Ravenga described it so vividly it was mouth-watering. Geralt doubted, however, that he would manage to taste anything from the extensive menu. He was by no means a guest at the nuptials. He was in a worse situation than the pages, who could always pluck some morsels from the dishes or at least stick a finger in the creams, sauces or forcemeats as they hurried by.

The main location of the celebrations was the palace grounds, once the temple orchard, with modifications and extensions by the kings of Kerack, mainly in the form of colonnades, bowers and temples of contemplation. Today, many colourful pavilions had been additionally erected among the trees and buildings, and sheets of canvas stretched over poles offered shelter from the heat of the day. A small crowd of guests had already gathered. There weren’t meant to be too many; some two hundred in total. It was rumoured that the king himself had drawn up the list and only a select circle—la crème de la crème itself—would be receiving invitations. For Belohun, it turned out, his close and distant relatives constituted the larger part of the elite. Aside from them, the local high society, key administrative officials, and the wealthiest local and foreign businessmen and diplomats—meaning spies from neighbouring countries posing as commercial attachés—had also been invited. The list was completed by quite a large group of sycophants, grovellers and pre-eminent arse-kissers.

Prince Egmund was waiting outside one of the side entrances to the palace, dressed in a short black jacket with rich silver and gold embroidery. He was accompanied by a few young men. They all had long, curled hair and were wearing padded doublets and tight hose with terribly fashionable and excessively large codpieces. Geralt didn’t like the look of them. Not just because of the mocking glances they were shooting at his apparel. They reminded him too much of Sorel Degerlund.

At the sight of the instigator and the Witcher, the prince immediately dismissed his entourage. Only one individual remained. He had short hair and wore normal trousers. In spite of that, Geralt didn’t like the look of him either. He had strange eyes. And an unprepossessing look.

Geralt bowed before the prince. The prince didn’t return the bow, naturally.

“Hand over your sword,” he said to Geralt right after his greeting. “You may not parade around with a weapon. Don’t fret, although you won’t see your sword it will be close at hand the whole time. I’ve issued orders. Should anything occur, the sword will immediately be returned to you. Captain Ropp here will take charge of that.”

“And what’s the likelihood of anything happening?”