“I’m Prince Xander of Kerack. I desire, desire overwhelmingly, to be King Xander the First of Kerack. At the moment, to my regret and the detriment of the country, the King of Kerack is my father, Belohun. The old buffer is still sound in mind and body, and may reign for twenty more bloody years. I don’t have either the time or the desire to wait that long. Why, even if I waited, I couldn’t be certain of the succession, since the old fossil may name another successor at any moment; he has an abundant collection of offspring. And is presently applying himself to begetting another; he has planned his royal nuptials with pomp and splendour for the feast of Lughnasadh, which the country can ill afford. He—a miser who goes to the park to relieve himself to spare the enamel on his chamber pot—is spending a mountain of gold on the wedding feast. Ruining the treasury. I’ll be a better king. The crux is that I want to be king at once. As soon as possible. And I need you to achieve that.”

“The services I offer don’t include carrying out palace revolutions. Or regicide. And that is probably what Your Grace has in mind.”

“I want to be king. And in order to ascend the throne my father has to stop being king. And my brothers must be eliminated from the succession.”

“Regicide plus fratricide. No, Your Highness. I have to decline. I regret.”

“Not true,” the prince snapped from the shadows. “You haven’t regretted it yet. Not yet. But you will, I promise you.”

“Your Royal Highness will deign to take note that threatening me with death defeats the purpose.”

“Who’s talking about death? I’m a prince, not a murderer. I’m talking about a choice. Either my favour or my disfavour. You’ll do what I demand and you’ll enjoy my favour. And you absolutely do need it, believe me. Now, with a trial and sentence for a financial swindle awaiting you, it looks as though you’ll be spending the next few years at an oar aboard a galley. You thought you’d wriggled out of it, it appears. That your case has already been dismissed, that the witch Neyd, who lets you bed her on a whim, will withdraw her accusation and it’ll be over in a trice. You’re mistaken. Albert Smulka, the reeve of Ansegis, has testified. That testimony incriminates you.”

“The testimony is false.”

“It will be difficult to prove that.”

“Guilt has to be proved. Not innocence.”