All in silk and embroidery, he stood before them like a young angel, the creamy whiteness of his raiment broken only by the subtle play of gold and rubies encrusting the edges. Over the whole was thrown a magnificent ivory cloak, the satin stiff with gold and silver jewel-work and lined in clear crimson.

In his hands he held a pair of spotless kid gloves and a pair of gold-chased silver spurs. His raven head was bare, as befitted an uncrowned monarch.

“I see you’ve been informed of your new title,” the boy said, eyeing Morgan’s change of garb with approval. “Here.” He held out the spurs. “These are for you.”

Morgan sank to one knee and bowed his head. “My prince, I am at a loss for words.”

“Nonsense,” Kelson retorted. “You had better not be tongue-tied when I need you most.”

He handed the spurs to Morgan and motioned him to rise, then turned to the attendant, who still stood in the doorway.

“Giles, do you have the rest of General Morgan’s regalia?”

The man bowed and signalled through the doorway, and three more attendants entered, two of them carrying the regalia Ian had intercepted in the corridor earlier that morning. The third carried a wide baldric of red leather, the edges tooled in gold. All three stood to attention in a single line beside their leader.

Kelson turned back to Morgan. “As King’s Champion, there are a few items you’re required to wear at ceremonials,” he said, a slight smile on his face. “I’m certain you won’t mind if my dressers help you with them while I speak with my confessor.”

As the three dressers swarmed around Morgan with their regalia, the prince motioned Duncan to follow him. They went out on the balcony and closed the doors. Through the glass, they could see the dressers fussing over an annoyed Morgan. Kelson watched the scene for a moment, then turned to Duncan.

“Do you think he’ll be terribly upset with me, Father?”

Duncan smiled and shook his head. “I doubt it, my prince. He was too proud, when you entered the room, to be angry for long.”

Kelson smiled fleetingly and looked out over the city, leaning his elbows on the cold stone balcony railing. The chill wind stirred his hair slightly, but the cloak was too heavy to be affected. Overhead, storm clouds raced across the sky, threatening to cover the sun, and the air had grown suddenly damp.

Kelson clasped his arms across his chest and looked down for a long moment, then finally spoke in a low voice.

“Father, what makes a man a king?”

Duncan considered the question for a moment, then joined the boy at the rail.