“I am Lorenz unless I command you, in play, to call me otherwise,” Lorenz said shortly. “And if I have to say that to you again, Tedrey, you will no longer enjoy the warmth of my home.”

Tedrey felt fear bolt through him.

Lorenz did not belabor that.

He returned to his earlier subject.

“I will give my wife as many children as she feels she needs. And we will spend our days until they leave their home teaching them to do upon the world naught but what they feel is good and right. And that will be what we share with them is good and right. So it will be good and right. We will leave this world giving it something good and right. We will leave it knowing they will teach their children the same. And so on. And that is not insignificant.”

“I do not lie with women. I will not give the world that.”

“It does not have to be your seed to give it that. Did you not teach when you were with the Go’Doan? Did you not understand the impression you could leave on the children in your care? And I know of men who do not lie with women. I also know of children who are born into this world or find themselves without parents who need them. Men who take only men, who love only men, take these children and give them what Nyx and I will give flesh of our flesh. And what they give is no less significant.”

“The palace was attacked, and no one cares,” Tedrey returned. “Men lost lives. Your king was under threat. And they just go about,” he flicked his hand to the window again, “with their baskets and their children or on their horses, and it is like it did not happen.”

“Do you think if King Mars was harmed or killed, do you think if his queen was harmed or killed that what is outside that window would be the same?”

“And how would it be different, except perhaps a different queen some months or years in the future would be taken by your ruler? Or a different king would sit the throne? Regardless, the baskets would still be carried.”

“You were not here when Ares was murdered. The city knew mourning. Windows shrouded. Heads draped in black. Horses trailing blankets of it over their rumps. Children did not play. If music rang, it was melancholy.”

“And now that is over,” Tedrey noted.

“Look at my face, look closely at my face,” Lorenz demanded.

Tedrey did just that.

“My king, Ares, was murdered,” he stated.

“You said that.”

“Look at my face, Tedrey.”

Tedrey watched closer.

“My king, Ares, was murdered,” Lorenz repeated.

And Tedrey saw it.

Sadness.