“The first dish of the third course is salmon,” said Star. “Will my Lord have some?”

He did his best to suppress a scream.

As he sat there, unable to eat, barely able to drink, as the voices around him grew boisterous and more mocking, as he realized that others around him had had their helmets removed, and could see he had not, he tried to get words out past the knot in his throat, and choked on them.

Then the Earls were unBlinded.

Then the Counts.

And finally . . . “The fourth course is completed,” said the voice. “The Barons will be unBlinded.”

And now the helmet was removed from his head, and he sat there, his face pale and sweaty, his hair matted, taking in the mocking smiles, the sneers, his placement at the table.

He was nearly at the head of the table. Above him, seated at his table for one, on a dais, was the Emperor, looking down, looking at him, and smiling a hard, cold smile.

Think, think, think, think!

Kordas rubbed at his stinging eyes, hiding the expression of panic he felt cramping his face. He breathed too quickly. His shoulders violently spasmed, staying cramped and making it impossible to lower his hands. Finally out of nowhere, the words came. Words suited to a buffoon, a clown. “Oh, thank the gods!” he said, plastering a weak, false smile on his face. “Valdemar is too small to be a Duchy! There is too much paperwork, and too many things to think about. Oh thank you, glorious Emperor! Thank you for relieving me of this terrible burden! I can never, ever thank you enough! Next year I shall send you four Valdemar Golds to thank you for your understanding and your wisdom!”

The smile on the Emperor’s face flickered for a moment, and then faded.

“Of course, Baron Valdemar,” the yellow toad said. “Your new title will be stamped after the Feast, then we’ll be all done with your future.”

Stay the fool. Stay the part. Hold together.

“I would never dare to ask for a moment of your attention during the Regatta,” he replied, casting his eyes down as he tried not to choke.

“Directly after the Feast,” the Emperor replied in a hard voice. “Your Duke will be Merrin now. Well done, Merrin.”

As he stared at his plate, feeling faint and wondering if he was going to be able to keep from throwing up, there were murmurs of congratulations all around him.

And—

“Congratulations for getting what you deserve, Valdemar,” said his right-hand neighbor, someone he didn’t even know, in a falsely hearty voice. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he managed to get out. “Thank you. I’m a lucky man.”

“Oh, that’s true. Duke Merrin probably had you kept on as a Baron because of your way with horses. Good moods prevailed. If you’d been completely useless, you might be in the Sacrifice Fights tonight!”