He picks up the crown, turns it over, and puts it down again. “I paid for this, you know.” He pulls out a large purse, shaking it, so the room echoes with the jangling of coins. His fingers open the pouch, and he slips first one gold coin onto the cushion, then another. “Gold to buy gold, you could say. That is all a crown is. But a crown does not really make a king, does it? What is your opinion on the matter?”

“I was tricked into coming here,” she says. “Kindly call your boy to let me leave.”

“The door is locked.”

“Doors can be broken down.”

He scoffs. “I do not doubt it. You know what they say about rough persons and their manners. Those who are lowborn cannot be expected to change their ways. But in a short while, that boy who brought you here will return and open the door for both of us. So why waste your energy and ruin a perfectly good door, too? This is my friend’s home. You are his honored guest and should behave like one.”

“A gracious host usually does not wish to see his guest dead,” she replies.

La Trémoille laughs. “Would you have met with me if I had been honest and asked to see you? Come now, Joan. Calm yourself. I promise I will make this conversation worth your time. We are alone here. We can speak freely. And are you not even a little curious? We know all about each other, yet somehow—well, I blame myself if we have never spoken at length, though you have nothing to be afraid of. If it should come to blows, who do you think would win between the two of us? I never carry any blade on my person, though I am sure you do.” He glances down at her hands.

“You don’t need to, my lord,” she replies. “Others do it for you.”