“No,” said Cassius.

“I thought you might have met him on the southern campaign.” Valentin held the reins loosely in one hand, the other resting on his sword hilt.

“The only Confederated States soldiers on that campaign were Laruan, I believe.”

“I’ve heard he’s a nice young man–very handsome,” said Valentin.

Cassius looked over. “For Adelais’ sake, I’m glad. She is young to be marrying.”

“Her mother was wed and pregnant at her age,” said Valentin. “Besides, they will both have a month or two do decide whether they’ll suit.” Imperial Guards cleared the path ahead of them as they rode down the Imperial Way, through the heart of Monsilys. Valentin, Cassius knew, preferred the back ways. For a pillar of gens Sylvanus, he knew the alleys and byways of Monsilys very well.

“Mm,” said Cassius.

“Besides, Prince Caspar is a few years older than Adelais. Blessed few willing, he’ll be a steady hand, and hopefully marriage will smooth our Adelais’, ah, peaks and troughs, and give us all a bit of peace.”

The ship was pulling into her mooring as they rode up. The guards arrayed themselves on the pier, looking decorative in their blue tunics and polished breastplates. Cassius’ horse was restive; she didn’t like the proximity of the water. He was absorbed with calming her when the gangplank was lowered and the Toqueian delegation began to disembark. The harbourmaster went forward to speak to the mate about paperwork, while Valentin dismounted and went to meet the group of nobles making their way off the ship. Cassius gestured forward the servant who was holding a string of horses, then he too dismounted, waiting by them for the group to approach. There were five men and a woman in the party. Three of the men were middle-aged; clearly Prince Caspar’s advisers. The woman was more like a girl; she wore a gold circlet wound in her blond hair.

Cassius took in these auxiliary persons to distract himself from staring at Prince Caspar. The Prince was easily identifiable by his youth and the crown peeping out of his honey-brown curls. He was giving Valentin his full attention as they walked back along the pier: body angled towards him, head tilted. He had a long, straight nose and a wide mouth. His jawline was strong, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. Cassius took a deep breath and gave himself a stern internal talking-to.

Valentin said, “Prince Caspar, my brother Commander Lord Cassius Sylvanus Nero. Cassius, this is Prince Caspar Greenlyon of Toqueia.”

“Lord Cassius,” Caspar said, turning the full force of his hazel eyes on him. “Such a pleasure to meet you. I am a great admirer of the Jovani Army. I understand you were with them in the south?”

“For a time, yes,” said Cassius. “Welcome to Monsilys, Prince Caspar.”  He turned and gestured for the reins of a regal chestnut mare, offering them to Caspar.

“Many thanks. This is my younger sister, Princess Beryl Greenlyon. She was agog to see the famous city of Monsilys, so my father agreed that she could accompany me. I hope this does not cause inconvenience.”

“Not at all, Prince Caspar. It is a pleasure to welcome Princess Beryl to Jovan.”

Caspar accepted the reins and drew the horse aside so he could mount. “I wish I could have brought my Valiant with me, but he hates sea voyages, and I couldn’t bear to put him through it.

“Well, I hope the Empress’ stable meets your approval,” said Valentin, remounting. As they all rode back to the palace, Valentin fell in beside Cassius and raised his eyebrows as if to say, I told you he was handsome.

Cassius made a rueful face. If Adelais refused, he rather thought he might be willing to marry Prince Caspar himself. For the good of Jovan, of course.

At the palace, Valentin and Cassius squired Caspar and his entourage to the bath house. Adelais was summoned to accompany Beryl to the women’s baths, but hadn’t arrived by the time the men departed. In the bath house, they shed their clothes and took linen towels, wrapped around their waists. Valentin caught Cassius admiring Caspar’s smooth, toned back and smirked.

Later, he leaned over and whispered, “I know you have a taste for the young ones, but Prince Caspar is robbing the cradle even for you.”

Cassius said with dignity, “Llewellyn was barely six years younger than me. How old is Elodia?”

“I didn’t think it polite to ask,” said Valentin wryly. “She assures me she is an adult full grown.”

“And you took that at face value?” Cassius smiled.

Valentin made a tactical retreat. “All right, all right,” he said, putting his hands up. “It’s just nice to see you notice a man. I was worried.”

His smile dying, Cassius said, “Was it you who said not that long ago, ‘there’s no point worrying over me’, Valentin?”

“There isn’t. I’m a jaded old roué who enjoys sporting with women his own age and exploting innocent young dock-girls. You, on the other hand, lost your heart quite spectacularly last year.”

“One day it’ll happen to you, brother, and then you won’t be so flippant.”

Valentin stood and shucked his towel, stepping into a robe held by an attendant. “I lost my heart some time ago, and the lady, finding no use for the thing, discarded it.” He was gone before Cassius has a chance to reply, striding across the room to say something to one of Caspar’s minders.

Leaning back against the stone, Cassius indulged himself watching Caspar, who was in the water having his hair washed. His head was tilted up, straining the tendons of his neck, and he had an expression of unselfconscious bliss on has face as the attendant massaged oil through his hair. His toned shoulders rose out of the water, along with the upper rise of his chest.

Well, there was no harm in looking. He mulled over Valentin’s words. Who was the first love? Isobel of Ilas? Luvina? He has thought Domina of Skya had taken Valentin’s fancy more than most, but apparently not.

When he spoke of this mysterious woman, Valentin’s tone had mixed wistfulness and a self-mocking bitterness. Cassius had only heard Valentin speak that way when he spoke of the time before their exile. But what noble (or otherwise) Jovani girl would have spurned the advances of 17-year-old Valentin, the handsome boy-prince of Jovan?

“Come on, brother,” said Valentin, and Cassius wrenched his gaze away from where it had come to rest meditatively on Caspar’s collarbone. “Time to go.”

Almost an hour later, dressed in tunic, draped in cloak, and dripping with jewels, including the medallion of gens Sylvanus on its heavy chain, Cassius waddled out of his suite. Valentin gave his cloak a judicious tug, and they hurried away down the hall towards the Throne Room. Caspar, Beryl and the Toqueian delegation met them outside the great doors. Caspar looked rather magnificient in his tunic and the sable-trimmed sleeveless black robe which dragged along the floor behind him. His thin gold crown cast highlights into his hair.

“How do you feel?” said Valentin. “No need to be nervous.”

Caspar gave him a rueful smile. “I have tried and failed to convince myself of that, Lord Valentin. I am about to meet my future wife. What if she doesn’t like me, or I her?”

“I think you will find Princess Adelais very much to your liking. She is a pretty, good-natured girl, raised with all the graces a prince such as yourself would expect in a bride. But, the new-formed bonds of friendship between Jovan and Toqueia are not conditional on your marriage, Prince Caspar,” said Valentin with a soothing smile.

As Cassius looked away to hide his reaction to this mendacious description of the high-spirited princess, Caspar said, “Yes, but I will feel I am letting everyone down if the princess and I don’t take to each other.”

The door swung open to reveal a room full of medallioned nobles, who hushed and turned to stare. On the dais Adrienne sat dressed in a black chiton and blue mantle, a diadem wound into her sleek black hair. Adelais stood by her side, dressed in white and red, and Kyria on the other, dressed in grey. The herald announced them, and Valentin and Cassius stepped forward to make their way to the dais, the Toqueians following.

Halfway up the aisle, they stepped and stepped aside to let the Prince pass.

“Oh dear,” said Valentin, and Cassius looked at him, then, when he jerked his chin towards it, at the dais. Adrienne sat, her hand arrested in a gesture of welcome, her gaze locked on Caspar’s. When Cassius turned toward the Toqueian Prince, he saw Caspar had frozen, mouth slightly open, a faint blush suffusing his neck.

With a shock, Cassius wondered if he had looked that way the moment he had lost his heart to Llewellyn.

Almost in unison, Adrienne dropped her hand and Caspar finished his stride and bowed smartly.

“Welcome to Monsilys, Prince Caspar,” said Adrienne, her voice husky. “You are very welcome.”

“That is going to complicate things,” murmured Valentin.

“You can have her, if you like,” said Valentin.

Ignoring this remark, Cassius continued, “And your son has some spirit. We played at fighting for half the afternoon. Tamlin says he’d love the tutoring of him.”

“Indeed? Then you have managed in one afternoon to coax more manliness out of the boy than his mother has managed in five years.”

“You’re in a nasty mood again this evening, I see,” said Cassius, standing up.

“Don’t go.” Valentin stood and went over to the table. “Have a drink.” They sat down next to the fire, nursing cups of wine. “Much better than the stuff Luvina insists on.”

“Do you think Felix’s unmanliness, as you call it, might have something to do with the total absence of his father?” Cassius leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, resting one ankle on the opposite knee.

“Not that I intend to make you privy to my marital life, Cassius, but it was not my idea that my wife should take another lover and thus make it unendurble for me to spend time in my own villa.”

There was a pause as Cassius considered his response. “Then I imagine you welcome the opportunity to spend more time with Prince Felix in the capital. Who was the pretty little thing in your room earlier? She was done up like a courtesan; I half expected to find her debauched and sprawled across your bed just now.”

“Yes, I rather think I gave Ennius the wrong impression when I sent him to pay my bill and bring her back here from the docks.”

“Oh?”

“Sweet girl found me in a gutter last night and begged her landlady to give me a room. She’s a maid. Of course I tried to get her to stay with me, but she refused.”

Cassius raised his eyebrows incredulously. “So you told Ennius to fetch her here without any further explanation?”

“Mm, I suppose I should have considered what he would assume. The poor girl was petrified.”

“Well, yes. Really, Valentin, you are very high handed.”

Valentin took a long sip of wine. How many cups had he had now? “Blessed few, can I do nothing right?” he said, sighing. “The girl had a fright, yes, but now she is enjoying a night of luxury in one of the guest rooms, and tomorrow she shall have a jewel with my thanks.”

“You’re going to give a docks-maid a priceless piece of jewellery? What is she going to do with it? She won’t be able to wear it, so where will she keep it? How will she stop every thief and thug in the docks coming after her?”

“Oh, go away, Cassius,” said Valentin looking into the fireplace grate. “I can’t stand you sometimes.”

Wordlessly, Cassius set down his cup and left. Valentin finished the carafe, then summoned a retainer. The man was well-trained, and displayed no reaction as Valentin described to him the requirements of the house he was to find and acquire the next morning.

Elodia looked clean and happy when Valentin went to see her the next morning. Although it was quite early, she was awake and halfway through breakfast when he arrived.

“I hear you startled the servants by tidying your bed and dressing yourself, my sweet saviour.”

She stood up hastily looking at the floor. “Oh–Lord Valentin. Good morning. Yes, well, I didn’t see any point leaving it to someone else.”

“You look very pretty in those clothes.” Pretty didn’t exactly describe her; the white linen dress with its low bust and high waist set off her youthful figure in a way that made it quite difficult to focus on her face. Her auburn hair was loose, and as he watched she finger-combed it back from her cheeks.

“Is it time to go already?” Elodia said, her gaze darting up to meet his.

“I… it’s been suggested to me that giving you jewellery is perhaps not very practical. Until I think of another way to thank you, I beg you will stay in the palace as my guest.”

“Whatever you think is best, Lord Valentin. Perhaps…”

“What, my dear? You can speak.”

Elodia’s gaze slipped back to the floor. “Perhaps there might be a place for me at the palace.”

Well, Valentin certainly liked that idea. He blinked, and sense reasserted itself. “What do you mean?”

As if he had already said no, Elodia deflated. “As a maid,” she whispered. “I understand if you think it isn’t suitable.”

“Oh, yes, that is an option, if you think you might like it.”

“I’m from the docks. Even the lowliest position here would be paradise.”

“All right,” said Valentin. “I’ll keep it in mind.” Elodia puffed out a breath. Evidently it had taken all her courage to ask him. “Well, I have to go, but please, enjoy yourself. You’re my guest.”

“I don’t want to be in the way.”

He looked at her blankly. Then, quirking a half-smile, he leaned forward and put his hand against her cheek. Her skin was warm and smooth. She tilted her head up, staring at him. “Mm,” he said, and fled.

Later that day, Valentin took Luvina in a carriage to show her the house the retainer had bought on his instructions. She leaned against the door, looking out as they went through the gates. As the carriage descended the switchbacks to the city, Luvina pointed at the large noble villas circling the base of the palace hill. “Those are quite lovely,” she said.

“Alas, they all belong to the old aura families; none were for sale,” said Valentin smoothly. “But the house I found for you is in a very good neighbourhood.”

They drove on. “It’s not close to the palace, though, is it?” said Luvina.

“We are not taking the quickest route, my dear.” Valentin ought to know; he visited this district often enough. He stifled a smirk.

“I see.”

Eventually, the carriage stopped outside a high wall painted a light orange. Into the wall was set a high blue door. “Here we are,” said Valentin. He climbed out of the carriage and offered Luvina his hand, which she declined. Inside the door was an atrium, opening onto a lush green garden. The pillars supporting the ceiling had gilded trim, and the walls were painted with frescos. Rather risqué frescos. Valentin made a note to congratulate the retainer on a shrewd purchase.

“It’s very gaudy, ” said Luvina. “Which district is this? This doesn’t seem like a noble’s house.”

“It’s the Dusk, my dear,” said Valentin, putting a solicitous hand on Luvina’s arm. She looked at him blankly. “It’s where the whores live.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. The Dusk is the most exclusive neighbourhood of courtesans in Monsilys. Not just anyone can set up a cat house here.”

Luvina didn’t respond, just stared at him.

“Yes, I’m told the last owner of this house was kept by Cariolus Ventus.” He raised his eyebrows as if impressed by this fact.

“Damn you, Valentin,” said Luvina, apparently over her shock. “Damn you. You expect me to live with whores and madams? What about Prince Felix? He can’t stay in a neighbourhood like this.”

“Of course not,” said Valentin, turning away and going to examine a fresco of a prostitute fellating her patron. “He’s third in line to the throne of Jovan. There is no question but that he must stay in the palace.”

Luvina slammed out of the house. Valentin stayed a while, eyes fixed on the paintwork, and a small, mean smile tugging at his lips.

Unhurriedly, he made his way out onto the street, where he discovered Luvina had taken the carriage in her dudgeon, leaving Valentin one guard. Tucking his thumbs into his belt, Valentin wandered back into the atrium and looked around him. It really was a very pleasant house. Such a pity to get rid of it if it. He beckoned the guard over. “Go to the Palace and bring the girl Elodia to me. She is staying in the guest wing. Cesare or one of his clerks will be able to take you to her.”

The guard hesitated.

“I promise to stay inside the house with the door locked, so I shall be perfectly safe.” He made a shooing motion. “Go.”

While he waited, he explored the house. It would need at least four retainers to keep it running, along with a cook, and a guard. Some of the bedrooms wanted cleaning, and of course it was entirely devoid of furniture. It was times like these, Valentin thought, it would be much more convenient if Jovan were a member of the Covenant of Slavery.

He heard the door open and returned to the atrium. Elodia stepped around the door, followed by two guards, whom Valentin immediately evicted to the street.

“My dear,” said Valentin. “How have you enjoyed your morning?”

“Very well, thank you, Lord Valentin,” she said. “I went into the garden, and a man brought me a divan to lie on. I fell asleep, and only woke when the guard came looking for me. Where are we?”

“We’re in the Dusk,” said Valentin. Elodia’s eyes widened. Valentin continued, “What do you think of this house?”

She looked around. Her gaze rested on the lewd frescos for a moment and skimmed past. “It’s very elegant, sir,” she said.

“Would you like to live here?”

“Are the owners looking for a maidservant?” said Elodia blankly.

“No. Come here.” He gestured her over to a stone seat carved into the low wall surrounding the garden. When she hesitated, he sat down and patted the stone beside him. “I meant that this could be your house, my sweet saviour.”

She sat, hands in her lap. Valentin noticed that she sat neither to close to him, nor right on the outer edge of the seat. She wasn’t frightened. Awestruck, certainly. “Do you mean as your mistress, Lord Valentin?”

“I do.” He took her hand. “Do you think me too old?”

“You are not so old,” she said, “and I am not a babe in arms.” She didn’t remove her hand from his grasp. “But I am not sophisticated. I have no airs and graces, and I do not know the tricks a courtesan knows for–pleasing a man.”

“I can teach you,” said Valentin. “We will have an arrangement for as long as it suits us both, and when we part ways, you will be a wealthy woman. You will never make a bed or empty a chamber pot again.”

He could see her considering his offer. “There is no place for me as a maid at the palace?”

“No,” said Valentin. “But my original offer still stands. If you prefer, we can go to the royal jeweller, and you may pick out any gift you like, with my thanks for your kindness.”

“I think…” her dark eyes met his, “that I would quite like to be your mistress, Lord Valentin.”

Valentin felt his smile push into his cheeks and crinkle the corners of his eyes. He put his hand on her chin and drew her close. “I’m so glad to hear you say that,” he said, and kissed her.

Eventually he settled on squinting through his lashes, reaching around for his shirt until he remembered that he had thrown it out the window.

Feeling more like a malevolent swamp creature than a prince of Jovan, he edged downstairs and into the common room, where he found a woman he assumed must be Mrs Meritia. The pretty maid was nowhere in evidence, and no longer befuzzed by poppy sap and concussion, Valentin was relieved that he wouldn’t have to face her shirtless, sweaty and broke.

Mrs Meritia looked up from her desk and her eyes widened. “Sir,” she said, “can I help you?”

“Yes, I, er, borrowed one of your rooms last night. I cannot pay for it now, but I will return later with money.”

“You’re Elodia’s stray gentleman?” said Mrs Meritia incredulously. “Well, I can’t think much of her judgement. I reckon you are deckhand come up from the docks.”

“I shan’t waste time trying to convince you of my identity,” said Valentin haughtily. He reached up for the clip holding his mussed hair back, “I shall give you this as proof of my means and surety against payment.” The clip was exquisitely wrought gold.

Mrs Meritia turned it over in her hand, her manner becoming mildly deferential. “Certainly, sir. I will keep this somewhere safe. If you haven’t returned by tomorrow evening, I shall consider it mine to sell.”

Loftily accepting these terms, Valentin left the boarding house and presented himself to the nearest Imperial Guard post. Eventually he convinced them to give him a shirt and a horse, and made his way up to the palace.

After a long, cleansing bath, he sent for his captain of the guard.

Ennius entered, bowed and inquired politely after Valentin’s health. Valentin dismissed this question as too difficult to answer and said, “I need you to go to a boarding house and settle my reckoning.” He gave Ennius the address, which was noted down without expression. “I left a gold clasp as surety, so make sure you retrieve it.” He paused.

“Is that all, Lord Valentin?”

“No. There’s a maid there who gave her name as Elodia. Bring her to the palace and make sure she’s looked after properly. Then I should like to see her here.”

“Does my lord have any commands with relation to his wife?” said Ennius.

“Blessed few,” said Valentin. “Yes, she is not to be housed in the palace. I will hire her a house in the town.”

“I shall convey that instruction to the steward and then carry out my lord’s commands.” Ennius bowed smartly.

“Thank you, Ennius,” said Valentin. “What would I do without you?”

After the retainer had left, Valentin flopped back onto his pillows, one hand over his eyes, and groaned. His head had barely stopped spinning when the door slammed open.

“Valentin,” said Cassius in terrible tones.

“Quietly, brother,” mumbled Valentin.

Cassius grabbed Valentin’s arm and pulled it away from his face. “What were you thinking? I thought you’d been kidnapped again.”

“I wasn’t thinking,” said Valentin. “That is rather the point of intoxication.”

“You’re a damned idiot.”

“I’m sorry you were worried.” Valentin sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “You mustn’t worry about me, though. Sheer waste of time.”

“Where did you go? Is that a black eye?”

“I ended the night on a flea-ridden bed in a boarding house on the outskirts of the Dusk. But only after I lost my purse, tunic and sword, among other things. I think I may have a concussion.”

Cassius leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed. “Has the physician seen you?”

“No,” said Valentin. “You might send for him. In the meantime, I intend to try and have a nap before Luvina arrives.”

“It will have to be a short one; the guard sent word her carriage entered Monsilys fifteen minutes ago.” Pushing away from the fireplace, Cassius stalked to the door. “Sweet dreams, Valentin.”

“Your glee is very un-brotherly.” Valentin lay back down with a groan.

Having had his head looked at and his bruised ribs prodded by the physician, Valentin ambled out into the sunlit courtyard by the stables to wait for his wife. Cassius materialised beside him. When Valentin raised an eyebrow, Cassius said, “I’ve never met your wife, you know. Is Prince Felix coming too?”

“I believe so,” said Valentin with a one-shouldered shrug.

“How strange to think you a father,” said Cassius.

“Oh, I try to impinge on the boy’s life as little as possible. Hullo, Cesare.”

The steward had stepped up on Valentin’s other side. “Lord Valentin, Lord Cassius. Lady Luvina’s carriage is a few minutes away. The Empress has asked that Lady Luvina and Prince Felix attend her in the reception room once they have had a chance to put off their travelling clothes.”

“Cassius will escort them, won’t you, brother?”

“Where will you be, brother?” Cassius returned.

“Prior business,” said Valentin. “Can’t be put off, and you know how the Empress rattles on when she gets going.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Come on, you said once you wished you could know the woman who had captured my heart; now is your opportunity.”

“I believe I wrote that in a letter from Gallica when you were first married,” said Cassius drily. “You’ll agree the situation has changed somewhat since then.”

“Not as much as I might like.” Valentin pulled down his tunic cuffs and ran his hand over his hair. “We’re still married.”

Cassius sighed and didn’t reply. The carriage rattled into the courtyard, and four retainers stepped up to unroll the canvas sides and place wooden steps beside the door. Luvina stepped out first, then the nursemaid with Felix.

She turned and came towards Valentin, and he thought she looked wan and tired. “Luvy,” said Valentin. “Welcome to Monsilys.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“This is my brother Cassius Nero.”

Cassius stepped forward. “It is very nice to meet you at last, Lady Luvina. Is this Prince Felix?”

Luvina beckoned the nursemaid forward. “Felix, say hello to your father and uncle.”

Felix blinked owlishly at them. His eyes were rimmed red, and he clutched a handful of the nursemaid’s dress.

“He didn’t enjoy the travel very much,” said Luvina.

“Hullo, Felix,” said Cassius.

“Hullo,” Felix mumbled.

“Take him inside,” said Luvina to the nursemaid.

“A moment.” Valentin held up his hand. “This is my niece’s steward, Cesare. The Empress has asked to see you both once you are cleaned up.”

“I see,” said Luvina.

“You will stay in the palace for now, but I will make arrangements to take a house in town that you can stay in. No point living in each other’s pockets, barring the resumption of the–arrangement we had at Whitefields. I will come and see you this afternoon to discuss it.”

“I prefer to stay in the palace,” said Luvina. “I am your wife, and this is your son.”

“Only when it is convenient for you,” said Valentin. “Cassius will escort you to see the Empress. We will talk this afternoon.” He made his retreat smartly across the courtyard and into the palace, taking the long way back to his rooms to try and calm himself.

When he opened the door, he heard a small gasp and peered into the room. Pressed up against wall, staring wide-eyed at him, was a young girl dressed in an almost-translucent white linen chiton. Her hair had been brushed and oiled, and there was kohl smeared around her eyes.

Valentin’s first thought was that some anonymous benefactor had bought him a young and pretty slave girl, then she said, “Sir?” in a high-pitched, terrified voice.

“My sweet saviour,” Valentin said, closing the door and smiling. “Welcome.”

“Sir, what am I doing here? Who are you?” She had been crying.

“Oh dear,” said Valentin. “Come, sit down.”

“Who are you?”

Valentin sat in a chair and gestured to the one opposite. Elodia took a few steps toward him, but didn’t sit. “Well, if you must know, my dear, I am Lord Valentin Sylvanus.”

“L-lord Valentin? But…” she trailed off.

“I know.” He shrugged apologetically. “Beastly business, but there you are. My brother was Emperor Dolmus, my niece is the Empress Adrienne, and you are currently in the family wing of the Royal Palace. Please, sit. I mean you no harm.”

“But sir-Lord Valentin… they said… they washed me and dressed me, and told me I must do whatever you wished.”

“Ah, it appears Ennius got the wrong impression,” said Valentin. “I simply wanted to thank you, my sweet saviour, for your kindness to me last night. Nothing more, I promise. Here.” He fetched a cloak from his chest and handed it to her, although he had been enjoying the shadow of her nipples through the fabric. Dirty and dressed in homespun, she had been pretty; done up like the best courtesan, she was enough to make any man’s loins harden.

Twitching the cloak so it sat properly, he guided her over to the chair, then sat down opposite. “My humblest apologies if you have had a fright. I imagine you were wondering what I was doing being beaten by a petty thug in the docks last night,” he said in the tone he usually reserved for foreign royalty and diplomats.

She blinked at him, and nodded.

“I was on my way to visit–a friend, and I must admit I was a little intoxicated. If not for your kind intervention, I don’t know what would have become of me.”

” ‘Tis a dangerous part of the city at night.”

“Mm,” said Valentin. “At any rate, I want to thank you for your kindness and hospitality. In return for giving me a room last night when I desperately needed it, I thought you might like to stay tonight in one of our guest rooms here.”

Elodia’s eyes opened up wider. “Really, sir?”

“Yes, and tomorrow, you can choose a trinket to remember me by.”

“Oh, goodness,” said Elodia, drawing the cloak around her. “And that is all you want from me?”

“Yes, child,” said Valentin, ignoring the prompting of his base instincts. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I’m not a child,” she said, “I am full grown.”

Valentin smiled, got up and went to the door. He summoned a retainer. “Take this girl and see that she is made comfortable in a guest room. Find her some proper clothes, and give her everything she asks for.” He turned back to Elodia. “Go with this man. I will see you in the morning.”

She stepped up to him. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

Valentin chucked her under the chin. “Go, my sweet saviour.”

After dinner, Valentin went to find Luvina. They sat down together in a sitting room, and a servant poured them both wine before departing.

“Where’s…” Valentin trailed off and looked at Luvina expectantly.

She raised her eyebrows. “You know his name; you receive his letters about the estate every month. And he’s at Whitefields, of course.”

“Well, then, I suppose once your time has come and gone, we can resume our arrangement.”

Luvina put her cup on the table undrunk. “That’s all?” she said.

“Well, I shan’t remonstrate with you,” said Valentin languidly. “I know it wasn’t your fault you lost the child.”

“Very kind,” said Luvina in a stifled voice. “No sympathy, no condolences, but he generously chooses not to blame me.”

With a tired sigh, Valentin drained his cup and poured himself more wine.

“At any rate, my physician tells me it may be a month or more before my womb will take another seed, so even if I could stand the sight of you after what you just said, there would be no point.”

Luvina was sitting up very straight, hands clenched in her lap. Valentin studied her face. She looked like a turtle, he thought. He tried to summon even a shadow of his old fondness for her. Instead he found irritation. He wished she would go away. “Then why, by all the blessed few, are you here?”

“I won’t explain myself to you.”

“Yes, please do give me an excuse to send you back to Whitefields, Luvina.”

She took several deep breaths and looked at her hands. “I needed to see something other than those four walls. I lost a child, Valentin. Little though it may mean to you, I cannot go anywhere in that villa and not think of it. I think of how the nursery would look with another bassinet, how I could sit in the sun by that window there and hold him, how by the time the tapestries need airing I won’t be able to help because I will be in confinement. And then I remember that he is gone, before he even existed.”

For a brief moment there was silence, then Valentin said, “You shall have a house in town, if you like. For a few months, at least.”

“I would prefer the palace.”

“A house in town. I will have a retainer search out something suitable tomorrow morning.”

“Not on your life,” said Valentin. He was leaning back against the back of the sofa, rubbing his skull idly back and forth and enjoying the feeling of friction between his hair and the fabric. “M’wife arrives tomorrow, and I swear if we go home now I will be sober by the time her carriage rattles up.”

“Perish the thought.” Eyes narrowed, Cassius levered himself upright and offered Valentin his hand. “Well,” he said, “if nothing else, I tell you the smoke up here is quite magnificent.”

“Oh.” Setting down his tankard, Valentin stood and inhaled deeply. The air was redolent with incense and poppy sap.
Cassius took his arm and steered him towards the door of the Sapphire. “Come on.”

“Bah.” Valentin allowed himself to be towed outside, then slipped away while Cassius was distracted. He heard Cassius bellow, “Valentin!” and waved a dismissive hand at the corner around which he had escaped. Cassius would give up and go home soon enough; as far as Valentin was concerned, the night had barely begun.

Tucking one hand into his belt, he strolled jauntily in the vague direction of the Dusk, Monsilys’ premier brothel district. The Sapphire was in the docks district, a rough part of town, but Valentin was undaunted by the unlit streets and shuttered windows. He had his sword, and was dressed more like a merchant than a prince. Like an exquisitely tailored merchant, Valentin thought to himself, straightening his tunic.

Nonetheless, he viewed the thuggish looking fellow who stepped out into his path without particular surprise.
“All right, good sir,” said the cove, “hand over your purse and you can be on your way.”

“Bah.” He rather liked the sound of that, and the silver flash of his sword convinced his assailant to try someone else.

Valentin sauntered on. He was drawing close to the string of cheap bordellos unequal to the exorbitant rents in the Dusk, but considering themselves above the whores who worked the sea wall. Here, the streets were lit by cheap tallow candles in bright paper lanterns, casting colours and shapes across the streets. Each colour meant something, a secret language Valentin considered it a point of pride to learn, even though he would never consider patronising an establishment which advertised itself so blatantly.

Unless, of course, he tired of living and began to fancy a long, slow death of venereal disease.

He thought of his destination, a little villa set back behind high walls. Dark and cold from the outside, but inside warm, lively and inviting. There was a woman there he was considering setting up in her own establishment. He hadn’t had a mistress since the little priestess Beroe left to continue her training, and he thought his reputation was beginning to suffer as a result.

Then there was Isobel. Isobel and Mila. He had got very comfortable with thinking of Isobel as the great love of his life, the woman his brother Dolmus had torn from him. When he thought of his failed relationship with his wife, and any number of paramours, and wondered why he didn’t seem to be able to be happy with them, he put it down to Isobel. If only he had been able to marry Isobel and live out his life as a minor prince of Ilas. Then he wouldn’t have been so restless.

But Isobel had never loved him. Worse, she had known he didn’t love her. She had known his heart had been hurting for another when he came to Ilas. As he thought it, the willowy figure clothed in shadow stepped out of the corner of his mind: sighed, Valentin.

He shook his head. Damn Isobel. Damn Luvina, damn Magnus, damn Dolmus, damn Jovan. Damn it all. He should have provoked that cove into a fight instead of scaring him off. He was spoiling for a turn-up now.

The streets were lined with whores, breasts spilling from their dresses, white thighs rising from deep slits in their skirts. He looked with appreciation but no desire. Some small consolation to know he hadn’t yet lost his will to live.
Beyond the street of lanterns was a long street of public houses and shops. Even at this late hour, the public houses were open and patrons were spilling out onto the street, faces shining and red with drink. Valentin picked a fight with a burly workman and came off the worse for it: in the end he surrendered his purse and tunic as forfeit in order to keep his sword.

Now feeling more like a vagabond than ever, but not dissatisfied with his bruised ribs and split lip, Valentin sauntered away down an alley. Only a couple more blocks to the edge of the Dusk. He heard a shout, then someone spun him around and punched him in the jaw. His teeth clacked together and his vision went briefly dark.

He stumbled and sprawled on the cobblestones, and had a sense of something damp and pungent seeping into the back of his shirt before his skull hit the curb and with a flash of blinding light he passed out. He revived a moment later to feel someone worrying at the ties binding his scabbard to his belt. The man looked up, met Valentin’s eyes, then reached out one hand, grabbed a handful of Valentin’s hair with one hand, and slammed his skull backwards against the stone.

When he woke this time, he was being dragged up a flight of stairs. “Oh, I’m being abducted, am I?” he mumbled.
“No, sir,” said a young female voice. “Be quiet. Though I’m glad to see you awake; you’ve had a nasty knock on the head.”

Valentin’s gorge rose, and he swallowed bile. His head was pounding. He considered putting a hand up to feel the damage, but one hand was slung over the bony shoulders of his rescuer, and the other didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

“My sword?”

“Gone,” said the girl. Reaching the landing, she propped him against the wall and went to open a door. Valentin looked around him. He was on the first floor of an insula. Filthy stone walls and unpolished wooden floors greeted him. The remnants of what had once been a wool rug half-heartedly protected the floor.

His rescuer was a slender girl neatly dressed in homespun. Domestic of some sort, he thought to himself. New to Monsilys, most likely. He surmised he must be in a boarding house. It wasn’t a brothel, at any rate; far too quiet for this time of night.

“Can you stand on your own?” asked the girl.

“What’s your name?” said Valentin.

“Elodia,” she replied, ducking a curtsey. Definitely a domestic.

“Thank you for saving me, Elodia,” he said. “Is this your room?”

“No, I share a bed with two other maids in the attic. I convinced the landlady to let you have a vacant room. I told her you seemed like you would be able to pay for it.” She paused. “The rooms here aren’t very expensive, you know.”

“You are kindness personified. Now tell me, is the muck I can feel sinking into the back of my shirt excrement?”

“Yes, sir. And some blood, I think. I fear the shirt may have to be given up for lost.”

“That is the least of my concerns.” Pushing himself away from the wall, Valentin staggered into the room and looked around. “Should you mind terribly if I had a little sleep?”

Elodia pulled the door shut behind them and drew the bolt. “As long as you doff the shirt first,” she said with a hint of a smile.

“You may have to assist me once more, my sweet saviour. My arms don’t seem to be cooperating with me at the moment.”

Her brow furrowed. She had straight eyebrows and a nose that turned up slightly at the end. Her eyes were dark and almond-shaped. Quite pretty, Valentin thought. When she stepped close to help him with his shirt, he put his hand on her chin and turned her face this way and that. After a moment, she stepped back out of his grasp.

“Your arms seem to be working perfectly, sir,” she said matter-of-factly. “Perhaps you could put the shirt over the windowsill.

Valentin pulled his shirt over his head and threw it out the window. “Now can I sleep, my strict saviour?”

“Will no-one be worried about you?” said Elodia.

“Only you, my love,” said Valentin. “Come here.” He flopped down on the bed and crawled underneath the covers. He was going to have fleas in the morning, he thought ruefully.

Elodia hesitated.

“Wouldn’t you like to sleep in a proper bed for once?” he coaxed. “The least I can do is share this bounty you negotiated for me.”

“Mrs Meritia would hit the ceiling,” she said regretfully, backing towards the door. “I shall come and see you in the morning.”

Valentin’s eyes were already drifting closed. “Darling,” he said, “you told me your name, but didn’t ask for mine.”

“What is your name, sir?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” said Valentin. Sleep came quickly, and with it a blissful remission of all the pains physical and spiritual that plagued him.

It will return with a little story called “Dusk”, and here is a preview:

Valentin shook his head. Damn Isobel. Damn Luvina, damn Magnus, damn Dolmus, damn Jovan. Damn it all. He should have provoked that cove into a fight instead of scaring him off. He was spoiling for a turn-up now.

He was drawing close to the string of cheap bordellos unequal to the exorbitant rents in the Dusk, but considering themselves above the whores who worked the sea wall. Here, the streets were lit by cheap tallow candles in bright paper lanterns, casting colours and shapes across the streets. Each colour meant something, a secret language Valentin considered it a point of pride to learn, even though he would never consider patronising an establishment which advertised itself so blatantly.

Unless, of course, he tired of living and began to fancy a long, slow death of venereal disease.

The streets were lined with whores, breasts spilling from their dresses, white thighs rising from deep slits in their skirts. He looked with appreciation but no desire. Some small consolation to know he hadn’t yet lost his will to live.

Beyond the street of lanterns was a long street of public houses and shops. Even at this late hour, the public houses were open and patrons were spilling out onto the street, faces shining and red with drink. Valentin picked a fight with a burly workman and came off the worse for it: in the end he surrendered his purse and tunic as forfeit in order to keep his sword.

Now feeling more like a vagabond than ever, but not dissatisfied with his bruised ribs and split lip, Valentin sauntered away down an alley. Only a couple more blocks to the edge of the Dusk. He heard a shout, then someone spun him around and punched him in the jaw. His teeth clacked together and his vision went briefly dark.

He stumbled and sprawled on the cobblestones, and had a sense of something damp and pungent seeping into the back of his shirt before his skull hit the curb and with a flash of blinding light he passed out. He revived a moment later to feel someone worrying at the ties binding his scabbard to his belt. The man looked up, met Valentin’s eyes, then reached out one hand, grabbed a handful of Valentin’s hair with one hand, and slammed his skull backwards against the stone.

When he woke this time, he was being dragged up a flight of stairs. “Oh, I’m being abducted, am I?” he mumbled.

“No, sir,” said a young female voice. “Be quiet. Though I’m glad to see you awake; you’ve had a nasty knock on the head.”

Valentin’s gorge rose, and he swallowed bile. His head was pounding. He considered putting a hand up to feel the damage, but one hand was slung over the bony shoulders of his rescuer, and the other didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

“My sword?”

“Gone,” said the girl. Reaching the landing, she propped him against the wall and went to open a door. Valentin looked around him. He was on the first floor of an insula. Filthy stone walls and unpolished wooden floors greeted him. The remnants of what had once been a wool rug half-heartedly protected the floor.

His rescuer was a slender girl neatly dressed in a homespun dress and apron. Domestic of some sort, he thought to himself. New to Monsilys, most likely. He surmised he must be in a boarding house. It wasn’t a brothel, at any rate; far too quiet for this time of night.

“Can you stand on your own?” asked the girl.

“What’s your name?” said Valentin.

“Elodia,” she replied, ducking a curtsey. Definitely a domestic.

“Thank you for saving me, Elodia,” he said. “Is this your room?”

“No, I share a bed with two other maids in the attic. I convinced the landlady to let you have a vacant room. I told her you seemed like you would be able to pay for it.” She paused. “The rooms here aren’t very expensive, you know.”

“You are kindness personified. Now tell me, is the muck I can feel sinking into the back of my shirt excrement?”

“Yes, sir. And some blood, I think. I fear the shirt may have to be given up for lost.”

On 12 November, my grandfather was hospitalised. Although we thought initially that he would get better and come home, he didn’t, and after declining steadily from the sharp, lovely man he was to an almost-comatose shadow of himself, he died on 30 November. He was my only surviving grandfather, I only really got to know him when I moved here in April this year. I wanted to spend years hearing his stories and arguing with him about current events, politics, Australia, technology and whatever else took his fancy. Now I will never get the chance. So: vale Grandpa. I wish I had known you better, and I’m going to miss you.

The funeral was yesterday, and that is why I don’t have anything written for today.

I hoped to get something in the way of omake sorted out, but that isn’t looking likely. As a means of atonement, may I suggest my little One Great War, my little blog of my adventures in NaNoWriMo 2011? Contains me, writing, humour, reviews of books and movies, and lots and lots of World War One.

I am taking a break from Jovan over December partly to try and finish my NaNo novel, Steadfast, which is a fantasy retelling of The Steadfast Tin Soldier, more-or-less set in World War One. It has all the traditional elements of a World War One tale, but with MAGIC. Woo.

Anyway, have a fabulous Christmas and a superlative New Year, and I will see you in January for more Frequent Traveller’s Guide to Jovan. Will Valentin ever sort out his home life? Will Cassius ever sort out his? Is Prince Caspar of Toqueia all he’s cracked up to be? Will the Empress ever find out what her secretive uncles did to get banished? Why is Lady Kyria so tetchy all the time? When will Magnus the Papirian make an appearance?

It’s Book 2 of a trilogy – surely you genre-savvy readers already know what’s going to happen???

In the meantime, consider Rating/reviewing AFTGTJ on WfG, voting on TWF, and adding it to your RSS feeds. These actions are scientifically proven to make authors write faster.

Elle, signing off for 2011.

Feeling solemn and regal and completely unequal to his task, he went down to the courtyard and stood, waiting for his horse to be brought around.

Valentin was fond of saying that it was fortunate Cassius had been for the army and Valentin for the diplomatic service because Valentin would have made a terrible soldier and Cassius a terrible diplomat. As he tried to calm his racing heart, Cassius reflected that Valentin was only half-right. Cassius would, without doubt, have made a terrible ambassador, but Valentin was more ruthless, more strategic, and more bloodthirsty than Cassius. He would probably have made a fine soldier if he had been forced to apply himself to it.

Stop it, Cassius said to himself. You were going to stop thinking that way.

At any rate, soldiers serving under Valentin would have hated him: vain, sarcastic and manipulative. Men strove for the opportunity to serve under Cassius, because they knew he would try his damnedest not to get them killed.

There, that was better. He straightened his shoulders.

The groom was just bringing his horse around when Valentin strode into the courtyard. He wore almost the same garb as Cassius, but immediately contrived to make him feel shabby by comparison.

He hailed Cassius and stepped over. “Negotiations wrapped up, so I thought I might come with you. I know how you hate the bloody business.”

Cassius nodded. “As you wish,” he said mildly.

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Cassius. “I understand, and you’re right, anyway. I’ll keep my nose out of your affairs, and worry about my own.”

“Well, I’ll count on you to help me amuse my wife when she’s here. It’s your duty as my brother.”

Cassius raised his eyebrows. “Amuse her?” he said dryly.

Laughing, Valentin said, “Oh, not like that! I recognise a futile cause when I see one.”

Their horses were brought around, and they mounted up and rode to the lockup where Ivery had been held since his trial. He had been dressed in sack-cloth, and was dirty and unkempt. His eyes were red from exhaustion or crying.

The cart carrying the giant wooden cross was already hitched to a horse, and Ivery was bound by the hands to the back of it. The Monsilys prefect nodded in recognition to Cassius and Valentin. Cassius’ eyes met Ivery’s and he tried to think of something to say, but he had said it all in that room at Blacktower. He had promised gens Sylvanus would destroy him, and was here to carry out the promise.

He turned his horse and rode out of the jail. Valentin rode beside him, and behind them came the cart, and Ivery, and his guards on foot. They rode down from the lockup, along the wide main street of Monsilys, towards the gate. By the time they reached the wall, word had spread that a traitor was being taken to be executed, and a crowd had formed. Some jeered or shouted, others just watched quietly. Guards had to ride ahead of them to clear the way for the cart.

Cassius looked straight ahead, over the crowd, and focused on looking stern.

They passed out of the town onto the way, intersected by the cruciform shadows of the other criminals. At least one was still alive; Cassius could hear him crying.

He heard a shout from behind him. Ivery, met with gruesome evidence of his fate, was struggling and trying to flee. Cassius turned his horse and watched as the guards bound his feet and tossed him into the cart beside the crucifix.

The crowd had followed them out onto the plain, still jeering and catcalling. Cassius wished they would shut up. They reached the place where Ivery would stand, and he was hauled down from the cart by two guards. Another four removed the massive cross and laid it across the way. There was a deal of traffic from people returning to the city at the end of the day; carts, riders and pedestrians stopped and milled around, the word passing back that there was a crucifixion and they wouldn’t be able to pass until it was done.

The flow of people from the town and those from the plain met and spread out into a wide circle with the crucifix at its centre. Ivery was laid, still struggling, on the cross, and his hands and feet were bound. One guard held his hand still while the other placed a spike on Ivery’s wrist and hammered it into the flesh between the two bones of the lower arm. Ivery screamed. Mercilessly, the other arm was given the same treatment, followed by his feet, which were nailed through the heel to either side of the stake.

Not wishing to watch anymore, Cassius turned his horse away and shouted, “Watch this man’s suffering, make note of it, tell your families and others you meet. Spread word throughout Jovan that this is the fate of traitors and mutineers. All of you bear witness to the punishment of those who transgress against Jovan and gens Sylvanus.”

The crowd fell silent to listen to him speak, and not into this silence there came a thin, reedy wail as Ivery was lifted up on the cross and his mutilated hands and feet were made to take the full weight of his body.

“Blessed few,” cried Ivery. “Sweet, merciful, blessed few help me.”

The guards stepped back and were preparing to leave as Valentin rode up to the base of the pillar. “I wouldn’t bother,” he said. “Pray for the fields of asphodel instead, scum; it is the best you might hope for.  I think you will walk among the damned, though, in the hell reserved for traitors.”

Ivery fell silent except for the sound of damp, raspy breaths being dragged in through his teeth. Cassius didn’t look up at him as they left the road and re-entered the city.

As they left the horses in the bailey, Valentin said, “Drink, brother?”

“I’m not really in the mood,” said Cassius.

Valentin slapped him on the back. “The best way to cope with something you cannot bear to think about is to chase it away,” he said. “Take it from one who knows.”

Thinking for a moment, Cassius imagined dinner with the family, followed by his bed, where the image of Ivery’s body contorting itself around that wooden stake, and the image of Llewellyn’s face when he bid Cassius goodbye in Ilas, would chase themselves around his mind all night, robbing him of sleep.

“All right,” he said. “Lead on, brother.”

Although Adrienne would not lower herself to acknowledge such a futile and pointless rebellion, it behoved Cassius to witness the execution and report back. Even Valentin had been excused, because the negotiations with Toqueia, opened after Jovan’s intervention in Ilas, were reaching a new level, and Valentin’s tricky brain was desperately needed at the negotiating table.

The worst part was that the execution wasn’t until dusk, so Cassius had somehow to make his way through the day until then: a day which currently looked more-or-less empty.

With a resentful grumble, he rolled out of bed and went over to the screen, shedding his nightshirt on the way. Wetting a cloth, he wiped himself down: chest, arms, back, groin, and legs, then used a fresh cloth to clean his face and neck.

Breakfast, followed by his morning session with Tamlin beguiled a few hours, and had to be followed by a proper wash in the palace baths, which left him tired, clean and perfumed, standing in his room and twiddling his thumbs, well before noon.

He met Valentin in the gardens a short while later. Valentin was holding a letter and staring absently past an oleander bush. He started when Cassius approached him.

“How go the negotiations?” he asked.

“Well, I think,” said Valentin after a pause. “We may have an in-principle agreement today.”

“Ivery Malventus is being executed this afternoon,” said Cassius.

“Good.” Valentin did not give this a great deal of attention. “There’s no point keeping one like him alive.”

Cassius sighed. “I suppose so.”

“Of course the most interesting thing about that whole plot was that Capistan de Sirona showed his hand. How fitting if the Sironese threat were silenced on two fronts the same day: by Malventus’ death, and by an agreement between Jovan and Toqueia. Wither goest Toqueia, so go the Confederated States.” Valentin had delivered this entire speech to the oleander bush, his mind far away.

“Yes, fitting,” echoed Cassius. “Are you all right?”

“Mm. Luvina has miscarried.” He looked at Cassius for the first time and held up the letter. “She wrote me. Luca will live, but his leg has withered. He won’t walk without a limp.”

“Neither of those things are your fault,” said Cassius.

“I know that.” Valentin tucked the letter into his tunic. “Still, Luvina had just about convinced me I wanted another child.”

Putting his hand on Valentin’s shoulder, Cassius said, “I’m sorry, brother. What will you do?”

“Try again, I suppose. Luvina writes that she is coming up to town and will arrive probably a fortnight after this letter.”

“Do you think it isn’t a bit soon?”

“Why?” Valentin said coldly.

“I…” Cassius sighed. “You’re impossible in this mood.”

He got a glittering smile in return.  “No word from Llewellyn, I take it?”

Cassius shook his head.

“Then perhaps you should worry about your own life and leave me to mine.” There was a brief silence.  Valentin went back to studying the plant in front of him.

“I’ll leave you to yourself,” said Cassius, and left the garden. Somehow, although he didn’t know precisely why, he felt betrayed. He knew Valentin had teeth and claws, but they were so rarely turned on him, that when his brother did attack him, it wounded to the quick.

For a soldier, you’re a soft touch, he told himself with contempt, and went to his office to sort through papers relating to the Monsilys city guard.

Despite his most scornful internal admonishments, Valentin’s words circled around his mind. Llewellyn. It was true. What right had he to question Valentin’s domestic arrangements when he had botched his own so badly? He had driven the boy—man–he loved away with stupidity and cowardice.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, remembering Llewellyn’s young body, spread out on the furs in his bedroom at Blacktower. The smooth skin that almost shone in the candle-light, and quickly mottled with a blush as Llewellyn’s blood rose. The brown curls which fanned out around his face and tangled around ears and neck. The thin hair that spread out around his chest and narrowed to a thin line down his belly. His cock, hard and curling to rest in the hollow beside his hip, waiting, yearning, for Cassius’ adoration.

Cassius’ breath became laboured. It felt as if there was fire underneath his skin. He basked in the sensation, torturing himself. He relived the Pleasure Garden, Cloud kneeling beside his knee, his hand in Cloud’s curls. Him sitting on the divan, Cloud crouched between his legs, pushing aside his tunic.

The ship back to Jovan, when Llewellyn had said sleepily, I’ll trust you. He had told him Jovan would be his home, then driven him away.

Hard and aching, Cassius spread his legs underneath his desk and rubbed the bulge in his hose, repeating to himself, if he comes back, I will deserve him. If he comes back, I will deserve him. He found satisfaction, but the image of Llewellyn shaking his head to hide his face with his curls, any one of a thousand times Cassius had let him down, refused to be banished from his mind.

He abandoned the attempt to do paperwork, and went back to his room to clean himself up, then went out onto the ramparts to stare down at the plain, where crucifixes dotted the side of the road. There were ten nailed up down there at the moment. Of those, perhaps two were still dying. The other eight had died a while ago, their bodies gibbeted as a warning to others.

As he was roving the ramparts, he saw Adrienne and Valentin standing in a courtyard, talking. He thought about going down to them, but didn’t feel like getting the sharp side of Valentin’s tongue twice in one day, so he waited until Valentin bowed and went away towards his quarters before he came down.

Adrienne smiled at him as he walked up. “Hello, Uncle Cassius,” she said.

“Empress.” He essayed a quick bow. “How go the negotiations?”

“Almost completed, I think,” she replied. “You did good work in Ilas; King Lupe was generous in his praise of us, which seems to have turned the tide in favour of our proposition. It seems as if Prince Patrizio will agree to send his second-youngest son Prince Caspar to Jovan, on the understanding that if both he and my sister are amenable to it, they will be married.”

“That is excellent news. I have heard nothing but good about Prince Caspar.”

“Yes, and I am glad Prince Patrizio has not pushed for a betrothal straight away. Adelais is going to be difficult enough about this without my making the decision for her.”

“It speaks well both for Prince Patrizio, and for the character of Prince Caspar,” Cassius agreed.

Adrienne smiled. “I’m glad you think so too. At any rate, the Toquiean delegation have agreed, but the final say must be for the prince. I have commissioned a miniature of Adelais which they will take back to Toqueia, but she is a pretty girl, so I can’t see that there will be a problem on that account.”

“How old is Prince Caspar?”

“Four and twenty,” said Adrienne. “A bit older than Adelais, which I can only think is for the good, given her propensity to toy with boys her own age.”

They turned and were walking together towards the cloisters which led back into the palace, Cassius matching his pace to the careful, measured stride Adrienne had adopted ever since she cast away her cane a month ago. “And what of you?” Cassius said.

“Hm?”

Their conversation had the feeling of a comfortable family discussion and not a conversation between Empress and commander, so he ventured, “Do you think of marriage, my dear?”

She looked down. “I’m too busy, I think. I thought perhaps…” she trailed off.

Cassius wondered if she was thinking of Beold Ruben, whom Valentin had poisoned because Beold wanted to take the throne of Jovan. As far as Cassius knew, Adrienne was completely unaware of his sinister intentions towards her. Which was how it needed to remain, given Valentin had accomplished Beold’s death partly by poisoning Adrienne as well.

Adrienne raised and lowered her shoulders delicately. “One day,” she said, “I would like to marry.”

As she broke the kiss, Mila turned slightly, and for a moment her eyes met Valentin’s in the window before Isobel’s head, resting on Mila’s shoulder, blocked the view.

Valentin ducked back from the window. So Mila and Isobel were lovers. Leaning back against the casement, Valentin smiled. The feeling that he was playing cards and didn’t know who held the trump vanished.

Had they killed Prince Nadzic to remove the primary obstacle to their affair? It mattered very little to Valentin. He’d meant what he said, and he had no intention of telling King Lupe that his daughter was a murderer and in love with his brother’s wife.

He saw his path clearly now, through Cassius’ fears for the army, Adrienne’s need for a peaceful solution, and the secret that bound Isobel and Mila together.

“Prince Ludo has my utmost confidence,” said Lupe.

Valentin tilted his head with the air of one saying something delicate. “Prince Ludo is a fighting man,” he said. “He sees a fighting man’s solution. You and I are statesmen; we may see a broader range of options to solve a complex situation.” He paused, and sending a mental apology to Cassius, said, “Like Prince Ludo is to Ilas, Lord Cassius is the strong arm of Jovan. But because of his many successes on the field, he thinks that all the problems of rulership can be solved with a sword.”

Looking thoughtful, Lupe said, “Do you think there may be a peaceful resolution to this?”

“I think that Prince Ranaz must perceive as clearly as you and I that his army is outmatched. There can be no harm in seeing what compromise he may be willing to accept. If there is none, then we let our warmongers slip their leash, and punish Veribias for its insolence.”

“Lord Valentin,” said Lupe, gesturing a retainer forward, “Karolas has missed you.”

Hiding his smug smile by bowing, Valentin said, “It is great pleasure to return to a place where I have been so happy in the past.”

Ranaz and his retinue were brought close to Karolas under escort and his bannerman now stepped out to plant the Veribian standard by the tent as well.

Ludo and Cassius rode up with Ranaz. Ludo looked thunderous, and Casisus had his campaigner’s face on. They made their greetings to the king.

“Why is my wife here?” Ludo asked when he saw the yellow banner.

Valentin said, “We thought it best if Princess Isobel weren’t present, given her close involvement in the case and her—temper. Princess Mila wished to come instead, to represent Princess Isobel’s interests.”

“Cannot her father or her uncle—“ Ludo gestured to himself, “—represent her interests adequately?”

“A woman’s touch is sometimes more trusted by a woman than a man’s.” Said Valentin piously.

Ludo gave him a suspicious look as they ducked into the tent.

Inside, Mila was already seated at the rectangular table. She gave Valentin an eloquent look as he sat down beside her. Ludo sat adjacent without acknowledging her, and beside him King Lupe. Ranaz sat on the opposite side with an advisor beside him and another adjacent, and then Cassius sat between Ranaz’s second advisor and King Lupe. Ten or so Ilasian functionaries and nobles stood around the edges of the room.

The proceedings opened with pleasantries which were soon discarded in favour of the meat of the discussion. Valentin leaned back in his chair, content for now to listen to the negotiations. As he listened to the flow and counterflow between Lupe and Ranaz, he started to hear what he was looking for: a pattern.

Ranaz knew as well as they did that his army was outmatched. He sued for punishment, but would be willing to accept any compromise which would allow him to bring some honour back to Veribias.

The negotiations adjourned for lunch. King Lupe withdrew to the city, taking his retinue with him. Valentin followed, hoping for a moment alone with the king, but Prince Ludo stayed close to his side.

In the afternoon it was clear that no agreement would be reached that day. Ludo wanted to settle the question of honour on the battlefield; Ranaz clearly preferred to avoid the slaughter of his men. But he could not go back to Veribias with nothing. As Valentin watched, Ranaz’s position hardened. Receiving no quarter from the Ilasian negotiators, he began to resign himself to asserting his nation’s honour on the field.

At the end of the first day, it seemed as if Ludo would have the rout for which he so clearly yearned.

Valentin, greatly troubled, caught Mila’s arm as they were rising from dinner.

“It does not go well,” said Mila, looking up and down the empty hall.

“No, it most certainly does not,” said Valentin. “I need you to detach your husband from the king.”

“That won’t be easy,” said Mila. “He dislikes me and distrusts you.”

“Does he know about your relationship with the princess?” said Valentin, having discovered some sympathy for Prince Ludo in light of his unenviable domestic arrangements.

“I’m not absolutely sure.”

“Mm,” said Valentin. “Nonetheless, I need you to try, or Princess Isobel will have the satisfaction of seeing a thousand men slaughtered for the sake of her good name.”

“King Lupe, I was going through yesterday in my mind, and I think there is an avenue we might pursue to bring about a satisfactory settlement.”

“Oh?” said Lupe.

Cassius, walking on Valentin’s other side, also looked interested.

“Yes. We are agreed, are we not, that it is best to avoid bloodshed?”

“Well,” said King Lupe.

Valentin hurried on. “I think I know a solution that must be acceptable to all sides.” He outlined the proposal Cassius had suggested, that Ilas pay Veribias reparation for Princess Isobel’s failure to produce an heir. “Because,” said Valentin, “that is something both sides may agree is regrettable.”

“They would cast such a payment as an admission of guilt,” said Lupe. “It won’t do.”

“Ranaz needs such a gesture to withdraw with honour. What care we the lies they tell in Veribias? Ilas and Jovan will know the truth.”

Lupe shook his head. Valentin glanced at Cassius, who looked resignedly back at him. Grimacing, Valentin mouthed, trust me, and Cassius’ expression changed to one of alarm.

“King Lupe. As you know, Jovan holds its friendship with Ilas above all else. But our position here is not simple. If we participate in your massacre, we set the seal on our own relationship with Veribias.”

“You would withdraw support?” King Lupe said, shocked.

“Of course Ranaz cannot have what he chiefly wants; namely, Princess Isobel. But if common ground could be found that resolved this conflict without permanently damaging relations between our three countries, Jovan would be inclined to think that would be preferable.”

“I see,” said Lupe, just as Ludo, out of breath from running, caught up with them.

Valentin sent a twinkling look at Cassius, who returned it with a wide-eyed stare.

Two more days’ negotiation resolved the matter. Prince Ranaz and his army departed, weighed down by a generous settlement of gold and jewels.

Lupe, although ambivalent about Valentin’s method, appreciated the result. During the revelry that accompanied the Veribians’ departure, he clapped Valentin on the shoulder and said, “Tell Adrienne I’ll intercede as she wishes.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Valentin, swirling his wine.

“I’ll intercede with Toqueia. If she wants Prince Patrizio’s second son for Adelais, she shall have him.”

“My thanks, King Lupe,” said Valentin smoothly. “I shall pass the message on with your regards.”

Lupe nodded and was about to move away.

Valentin saw Mila and Isobel across the room, heads close together. Now that he knew, he didn’t know how he hadn’t perceived the body language earlier. “Oh, if I may,” he said.

“Mm?” The king stopped and took a swig of wine.

“You will no doubt be thinking of who Isobel might marry next. Might I suggest an Ilasian noble? Someone who would be content to live here at the palace most of the year. I think Karolas is soothing to Princess Isobel.”

They both studied the princess for a moment. “Perhaps you’re right,” said Lupe. “Lords know no foreigner would have her now anyway.” He rambled away.

Valentin leaned against a chair back. Adrienne was courting a prince of Toqueia for Adelais? He couldn’t wait to get back to Monsilys.

Valentin, included in the order to stay, approached the throne. King Lupe nodded at him and the others. “Gentlemen,” he said. “The Veribians have landed south of Melendis. They joined battle with the Ilasian—and Jovani—forces about an hour ago. It was a preliminary skirmish whose object was to secure a beach and field that they might use as a camp.” He paused. “In that object, they were successful. However, Prince Ludo writes that he is confident their force can be stopped before it reaches Karolas.”

The men gathered around all nodded. One said, “As it should be.”

Valentin, who had met Prince Ludo before, kept his opinion to himself.

King Lupe continued: “The Veribians are commanded by Prince Ranaz, younger brother of Prince Nadzic. Once they were established on the beach, Ranaz ran up a parley flag. Prince Ludo wrote this note as he was about to go out and meet them. He will write to us again when he knows what Ranaz wishes to discuss.”

One of the men said, “What do you think their demands will be?”

“I think it is futile to speculate.” Lupe looked tired. “I will summon you all when I receive further word from my brother. Lord Valentin, would you tell my daughter of what we have discussed?”

“Of course.” Valentin bowed. On his way to find Princess Isobel, he detoured via his own rooms. As he expected, a legionary runner stood outside his door. He gestured the man in, and then said, “Well, what have you to report?”

The man straightened up, looking somewhere over Valentin’s shoulders. “Lord Cassius Sylvanus presents his compliments to his brother Lord Valentin and begs to inform him that the Veribian army has established a foothold on Ilasian shores. The strength of the infantry is equally matched, with Ilas enjoying the advantage in cavalry numbers. Scouts report the Veribian army is unruly and chaotic, an experience borne out in the battle over the beach, where the terrain favoured their style of fighting. They are not to be dismissed lightly. They appear to feel they are here on a mission, and their fervour makes them dangerous.”

As he listened, Valentin went to put off his cloak, folding it on the end of his bed and straightening his tunic. The runner finished the message, which confirmed Prince Ludo’s assessment that the Veribian army could be held at bay.

“Did you give that to me verbatim?” Valentin asked curiously when the runner was finished.

The boy looked nervous. “I added the pleasantries,” he said. “Was that wrong?”

“I sincerely thank you for doing so.” Valentin gestured him to the door. “However in future it might be wise not to embellish the messages. Tell Cassius that I have his message, it accords with what Prince Ludo wrote to the King, and I wish him safe and successful in battle.”

“Yes, Lord Valentin,” said the boy.

Valentin stepped out of his room and went in search of Isobel.

Valentin found Mila walking down a corridor towards the garden. Figuring she had a right to know what her husband was doing, Valentin hailed her and said, “I’m just looking for the princess.  The King has had word from Prince Ludo.”

Mila’s initial frown wiped away. “She’s in the conservatory, I think. This way.” They walked side by side along the cloistered hallway. “Isobel told me you cornered her in the garden earlier.”

“I am not her enemy,” said Valentin. “I didn’t corner her.”

He gave Mila a narrow look, and she half-smiled. “Never mind, Lord Valentin. Isobel would have made you a very bad wife.” For a moment, her sly expression reminded Valentin powerfully of her cousin Beold Ruben.

“Judging by the state of her husband, I’m inclined to agree with you,” said Valentin under his breath.

Mila’s frown returned.

“Is there anything you would like to add to Princess Isobel’s story?”

“No, what she told you is the truth.”

“I wish you two would trust me,” Valentin said plaintively. “If not on my own account, then think of it this way: my duty is to protect Jovan’s interests and they are not served by upsetting King Lupe with unpalatable truths. Think of the awkwardness if I were to tell him that his daughter and daughter-in-law had together murdered Prince Nadzic of Veribias. He would of course have to continue as if that were not the case, but he would know that I, and possibly my Empress, might later use the truth against him. Contrast that with my reassuring him that no blame accrued to his daughter for her husband’s death.”

Mila looked thoughtful. “Then tell him the latter, Lord Valentin.”

Timing his regretful headshake to a nicety, Valentin said, “Ah, but imagine my position if new information was to come to light clearly contradicting my account. I would look like either a liar or a fool. If I know the full truth I can reassure the king appropriately.”

“I see.” They had reached the conservatory door by now, and Mila paused, hand on the knocker.  There was no resemblance to Beold now. “What Isobel told you is the truth, Lord Valentin. It is not the whole truth, but I have promised her not to tell you the rest.”

“Neither of you are served by keeping secrets from me, princess.”

“Yes, I am beginning to think that.” She gave him a measuring look as she opened the door.

This time, the king had assembled his entire cabinet; seventeen men stood around the room. Cassius saw Valentin enter and nodded to him.

“Lord Cassius, welcome back to Karolas. I hope your news is good,” said Lupe, sitting on a red and gold chair set slightly away from the others.

It was Ludo who responded. “Brother, we have spoken to Prince Ranaz. The Veribians demand that we surrender Princess Isobel to face justice, and that reparations be made for the death of their crown prince. If we fail to comply, they will storm Karolas and take the princess by force.” His voice was neutral as he recounted this.

King Lupe leaned forward. “What of their army? Is Karolas in danger?”

“Of course not; your men will fight to the last and repel these invaders from our shore.”

“Lord Cassius?” Lupe asked.

Cassius shifted his weight from one side to the other, choosing his words in a way that clearly annoyed Prince Ludo. “On the beach they have the advantage, but they will have to cross open ground to reach Karolas, and should be easier to subdue once the terrain allows the Ilasian cavalry and Jovani legionaries to fight to their strengths.”

Running his hand across the back of his neck, Lupe said, “Would Ranaz or his generals agree with your interpretation?”

Again, Cassius weighed his answer.  “They did not, I think, anticipate that Ilas would have assistance repelling their attack. They counted on your being unable to recall the bulk of your troops from the New Continent.”

“I see. But still they demand Princess Isobel?”

“They shall bleed for their insolence,” interjected Prince Ludo.

Lupe nodded. “It is insolence. I will release you back to your armies, Prince, Lord Cassius. You must advise them of our refusal of their terms in the strongest way possible.”

There was a small crease between Cassius’ brows as he inclined his head.

“Yes, my king,” said Ludo triumphantly.

They did not intend to stay for dinner. Valentin caught Cassius as he was leaving. “Troubled, brother?” he said.

“Just tired,” said Cassius. “Unnecessary bloodshed exhausts me.”

“Hardly unnecessary. Just think if it were Princess Adelais. You would fight then.”

After a moment, Cassius replied, “Yes, but I would not be deaf to offers of a peaceful solution.”

Valentin stopped and put his hand on Cassius’ arm to halt him too. “Has there been an offer of peace?”

“I think… that if King Lupe were to offer a price, in compensation for the termination of the marriage between Prince Nadzic and Princess Isobel, and the failure of Princess Isobel to secure the Veribian royal line before the crown prince’s death, that such a payment would be accepted. If it were generous.”

“Did Ranaz make the offer?”

“All but. And I suspect he had reason to believe that King Lupe would also want this settled quietly. He hinted—that there was some dishonour accruing to the princess’ conduct in her marriage.” Cassius rubbed his eyes and pushed sweaty hair back from his brow. “For a man who has only seen battle from the tower of his castle, Prince Ludo is bloodthirsty. I have to go and try and save as many Jovani lives as I can.”

Valentin nodded and put his hand on Cassius’ shoulder. “I too will do what I can.”

He received a grateful smile, then Cassius was gone.

After dinner, Valentin wandered back to his room, lost in thought. A servant had tidied away his belongings and set a fire in the grate and candles around the room. His window looked out towards the east, from which direction the Veribian threat came. Valentin gazed absently over the plain, then his eyes drifted downwards, wandering over the shadowed trees and hedges of the palace garden. There was a full moon, and torches burned at regular intervals, so Valentin could almost see the shape and colour of individual plants.

He realised that there were two figures in the garden. They came together and held hands. The shorter one drew the taller close, and as their lips met and their silhouettes merged into one, Valentin realised who they must be.