into the depths of his coffee cup, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Finally he looked up at her, and took her hand in his.

"We're certainly going to miss you around here, Yeoman Prince. I mean that," he said with complete sincerity. "It just won't be the same without you."

"I'll miss you too, sir," Diana said, fighting the tears that threatened.

"There, now, Yeoman," he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to her.

"Steve, Diana!" Etta burst into the office. "President Truman's on the radio!" The Private was grinning as she flipped on the small radio on the top of the table in the corner of the office and tuned into the station.

"—wish that Franklin D. Roosevelt had lived to witness this day," came the voice from the radio, which crackles with static. Etta adjusted the knob, and President Truman continued speaking slowly and measuredly, "General Eisenhower informs me that the forces of Germany have surrendered to the United Nations. The flags of freedom fly over all Europe. For this victory, we join in offering our thanks to the Providence which has guided and sustained us through the dark days of adversity. Our rejoicing is sobered and subdued by a supreme consciousness of the terrible price we have paid to rid the world of Hitler and his evil band. Let us not forget, my fellow Americans, the sorrow and the heartache, which today abide in the homes of so many of our neighbors—neighbors whose most priceless possession has been rendered as a sacrifice to redeem our liberty."

Diana slipped out of the office unnoticed, as Steve and Etta's attentions were fixed solely on the voice issuing from the radio. As she closed the officer door and stepped out into the hallway, she could hear the radio broadcast still—coming from every radio that sat atop every desk, in every room she walked past. The voice echoed slightly off the walls and high ceilings, and servicemen and women sat like statues, transfixed, and utterly silent.

"We can repay the debt which we owe to our God, to our dead and to our children only by work—by ceaseless devotion to the responsibilities which lie ahead of us. If I could give you a single watchword for the coming months, that word is—work, work, and more work. We must work to finish the war. Our victory is but half-won. The West is free, but the East is still in bondage to the treacherous tyranny of the Japanese. When the last Japanese division has surrendered unconditionally, then only will our fighting be done. We must seek to bind up the wounds of a suffering world—to build an abiding peace, a peace rooted in justice and in law. We can build such a peace only by hard, toilsome, painstaking work—by understanding and working with our allies in peace as we have in war. The job ahead is no less important, no less urgent, no less difficult than the task which now happily is done. I call upon every American to stick to his post until the last battle is won. Until that day, let no man abandon his post or slacken his efforts. "

Diana stepped through the door, into the gray and damp Washington morning. She gazed up at the building, thinking about every morning she had walked through those doors for the last three years.

"Good-bye, Steve," she whispered, and forced herself not to look back.

"... and then he gets on stage and has to sing clues as if they were a form of music called 'opera' to the policeman, so that they will know who killed his brother!" Drusilla was telling a group of young Amazons in the palace garden. They were sprawled on the grass, listening with rapt attention as the princess spun tales about her most recent trip to America.

"It sounds like a very frivolous form of entertainment," Magda said, and Dru frowned.

"Oh, no, it was very clever! They made it appear as if one man was twins, but really it's the same man all along."

Diana shook her head, smiling despite herself as she passed through the gardens into the airy marble hall of the palace. She wore a long loose linen gown the color of lilacs, kidskin slippers that laced up her calves with leather so soft it felt like silk, and Ariadne had braided silver-edged ribbons into her long dark hair this morning. For the first time in a long time, she looked every inch the heiress to the throne . It was far cry from blue serge and regulation shoes...

"Mother," Diana said as she came to a halt before the couch where Hippolyte was seated. Looking at her mother swathed in silk and jewels, it was almost impossible to think of her wearing a smartly tailored little suit with matching hat and purse and being escorted around Washington on the arm of a three star General. "You sent for me?"

The Queen patted the empty space on the couch next to her, and Diana sat. "You've been very quiet since your return from America, my daughter. Even during the feasting and celebrations in your honor."

"I'm sorry, Mother," she said, and the Queen took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"It was hard for you, leaving Washington," she observed, and Diana nodded. "I know that I do not say this often enough, but I am so proud of you, Diana. Oh, not just for going to Man's World and fighting. Certainly, that took great courage and you know how difficult it was for me to send my beloved child out into that world which had treated us so very cruelly. And you handled yourself most excellent well in that strange land, giving people hope then they were in despair, and trying to teach them that peace does not always have to be won at the end of a sword."

"I wish I could say I taught through example, Mother," Diana sighed, remembering Andros, "but the truth of it is, I answered violence with violence more often than I wished."

"It is a difficult lesson, and one not everyone was ready to learn," the Queen assured her. "You come from a proud warrior people, my daughter, and you tempered your strength with compassion. You are the best of us, and it was my honor to know you represented all of us out in the world."

"Thank you, Mother."

"You truly loved him, didn't you," the Queen said as she cupped her daughter's cheek in her hand in a loving gesture.

Diana's smile was sad. "Yes."

"Yet you had the strength to leave him."

"I am your daughter," she said simply. "If I have strength, it is because I learned it at your feet."

Hippolyte leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to Diana's brow. "I know it hurts, child. But although it does not seem that way now, the pain will fade in time."

Diana smiled, but she knew her mother could read the sadness in her eyes. She got up, and started back to her rooms.

"Andromache tells me that you have taken up sculpture?" the Queen called after her, and she stopped in the entryway of the royal chamber.

"I have discovered the patience," she said wryly.

Author's Note: Please, if there's anything that doesn't work for you, or is factually or grammatically incorrect, don't hesitate to tell me! Constructive criticism is the greatest gift you can give an author. I'm not a delicate flower who will curl up and die at the first sign of criticism. I want to make this story the very best I can, so please let me know what works for you, and more importantly, what doesn't.