Eugenides evidently shared the baron’s contempt for his older son. He made no secret of his dislike for Dite. Nor did Dite bother to conceal his contempt for the king. The king insulted Dite with barbaric directness. Dite’s responses were more subtle, in the Attolian fashion, and no less cutting. The song was only the most recent example.

“I have heard that the king taunts him almost as much as he baits you.”

“He must think it’s safe. The Baron Erondites isn’t going to complain on Dite’s behalf.”

The next morning, the king was almost crisp in his practice moves, but clearly many miles away in his thoughts. Costis wondered if he was thinking of Dite. Someone had been whistling the tune to “The King’s Wedding Night” in the training yard that morning. The delicate unmistakable notes had trickled into silence as the king arrived. He must have heard them, but he’d made no sign. Costis sighed in contempt, and the king’s wooden sword skipped over the top of Costis’s guard and knocked him hard in the temple.

Costis backpedaled automatically in a defensive crouch in case of further attack, but the king had lowered his sword and was standing still, looking exasperated.

“Ice!” he shouted in the direction of the boys watching from along the wall, and one of them scampered away.

Costis’s head was ringing and one half of the world looked oddly bright and dark at the same time. He had a hand cupping the pain, but still held the practice sword in the other. The king gently tugged it away. Costis put both hands over his face. It hurt.

“I’m sorry,” said the king.

“My fault,” Costis gasped politely.

There was a crowd forming around them. “Let me see it.”

Costis lowered his hand and the king reached up to turn his head. “Can you see out of that eye?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You’re sure? Cover the other eye.”

Costis did as he was told. The world still looked odd. The figures around him were limned with darkness, but clear.

“It was the flat.” Teleus spoke from somewhere out of Costis’s line of sight.

The king sighed. “It was the edge,” he said. “Gods’ love, Costis, served by a swing in prime. How embarrassing for both of us.”

It was embarrassing. Hitting your opponent in the face while sparring wasn’t supposed to happen. Hitting him with the edge of the wooden sword instead of the flat was even worse. But being hit by a swinging stroke in prime by an inept one-handed opponent was the depths of humiliation. Costis sighed.

“My fault, Your Majesty.”

“Yes, it was,” the king agreed affably. Costis looked up sharply and found the king smiling pleasantly for a change. “My fault, too,” he said apologetically. “I lost my temper.”

When the boy came back with ice from the kitchens wrapped in a cloth, Costis put it against his face.

“Go lie down,” said the king. “Teleus can take you off the duty schedule today.”

“I’ll be fine, Your Majesty.”

“Of course you will. Enjoy your day off.”

Costis would have protested again, but his face hurt, and the idea of a day off was a temptation.

“That’s better,” said the king. “Keep up that obedient attitude, Lieutenant, and you could be Captain of the Guard someday. It’s true, the queen would never have you, but we could both be assassinated, and you could be captain to my heir. Don’t give up hope just because chances are slim.”

“For the assassination or the heir, Your Majesty?” asked Costis.

There was silence.

Costis looked up, hearing too late what he’d said and realizing to whom he had said it.

The king was openmouthed with surprise. So were a number of people nearby.

Costis lifted his other hand to his eyes, and didn’t realize that the laughter he heard was coming from the king.

“Costis, you’re picking up bad habits from my attendants. You aren’t even half cocked on unwatered wine as an excuse. Shall we blame it on the pain in your head?”

“Please, Your Majesty. I am sorry if—”

“Not at all,” said the king, “not at all.” He lifted the ice away from Costis’s face to check the bruising one more time. “But why would I worry at all about assassination when I have such a stout Guard to defend me?”

He patted Costis gently on the shoulder and left.

In spite of its poor beginning, Costis did enjoy his day off. Teleus made him lie down in his room for most of the morning, until they were both sure the blow hadn’t affected his eyesight. By that time, Costis was starving and looking forward to a leisurely midday meal. He hadn’t put his bottom on a bench to eat at midday since he had begun serving with the king.

He thought he would eat alone, but there was a crowd still in the mess, and they waved him to join them. He swung a leg over the bench and sat down to find himself surrounded by amused faces.

“A swing in prime?” someone said.

He tried to brazen it out. “I had to let him hit me sometime.”

In silence they weighed this. Then they laughed in his face.

That evening, as usual since the wedding, the king and queen dined with their court. Ornon, the Ambassador from Eddis, was there as a matter of diplomatic etiquette. He was not a happy man. After dinner, the tables would be cleared away and there would be dancing. The queen and king would dance first, then the queen would retire to her throne, and the king would politely circulate through the room, returning to sit with her from time to time. Without fail, Ornon could predict that the king would dance with the wrong people, the wallflowers, the younger daughters of weak barons, nieces and unmarried older women of no importance. He would pass over the older daughters presented to him and the women of the powerful families with whom he was supposed to be forming alliances. It wasn’t through ignorance that he erred. Ornon had told him often which women to dance with, but the king claimed he couldn’t remember. Ornon thought it more likely that the king had reached his limit and refused to force himself through one more politically motivated performance.

Not looking forward to the rest of his evening, Ornon picked at his dinner and wondered why he had ever thought it would be amusing to watch the Thief of Eddis suffer. That he was suffering was indisputable. In the beginning the young king had answered the subtle and not-so-subtle Attolian insults and condescensions with private jokes of his own. Because the Attolians considered only themselves capable of subtlety, they missed his ripostes entirely or took his more cutting comments as accidents. Ornon had bitten his tongue on more than one occasion. He was willing to admit, if only to himself, that glaring at the king on these occasions had been a mistake. Not only did it further incite Eugenides, but it had convinced the Attolians that the Ambassador for Eddis at the court of Attolia had little respect for the king, which only contributed to their contempt.

The Attolians were mistaken. Ornon had the greatest respect for the Thief of Eddis, much the way he respected the business edge of a sword. He wondered how the Attolians thought Eugenides had managed to become king if he was the idiot they assumed him to be. Perhaps because they had never seen him as the Thief, with his head thrown back and a glint in his eye that made the hair on the back of a man’s neck rise up. The Attolians had only seen this new and uncomfortable king. Ornon himself wondered what had become of the Thief. Ornon had seen no sign of that character in Eugenides since the wedding.