[He spends the time waiting for her response patiently, curling a strand of her hair around one of his fingers, gentle about it. The light warm pressure of her lips, the thoughts in her head.]

I know you love me.

[This tower room might be any room at all. It's easy to say things here, laid across the bed with Yseult, like they're home. The distant crash of the waves could be the surf at the bottom of the cliff. It takes no imagination to change the seagulls to gulls more familiar, the sunshine to their sun.]

But I am selfish. I can't help that. What I love, I love. I'll always be that. If you stand back and you let me fall in love with being a vice-admiral, with all of this--it'll never be the same as how I love you. Or my ship. It might come close.