They reached the booth, and Lemon spotted them at last through her booze-fug.

‘All right, lovers? Go well, did it?’ she sniggered. ‘Don’t look like a man just shot his bolt, wee bear. Not so much walking on air as last march to plague-pits, eh?’

‘We didn’t—’ he started as they slid into the booth. Loveless raised a trembling finger, staring at Lemon with bloodshot eyes.

‘Shut. The fuck. Up.’

Lemon fell quiet, then perked up as she saw Kosh approaching the booth, brow creased and jaw set in the appearance of great ponderings. ‘Alright, squirt, did you get your—’

A commotion from the archway drew their attention, cries and thumps. A moment later, a half-dressed man came haring around the corner, hopping to pull on one boot, shirt and jacket bundled beneath an elbow, scattering punters in his path.

Lemon half-rose. ‘Boss?’

Chel still had Loveless’s arm over his shoulder, and was loath to relinquish it. ‘Rennic? What in hells—?’

The shirt went over his head as he reached them, the jacket dropped to the table. ‘Where is he?’

‘Who?’

‘The fucking prince! Where?’

Lemon was stammering, seeing the look in the big man’s eyes. ‘H-h-he went with the company! Back that way.’ She spied the friendly boy who’d offered his services, still milling serenely between knots of drinkers. ‘Him, he’ll know!’

The boy was face-first to the wall before he could react, Rennic screaming in his ear. Chel staggered up in pursuit, Lemon right behind him, sending platters crashing. ‘Rennic! Rennic, what are you doing?’

The boy spilled his guts before they could catch up, and Rennic was off again, crashing off down a hallway, loose shirt flying, boots slapping against the rich wood. Chel and Lemon followed, stumble-footed, the walls a blur. Ahead of them, Rennic stopped, turned, then smashed in a nameless door with a ferocious kick, darting inside without a breath.

Shouts came from within, surprised and angry cries that became shrieks and squeals. A moment later, Rennic re-emerged into the hallway, dragging behind him, by the hair, a kicking, screeching and entirely naked prince of the realm, pallid flesh flapping in the candlelight. His hands were locked on Rennic’s wrist, struggling in vain to release the grip and the pressure on his scalp.

‘Unhand me! Unhand me!’

‘Rennic!’ Chel bawled. ‘What are you doing?’

Rennic gave them a dead-eyed stare as he dragged the thrashing prince past. ‘Get his clothes.’

‘Aye, right.’

Lemon ducked inside, through the splintered door, past the upset furniture and alarmed professionals. Chel followed, trying to ignore the musky reek in the air. ‘Apologies, folks,’ said Lemon. ‘Which of these are his?’