“Dammit, I’ve barely escaped with my life!” said the poet, getting to his feet and holding on to a bureau. “For fuck’s sake, I’ve never been so afraid… I felt like the insides were falling out of my arse. And that everything would drop out of me, teeth included. But when I saw you I knew you’d save me. I mean, I didn’t, but I was counting strongly on it… How much sodding blood there is… How it stinks in here! I think I’m going to puke again…”

“We’re going to the king,” said Ferrant de Lettenhove. “Give me your sword, Witcher… And clean it a little. You stay here, Julian—”

“Fuck that. I’m not staying here for a moment. I prefer sticking close to Geralt.”

* * *

The entrance to the royal antechambers was being guarded by sentries who, however, recognised the instigator and let him through. But getting into the actual chambers was not so straightforward. A herald, two seneschals and their entourage, consisting of four bruisers, turned out to be an insurmountable obstacle.

“The king is being fitted for his wedding outfit,” the herald pronounced. “He made it clear he is not to be disturbed.”

“We have an important matter requiring urgent attention!”

“The king made it categorically clear he is not to be disturbed. While Master Witcher had, as I recall, orders to leave the palace. What, then, is he still doing here?”

“I’ll explain that to the king. Admit us!”

Ferrant pushed the herald away and shoved the seneschal. Geralt followed him. But they were still only able to reach the chamber’s threshold, stuck behind several courtiers gathered there. Their further progress was thwarted by bruisers in leather jerkins who pushed them against the wall on the order of the herald. They were pretty rough, but Geralt followed the instigator’s example and gave up any resistance.

The king was standing on a low stool. A tailor with pins in his mouth was adjusting the royal breeches. Beside the king stood the marshal of the court and somebody dressed in black, probably the notary.

“Right after the wedding ceremony,” said Belohun, “I shall announce that my successor will be the son who my little wedded wife will bear me today. That measure ought to assure me her favour and submission, hee, hee. It will also give me a little time and peace. About twenty years will pass before the pup reaches an age when he’ll start scheming.