“Kill him!” Someone laughed.

“Give us some blood, you idiots!”

Shivers tightened his hand round the grip of the sword. He suddenly had a bad feeling. Even worse’n before.

Rolling dice normally made Friendly feel calm, but not tonight. He had a bad feeling. Even worse than before. He watched them tumble, clatter, spin, their clicking seeming to dig at his clammy skin, and come to rest.

“Two and four,” he said.

“We see the numbers!” snapped the man with the mask like a crescent moon. “Damn dice hate me!” He tossed them angrily over, bouncing against the polished wood.

Friendly frowned as he scooped them up and rolled them gently back. “Five and three. House wins.”

“It seems to be making a habit of it,” growled the one with the mask like a ship, and some of their friends muttered angrily. They were all of them drunk. Drunk and stupid. The house always makes a habit of winning, which is why it hosts games of chance in the first place. But it was hardly Friendly’s job to educate them on that point. Someone at the far end of the room cried out with shrill delight as the lucky wheel brought up their number. A few of the card players clapped with mild disdain.

“Bloody dice.” Crescent Moon slurped from his glass of wine as Friendly carefully gathered up the counters and added them to his own swelling stacks. He was having trouble breathing, the air was so thick with strange smells—perfume, and sweat, and wine, and smoke. He realised his mouth was hanging open, and snapped it shut.

The King of the Union looked from Monza, to Vitari, and back—handsome, regal and most extremely unwelcome. Monza realised her mouth was hanging open, and snapped it shut.

“I mean no disrespect, but one of you will be more than adequate and I have… always had a weakness for dark hair.” He gestured to the door. “I hope I will not offend by asking you to leave us. I will make sure you are paid.”

“How generous.” Vitari glanced sideways and Monza gave her the tiniest shrug, her mind flipping around like a frog in hot water as it sought desperately for a way clear of this self-made trap. Vitari pushed herself away from the wall and strutted to the door. She brushed the front of the king’s coat with the back of her hand on the way past. “Curse my red-haired mother,” she sneered. The door clicked shut.

“A most…” The king cleared his throat. “Pleasing room.”

“You’re easily pleased.”

He snorted with laughter. “My wife would not say so.”

“Few wives say good things about their husbands. That’s why they come to us.”

“You misunderstand. I have her blessing. My wife is expecting our third child and therefore… well, that hardly interests you.”

“I’ll seem interested whatever you say. That’s what I’m paid for.”

“Of course.” The king rubbed his hands somewhat nervously together. “Perhaps a drink.”

She nodded towards the cabinet. “There they are.”