“Your courage and prowess are spoken of with awe throughout the Circle of the World,” added another. Rosimiche, and from his bent nose it looked as if someone had punched him in the face once. Leo wouldn’t have minded giving it a go himself.

“They pale compared to my son’s.” Leo’s mother showed every tooth as she smiled across at him. The falseness was strangling.

“It is well that we have a king again,” said Filio.

“It is well that we look towards a stable future,” said Rosimiche.

“It is well that Angland is once more inseparable from Midderland,” said Shudra.

“Anything else would be unthinkable,” said Savine.

“But…” And Shudra raised his brows towards the empty chairs on the opposite side of the table. “It is most regrettable that Lord Governor Skald and the other representatives of Starikland have not attended.”

“It is,” snapped Leo, pressing his fist into the tabletop and smearing it through spilled gravy. “He was given every opportunity, and I take it as a personal affront that he—”

“I am mediating between my son and Lord Governor Skald.” Leo’s mother laid her fingertips gently on the elbow of his ruined arm. That calming touch she always used to use on him, the one you might use on a peevish horse, though these days he felt little but a numb prickling. “The position is delicate, of course. Lord Skald’s wife Cathil is sister to our… former king. But I have no doubt that, given time, he will come around to our way of—”

“If he doesn’t he’ll regret it,” snapped Leo, twisting his elbow away from her. His days of deferring to his mother were well and truly over. His days of deferring to anyone. And the thought of getting back in the saddle, leading men in the field, being the Young Lion again, whoever the enemy, brought on a surge of excitement. He glared across the table at Shudra and his god-bothering stooges. “Anyone who threatens the stability of the Union will regret it. Anyone. From outside. Or from inside. Do you take my meaning?”

Shudra bowed his head. “Your Highness makes his meaning most plain.”

“I’m a blunt soldier,” grunted Leo, shifting his grip on his knife, “and I like blunt dealing.”

“As do I.” It was the woman who spoke. Mozolia, was she called? Tall and heavy-shouldered, frowning at Leo from under her thick black and grey brows. “Bluntly, then, it seems to us that the greatest threat to the stability of the Union currently comes from its last monarch.” Leo stiffened. He felt Savine stiffen beside him. “There are many who still feel loyalty to King Orso. He will always be a focus for discontent.”

Leo slowly swallowed, slowly set down his knife, slowly sat forward, looking this brazen bitch right in the eye. “I’m a blunt soldier. I like blunt solutions.”

There was an utter silence in the room. For a long moment, it seemed no one even breathed. Shudra winced slightly. Filio peered down at his meal. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tendons stand from the back of Savine’s hand as she gripped her fork as tightly as a standard-bearer might his flagstaff.