“Let us begin with the faithful servants of my late lamented father.” He indicated them with a nod. “As well as the executors of the orders of my brother, who made an attempt on my father’s life. We shall start with the royal instigator, Lord Ferrant de Lettenhove.”

The instigator bowed.

“You will submit to an investigation,” warned Viraxas. “Which will reveal what role you played in the princes’ plot. The plot was a fiasco, which thus qualifies the plotters as inept. I may forgive errors but not ineptitude. Not when it concerns the instigator, the guardian of law. But that will be later, for we shall begin with essential matters. Come closer, Ferrant. We wish you to demonstrate and prove whom you serve. We desire you to pay due homage to us. To kneel at the foot of the throne. And kiss our royal hand.”

The instigator moved obediently towards the dais.

“Get out of here,” Ferrant managed to whisper again. “Vanish as quickly as you can, Witcher.”

* * *

The party in the grounds was in full swing.

Lytta Neyd immediately noticed blood on Geralt’s shirtsleeve. Mozaïk also noticed and—unlike Lytta—went pale.

Dandelion grabbed two goblets from the tray of a passing page and downed one after the other in single draughts. He grabbed two more and offered them to the ladies. They declined. Dandelion drank one and gave the other reluctantly to Geralt. Coral stared at the Witcher with narrowed eyes, clearly tense.

“What’s happening?”

“You’ll soon find out.”

The bell in the belfry began to toll. It tolled so ominously, so gloomily and so mournfully, that the guests fell silent.

The marshal of the court and the herald stepped onto the scaffold-like platform.

“Fraught with regret and distress,” the marshal said into the silence, “I must inform you, honourable guests, that King Belohun the First, our beloved, good and gracious ruler, has suddenly passed away. Struck down by the stern hand of fate, he has departed this life. But the kings of Kerack do not die! The king is dead, long live the king! Long live His Royal Highness, King Viraxas! The firstborn son of the deceased king, the rightful heir to the throne and the crown! King Viraxas the First! Let us proclaim it three times: Long live the king! Long live the king! Long live the king!”

A choir of sycophants, toadies and arse-kissers took up the cry. The marshal of the court quietened them with a gesture.