‘I thought the Prince didn’t like paint,’ said Damen.
‘He doesn’t,’ said Radel.
It was the custom of the Veretian nobility to dress in subdued splendour, distinguishing themselves from the garish brightness of the pets, on whom they lavished their greatest displays of wealth. It meant that Damen, cast in gold and escorted through the double doors at the end of a leash, could be mistaken for nothing but what he was. In the crowded chamber, he stood out.
So did Laurent. His bright head was instantly recognisable. Damen’s gaze fixed on him. Left and right, the courtiers were falling silent and stepping back, clearing a path to the throne.
A red carpet stretched from the double doors to the dais, woven with hunting scenes and apple trees and a border of acanthus. The walls were draped in tapestries, where the same rich red predominated. The throne was swathed in the same colour.
Red, red, red. Laurent clashed.
Damen felt his thoughts scattering. Concentration was keeping him upright. His back ached and throbbed.
He forcibly detached his gaze from Laurent, and turned it to the director of whatever public spectacle was now about to unfold. At the end of the long carpet, the Regent sat on the throne. In his left hand, resting across his knee, he held a golden sceptre of office. And behind him, in full robes of state, was the Veretian Council.
The Council was the seat of Veretian power. In the days of King Aleron, the Council’s role had been to advise on matters of state. Now the Regent and Council held the nation in stewardship until Laurent’s ascension. Comprised of five men and no women, the Council was arrayed in a formidable backdrop on the dais. Damen recognised Audin and Guion. A third man he knew from his extreme age to be Councillor Herode. The others must therefore be Jeurre and Chelaut, though he could not tell one from the other. All five wore their medallions around their necks, the mark of their office.
Also on the dais standing slightly back from the throne, Damen saw Councillor Audin’s pet, the child, done up even more garishly than Damen. The only reason Damen outdid him in sheer volume of gilt was because, being several times the little boy’s size, he had substantially more skin available to act as canvas.
A herald called out Laurent’s name, and all of his titles.
Walking forward, Laurent joined Damen and his handler in their approach. Damen was starting to view the carpet as an endurance trial. It was not just the presence of Laurent. The correct series of prostrations before the throne seemed specifically designed to ruin a week’s worth of healing. Finally it was done.
Damen knelt, and Laurent bent his knee the appropriate amount.
From the courtiers lining the chamber, Damen heard one or two murmured comments about his back. He supposed that set against the gold paint, it looked rather gruesome. That, he realised suddenly, was the point.
The Regent wanted to discipline his nephew, and, with the Council behind him, had chosen to do it in public.
A public flogging, Damen had said.
‘Uncle,’ said Laurent.
Straightening, Laurent’s posture was relaxed and his expression was undisturbed, but there was something subtle in the set of his shoulders that Damen recognised. It was the look of a man settling in for a fight.
‘Nephew,’ said the Regent. ‘I think you can guess why we are here.’
‘A slave laid hands on me and I had him flogged for it.’ Calmly.
‘Twice,’ said the Regent. ‘Against my orders. The second time, against the advice that it might lead to his death. Almost, it did.’
‘He’s alive. The advice was incorrect.’ Again, calmly.
‘You were also advised of my order: that in my absence the slave wasn’t to be touched,’ said the Regent. ‘Search your memory. You’ll find that advice was accurate. Yet you ignored it.’
‘I didn’t think you’d mind. I know you are not so subservient towards Akielos that you would want the slave’s actions to go unpunished just because he is a gift from Kastor.’
The blue-eyed composure was faultless. Laurent, Damen thought with contempt, was good at talking. He wondered if the Regent was regretting doing this in public. But the Regent did not look perturbed, or even surprised. Well, he would be used to dealing with
Laurent.
‘I can think of several reasons why you should not have a King’s gift beaten almost to death immediately after the signing of a treaty. Not the least because I ordered it. You claim to have administered a just punishment. But the truth is different.’
The Regent gestured, and a man stepped forward.
‘The Prince offered me a gold coin if I could flog the slave to death.’
It was the moment when sympathy palpably swung away from Laurent. Laurent, realising it, opened his mouth to speak, but the Regent cut him off.