Theo had a knot in his stomach when he was sent out into the thickly forested countryside to inform King Henri of the impending state visit to Ilworth.

  He had been sent, as always, by Her Highness, the Queen Mother, to Le Roumont, where the king was visiting Diane, who had just had her much-publicised first son. His name was to be Henri Fitzroy — Henri, son of the king, and so the king himself would not let the spectacle pass without showing his own face.

  Le Roumont was a bonafide borderland, not for its location today, but rather to its rocky history of capture and conquest, and the hostility of its history resounded in the landscape. The mountains dwarfed the little red carriage, blue-torched, as it made its way through the winding roads that connected Le Roumont to the rest of the known world. Its peaks were wrapped in snow and the trees were all pines, and though Theo had left with fair weather, at this altitude it was a bitter cold.

  The knot in his stomach had little to do with the location or even his quest to seek King Henri. Though Theo hailed from Sainte-Vallac, which was nearer to the Baradran seat of power Dos Lunas than it was to Souchon Palace, and therefore preferred the heat over the cold, part of his education had led him to exchange the slow life of the south with the treachery of the thick woods in the east of Massouron. It had not come naturally to him, but he had made the deep green colour of this particular abyss part of the palette he painted with.

  It had a different character altogether: since Louise abdicated, his primary duty was to advise Henri. His loyalty to Louise, being of a personal nature rather than a professional one, made him malleable to her. The shape he ended up in, the positions he was asked to take, were hardly the shapes and positions most favourable to Henri. There was always a chance he would figure Theo out, discontinue his position, or worse…

  His arrival was anticipated by the steward and chamberlain, who received him in a clearing nearby the estate. They expressed their surprise at Theo arriving alone. Nonetheless, he was brought to the great hall, where only a fire awaited him.

  Theo stood uncomfortably in the middle of it, unsure of whether to take place at the table on the dais, or whether this would be unbecoming. Instead, he attempted to pass the time by looking at the tapestries on the wall that showed the historic battle that made Le Roumont into a name that everyone in Massouron and beyond knew. It was already beginning to turn yellow with age, the iron of the chainmail turning bronze and the horses’ deep rosewood coats bleeding.

  A few footsteps caught his attention by the banisters. Henri had sauntered in, head to toe in royal purple, and wearing a cap. ‘All alone?’ he asked. ‘Mother couldn’t come?’

  Theo frowned. ‘Had you been told Her Highness would come?’ he asked. ‘Your mother has business in Souchon, as she so often does.’

  Henri stood so high above him, pacing behind the banisters, that it was impossible for Theo to read the expression on his face, hidden by the shadows of the dimly lit estate. He peered down on Theo with some disdain likely stemming from impatience rather than any real animosity towards him.

  ‘So?’ he asked. ‘What brings you, alone, to Le Roumont? Fear I’d stay here to start my life anew as a backwater duke with the woman you don’t want me to marry?’

  ‘There’s something more to it,’ Theo began, shifting his weight from his toes to his heels and back again. ‘Come summer, possibly the largest showcase of cultural exchange of this century shall be taking place. Sultan Selim, ruler of the Sbai Empire, will visit Ilworth. It appears to be a product of an alliance strengthened under our roof, my lord. While we have housed the Queen of Ilworth and Otterdon Island in order to strengthen the alliance that she has with us, it appears she has drawn the eye of those who could potentially be of great use to us. Instead, we have bet on the Baradrans — looking back, an unfortunate choice.’

  Henri shook his head in confusion. ‘So? What is it you want from me? Let’s use this as an opportunity to stop bitching about the marriage terms and get Katherine and I hitched already. Then it matters not whether it’s myself or her who does the strengthening. What’s good for gander will be good for goose. Good for her, Theo, I hope whoever is strengthening that alliance is making good use of her many talents.’

  ‘It’s not unlikely,’ Theo said offhandedly and scoffed. ‘We would like to have you present in Norbury Castle in order to make a fair impression on the imperial court. Of course, we will do the talking, it’ll just appear strange to arrive there without a king. It appears you’ll need to return with me today if you wish to make it in time, and learn a word of Sbaian. Your betrothed apparently can write whole letters in the language.’

  Finally, Henri answered Theo’s silent prayers by descending the stairs. He stepped hurriedly an with his arms crossed, and Theo worried Henri may trip over himself.

  ‘Listen,’ Henri ordered, waving his index finger at him, ‘I don’t give a flying fuck about these goddamned sand eating heretics. Katherine can have them. Let’s focus on what’s actually important: just get us married and this whole ordeal will be over.’

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  The truth was that Theo also did not understand why that knot had been tied yet. It had lay with Louise and there the question still resided, unanswered, in that brooding way that Louise kept questions unanswered when the answer would not yet please anyone but herself. The truth was yet to land. There was no answer that Theo could give that was truthful.

  ‘The terms are horrific,’ Theo lied.

  ‘All that matters to me is to leave this behind us,’ Henri retorted. ‘Besides, now we’re even. She has a bastard she wishes to legitimise. I have a bastard I wish to legitimise. Now we are both beggars who cannot be choosers. Let us just share our coffers and that’s that.’

  Theo scraped his throat and looked at the tiles. ‘I was worried it would come to this,’ he said. ‘Your mother ordered you to come.’

  Henri was brought to stillness at once. ‘Fine,’ he said, his hands finding one another behind his back. ‘If mother considers it wise, so it will be.’

  The two eldest sons of the Sultan, Murad and Mehmet, were difficult to distinguish even by their closest family, even if they did not share their mother. Their mothers were both Najan slaves, brought to the Sbai Empire by the previous Duke of Tougaf, whose reputation was even more glimmering than the reputation of his son Freyza would be some thirty years after Murad and Mehmet were born.

  This half-Najan descent gave both men fair blue eyes and a colour of hair that was such a pale shade of brown that it shimmered blond in the light. They were born close to one another and had grown up with one another as their primary playmate. Through their youth, the boys remained close but their personalities and roles diverged strongly in their adolescence. Whereas Murad was inquisitive, assertive, agile in battle, and quick-tongued, Mehmet had in him a spirit of great justice, compassion for the less fortunate and a surprisingly streak of unfeeling cold when it came to decision-making.

  Some said these differences could be explained by the day in May in which either boy was born. No matter the cause, it was obvious to the imperial court that one day, Mehmet would be slain in the succession of his brother, Murad.

  This appeared not to make an impression on either of them, as they were still inseparable even in adulthood, even if their father did indeed grow ever more fragile. Their role in the state visit was simple: to begin a diplomatic relationship with the Ilworthians now the thoughtful and calm Mehmet could still temper his fiery brother. The Ilworthians had been responsible for the arrival of palaces full of bronze and tin, after all, and losing the alliance so carefully curated by their father if he were to pass, would bring on the tedious affair of seeking it again.

  There was a subsidiary goal, at least for Murad. His father had long sung the praises of the Ilworthian queen, her precious handwriting, the constrained command of the Sbaian language with just enough flair to betray her Baradran heritage, the reported shade of her ginger hair, her small stature when compared to her siblings and father in the portrait painted of them together in her youth. Truth be told, Murad was more interested in the scandal behind it all. Either way, though it had been ill-advised, he wondered whether it could be his doing to solidify the new alliance with these strange, redheaded northerners, and turn it into the type of agreement that one can sign.

  When they left for the port, together as always, Mehmet was learning about the culture and customs of the people, and Murad cut wood into figurines.

  ‘Did father tell you about the joust?’ Mehmet asked all of a sudden, his leg bouncing nervously as his foot lay upon the opposite knee.

  ‘Joust?’ Murad asked.

  ‘M-hm. A sport, or rather a type of tournament, that these people appear to enjoy. Two men, each on their respective horse, ride down an alley in opposite directions carrying a lance, and they both attempt to unseat one another. Freyza told me one of these tournaments is being prepared in our honour.’

  Murad clicked his tongue. ‘Father’s honour,’ he said.

  Mehmet shrugged. ‘Still — it appears to be the sort of thing that you enjoy.’

  ‘Freyza of Tougaf would set himself on fire and fight a bear to the death for father’s honour,’ Murad said. ‘It is not the least bit impressive to see a man grovel using whatever colourful customs he can muster up. From what I hear, he shall leave the Sbaian embassy as soon as a fitting position opens up in Ilworth.’

  Mehmet gazed knowingly at his brother. ‘Well… you may enjoy it for its own sake. And besides, if you wish to ingratiate yourself with the queen, and Lord Freyza takes a job there, wouldn’t you be treating yourself to a life full of a man you despise?’

  ‘Any sane man would have him exiled or killed,’ said Murad bluntly. ‘Why do you think he lives in Massouron these days? Father no longer wished for his presence as the Sword. Not that the man from Amouas was any better, but at least he had the dignity not to be sycophantic.’

  ‘We are princes. Men with less fortune do not become immortal, mountain-moving figures without having to be sycophantic for something. If Lord Freyza wishes to grovel to grow the honour of our regime, are we not mad to judge him?’

  Impatiently, Murad looked out of the window and sighed. ‘You may be right, but I find the fact that we are to treat these little kings and queens of countries the size of mere duchies, with any sort of respect, rather irritating. The fact that Lord Freyza treats them as such, to get them to host these sorts of things… it boils my blood. They ought to know they are below us.’

  Now, Mehmet clicked his tongue. ‘It’ll irritate you too, that the sun sets on Ilworth far later than it sets on our empire. Calm yourself. We are invited to prove that we are a sophisticated people, not that we harbour great irritation — even if we perhaps do. Do you think the ambassadors think otherwise? Do you think Freyza does not consider himself at the same rank as the king and the queen of these fields of grass?’

  He sucked his teeth. ‘If I had the choice of standing in the light of your wisdom, or remaining in the dark, I would pad my turban, so any confrontation with the wall that I would miss due to the darkness would be far less painful.’