'I already did. The first time I heard you were dead.' She was trying to smile, he could tell. But she still had that twist of anger to her mouth. Probably she would have liked to dig her nails into his face rather than his arm. He was almost glad then, for a moment, that he was wounded. She had no choice but to be soft with him. 'It's good that you're not. Dead, that is…' She frowned over her shoulder. There was some manner of commotion at one end of the long cellar. Raised voices, the clatter of armoured footsteps.

'The king!' Whoever it was nearly squealed it in their excitement. 'The king is come again!'

In the beds all around men turned their heads, propped themselves up. A nervous excitement spread from cot to cot. 'The king?' they whispered, faces anxious and expectant, as though they were privileged to witness a divine visitation.

Several figures moved through the shadows at the far end of the hall. West strained to look, but could see little more than metal gleaming in the darkness. The foremost shape stopped beside a wounded man a few beds down.

'They are treating you well?' A voice strangely familiar, strangely different.

'Yes, sir.'

'Is there anything you need?'

'A kiss from a good woman?'

'I would love to oblige you, but I fear I'm only a king. We're a great deal more common than good women.' Men laughed, even though it was not funny. West supposed that people laughing at your poor jokes was one advantage of being a monarch. 'Anything else?'

'Maybe… maybe another blanket, sir. Getting cold down here, at night.'

'Of course.' The figure jerked his thumb at a man behind. Lord Hoff, West realised now, dragging along at a respectful distance. 'Another blanket for every man here.'

The Lord Chamberlain, that fearsome scourge of the audience chamber, humbly nodded his head like a meek child. The king stood, and moved into the light.

Jezal dan Luthar, of course, and yet it was hard to believe that it was the same man, and not only because of the rich fur mantle and the golden circlet on his forehead. He seemed taller. Handsome, still, but no longer boyish. A deep scar on his bearded jaw had given him an air of strength. The sneer of arrogance had become a frown of command. The carefree swagger had become a purposeful stride. He worked his way on slowly down the aisle between the cots, speaking to each man, pressing their hands, giving them thanks, promising them help. No one was overlooked.

'A cheer for the king!' someone gurgled through gritted teeth.