"Madame President," Sir Batton addresses me.

I know I shouldn't be zoning out. The respected Council members are asking me questions, one after another, but I can't concentrate. My mind is elsewhere.

There is a girl. Born with the gift, just two days ago. And I already feel her. Her mind is burning like a flame on my inner map, pure and innocent, but incredibly strong. Now all I need to do is live long enough to see her grow, and teach her a few things, to conserve the tradition. It's a huge relief.

"What was your question again?" I ask Sir Batton. "I'm a bit distracted today, sorry."

I see Duncan sitting on the other side of the chamber, furrowing his brow. He hates when I don't behave like a real president should. And it's only one of the reasons why I enjoy it so much.

"Madame, you're in a secret relationship with another council member!" Sir Batton announces, with so much emphasis, as if he expected to surprise me with the information.

"Another?" I ask. "You mean, besides Master Auberon?"

Sir Batton's gasping for air. We haven't even started, and he's already scandalized. Sometimes I wish he wasn't this easily teased.

"Because," I go on, "that would be really brave of that person. Can you name him? Or her?"

I see Master Auberon palming his face. I wish I was brave enough to stand up, and dramatically scream something like "I'm not cheating on you, Duncan, he's a liar!", but, sadly, I still must look somewhat like a sane person. It's so boring. Even more than Sir Batton's usual moralizing questions. Being a president is the second most boring thing to being dead.

"It's Master Auberon himself, of course!" cries Sir Batton, carefully avoiding to cast a look at the person in question. He might be worried that a hero this big can kill with his eyes too.

"A secret?" I sigh. "If it's a secret, it's the worst kept one of the century. It was discussed in a plenary session of the Council. Is there a way to make it any more public?"

"So you don't deny it, Madame?"

"I don't." I shrug. "Should I?"

I see Duncan shaking his head on the other side of the room. I can't really decide if he wants to be denied or he simply was expecting a more eloquent answer of me. It's the latter, usually, but I can't be sure.

"You live out of wedlock!" states Sir Batton, pointing his finger at me.

Oh, so here we go again. The sinful woman exposed. Business as usual. His questions seem to be on a loop. My ungodly skills. My frivolous attitude. And, last but not least, my unacceptable lewdness.

"I'm not familiar with wrestling terminology, I'm afraid," I sigh.

The laughter of my fellow Council members is my only consolation for being here.

"You're not married!" accuses me Sir Batton of something that I know perfectly well.

"You forgot to add no offense." I smile at him. "You're prying into my personal matters again, good Sir."

He pales a little. But he refuses to retreat.

"Madame, you're here to set an example! Our traditional values—"

"Please, Sir Batton," I sigh, "we had this conversation a hundred times already. Not specifically about holy matrimony, but your values. And you've never come out of it very well. So why don't we just—"

"But Madame!" he begs. "It would be so easy! There's no reason why not... there's no obstacle..."

I feel the rest of my patience leaving me. I close my eyes, and I think of the cows and other livestock I used to map just after the war. They were so cute. And serene. And clever. I wish I could spend a little time with them again.

"Oh, there is a serious obstacle, Sir Batton." I shrug. "As you probably noticed, Master Auberon's condition prevents him from kneeling down, so he can't ask me properly."

Nobody dares to laugh now. Or to smile, even. Except for Duncan. He's definitely hiding a grin. Which is really something, knowing that somewhere deep down he agrees with the respected chairman's so-called values. Well, not all of them, probably, but they seem to share their opinion about my performance as a president, at least.

Sir Batton gets confused, as usual, and mumbles something in protest. But I'm still not done with him. I really want to make sure that he never uses my name and the necessity of setting an example in the same sentence again.

"Are you looking for an excuse to mock Master Auberon's war injuries?" I ask him, trying to sound as cold and serious as possible.

I must be good at it, because good Sir Batton's face turns to a whiter shade of pale, as if he was on the verge of fainting. He casts a careful glance into Duncan's direction too, with rattling knees, ready to be murdered on the spot, probably.

"No?" I furrow my brow. "Then what are you suggesting, Sir Batton? Should I propose to him? Now that's a surprisingly progressive and gender-conscious statement, coming from someone in your position, I must admit. What happened to you, good Sir?"

Sir Batton is so perplexed, he can't even protest properly. He just stands there, with mouth agape and hands spread, like a not particularly esthetical statue.

Just when I start to feel clever for teaching him a lesson and making everyone laugh in one go, my fellow Council member on my right, Ms. Singh, slams her hand on the table.

"Yeah, I think you should do it."

I stare at her in disbelief. She always looked so docile and kind. I wasn't expecting something like this from her at all.

"Yeah, you definitely should," agrees the woman by her side, who always wears a bright-colored headscarf and is an expert at biotechnology, but I still can't pronounce her name properly. Then other voices are joining in the choir. Yeah, why not? Do it already. Come on, Madame! Go for it!

My face resembles poor Sir Batton's now, I'm afraid. It's something completely unexpected, the chanting around me, the smiling faces, the cheering, but I know, that somewhere deep down it's all my doing. This wouldn't be happening if I wasn't everything that Sir Batton likes to accuse me of. Now I'm caught in my own web, and I have no idea how to get out of it.

I'm not even sure if I want to get out of it at all.

I take a quick glance at Duncan. He doesn't seem amused in the least. He's sitting there like the last sane member of the Council, with a sober and dismissive expression on his face. Like an impassable bastion of rejection.

But I know better. Or I hope so, at least.

"Alright." I nod. "I can kneel down, now can't I? And I'm a war veteran myself, so I can't be scared, can I?"

Everyone seems to agree.

"I can do this," I encourage myself, while standing up slowly.

Master Auberon looks at me in a way that would make any person with a weaker heart drop down dead. But I have a strong heart, luckily. I take a deep breath and I march to his table. He's sitting behind it without giving any sign of planning to stand up, so I approach him from the right. When I stand by his side already, slightly mortified but still refusing to give up, he finally turns to face me.

He's sitting, and he's still taller than me. I look him deep in the eyes, and I kneel down.

"Okay," I sigh. "Here we go. Duncan Auberon, will you marry me?"

Everyone is holding their breath. Everyone but me. I already know the answer.

"I will," he says, grabbing my hand, and pulling me onto his lap.

"You're so crazy," he whispers to my ear, before kissing me.

"I'm not," I whisper back, though the ear-splitting cheering of the Council muffles any other sounds. "I really wanted to marry you."

"And you simply couldn't find a quieter place to ask me. I get it."

"It wasn't a question, really." I shrug. "I saw that you wanted it too."

"Saw?" he asks, kissing my closed eyes.

"Just the old school way," I moan. "You know the rules."

"The Seer's credo also tells you to see, but never interact. And you're... erm... interacting now."

"I am, aren't I?" I grind slowly against him.

"Stop it," he whispers. "We can't do it here, on the table."

"Why not?" I protest. "It's on my bucket list."

"Well," he sighs, "I doubt that they lock the doors for the night."

"But surely there are security guards."

"Don't worry," he whispers. "Most security guards were in the army. I can handle them."

"You sound like husband material." I grin, kissing his scars. "Tonight, then."

"Tonight," he agrees.