A hard ride and nearly an hour later, Louis, Annaba, Fabien, and the King’s guard were inside an ancient, isolated convent, being ushered quietly up a narrow set of stairs by an ancient, pock-faced nun. Candles flickered on the wall along the stairs, and small statues of Virgin Mary and Jesus stared sightlessly from tiny alcoves in the bricks. At the top of the stairs was a hallway with several doors, the nun led the men to the last one. She rapped gently on the door and eased it open.

Inside the small cell sat a nun holding a baby. A black child who gurgled and babbled, kicking her arms and waving her arms.

Annaba stared, his mouth suddenly dry. He hesitated then walked toward the child, watching her intently. Louis moved closer, keeping his eyes on the prince.

“The Dutch do have money but no power,” said the King, his voice steady, certain. “We have both.”

“Why did you bring me here?” asked Annaba.

“To finish our negotiations.”

“We’ve not even started.”

“Annaba, we have been negotiating since the moment you stepped off our coach.”

Annaba looked at the King. “You offer me little choice.”

“I offer you security and a fair stake in revenue. I also offer a gunboat to secure your port. You’ve been away from home a long time and your enemies are moving on your capital.”

“My father will deal with them.”

Louis tipped his head toward the baby. “Do you see this loud little life before you? A friend once told me God had brought this life to me for a reason. Only now do I understand. Her existence begs the question, because in any other country she would be long dead. And her mother, too. Yet here she is. And here you are. You can be sure of one thing. You can make a deal with the Dutch, or English, or Spanish. Rest assured they will smile and agree then bring their armies, burn your lands, kill your families, and take everything you hold dear.”

Annaba swallowed hard. Cold traveled his arms but he looked Louis in the eye. “You would do the same.”

“Not I. And I suggest you decide quickly. A country without a king will eat itself in war.”

“King?”

Louis removed a black envelope from his coat. “We received word that your father is dead. My condolences, Your Majesty.”

Annaba stared at the baby, the nun, and then the King. “Power is a game played with mirrors,” he said to himself.

Louis nodded. “The world is not what is. It is only what appears to be. You are a king now. You must understand that.”

“I am beginning to, Sire.”