French stirred him. The duke’s eyes slit weakly open, still as bright as the Hope Diamond with its trail of murder. He knew me, and I saw his starved cheeks flush with healthy scorn. Scorn too can be a form of relief, reader. In a world of scum unworthy to raise our eyes to his, I at least was scum who knew it.

«His Majesty has made arrangements, Your Grace. You will be moved to La Almudaina.»

My companion drew close behind me. «We are sorry it took us so long to arrange matters, La Trémoïlle.»

Ganymede’s throat released a gasp of voiceless breath, but it took his cracked lips three tries to shape that breath into a whisper. «… Ss… Sfu-uu… Sp-ain…»

«Spain?» Folly’s blindness left the warden’s eyes at last as he gaped at my companion. «You! You’re—Your Maj—»

The King of Spain held a fast finger to his lips. «Today I am simply an agent dispatched by Romanova to facilitate the humane treatment of this prisoner.»

«Nothing inhumane’s been done!» the warden almost screamed. «I’ve seen to it! I’ve worn myself ragged seeing to it!»

The king did not raise his voice. «I know. Your efforts have been a credit to your office, but you are not equipped to handle this prisoner’s special needs. In the duke’s world a nobleman hangs with a rope of silk, not hemp.»

«What? We don’t hang—»

«It was just a simile. You haven’t done anything wrong, it’s just how the duke was raised. You must think of Their Grace as a time traveler. To them this place, which would send a son of royal blood to prison without his silks and servants, is insane. Imagine yourself in a prison from a thousand years ago, or a thousand years from now, where your treatment was incomprehensible, and violated a thousand unspoken social rules that your captors did not share. Even if your captors tried their best, if you couldn’t communicate the problems you would not fare much better than the duke has here.»

The king’s own hands helped me free Ganymede’s wrists from the padded fetters. His Grace was too weak to raise his head, but not so weak that I could not feel him trying as I lifted him straight enough to sit. It had to be me they sent. The duke would not have tolerated a stranger, and, besides myself, the only servants trained to know his needs were his own, not trusted by the powers, or Madame’s, not trusted at all.

«Drink, Your Grace.»

I saw the warden’s eyes widen as Ganymede’s lips, which had spat back like poison every drink the prison had offered, accepted my silver flask of alpine spring water.