By the time our loot has been loaded onto the ships and our people have returned, switching back to the discipline of an army, the night has fallen. Most fires have been put out and the city stands grim and silent under the moonlight. Broken glass gleams in some of the windows, soot stained roofs alternate with empty areas where houses have collapsed. Scrapes of dirty clouds still litter the sky. Amongst them, the huge pale moon stands high, pitilessly spilling its light on the destruction.

The castle yard has been cleaned and is now illuminated by torches. More of them are mounted on the walls in the passages, and inside the great hall.

A crowd of about a hundred people stands there, quietly awaiting us.

There's no shifting or chit-chat that usually accompanies large gatherings of people. All the nobles and the members of their families have been gathered to see us leave, to see their king's humiliation and to learn their lesson. My people walk among them like herdsmen among the sheep, which probably accounts for the silence. Even the few small children I see in their mothers' arms are quiet, probably having had cried their fill already.

King Bawdrick is sitting on his throne, surrounded by his family members, advisors and pages. I can only imagine what it takes for him to look so composed after the day he's had. He's not a young man, and he looks even older now than he did in the morning.

As I and my entourage come closer, my eyes gravitate to the young woman standing next to the king. Unlike the rest of them, she doesn't wear red or black, but a sky-blue dress. Its folds hug her curves quite flatteringly. She meets my eyes with a smile, so different from the grim expression on the rest of the faces, and raises a hand to adjust her pearls-decorated hair.

This must be Cleareta, trying to make me change my mind.

We stop in front of the throne, two dozen armed men facing a similar number of unarmed nobles surrounding their king. After a pause, Bawdrick gets heavily to his feet, probably sensing that it would be unwise to leave me to stand alone.

On my cue, Sagaristio steps out, unrolls a parchment and begins to read. His naturally strong voice reaches far in the huge silent hall as he lists all the sanctions and penalties to be imposed on the kingdom of Lotinen.

I watch Bawdrick as the document reaches the part where the alliance by marriage is mentioned. There're some shuffles and whispers in the crowd, but his face remains expressionless. I glance left and right but I can't see the young prince anywhere. That's interesting.

Sagaristio finishes his reading and takes a step back, leaving me to stand in front of my men, facing Bawdrick and his entourage.

"Twenty percent tax raise," Bawdrick repeats thoughtfully.

I nod. Combined with all the damage we have caused to their capital, they'll be busy recovering for a good decade before they could even think of disobeying me again.

"I have a counter proposal," he says.

I raise an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"We'll increase our payments by fifty percent." An unanimous gasp comes from the crowd, but Bawdrick doesn't budge. "What do you say?"

I smile. "I'm not a mathematician, but even I can tell that fifty is more than twenty. What do you want in exchange?"

"My son," he says, simply. "Your proposition of marrying him is alien to our culture. We know such things happen where you live, but to us, it's outrageous. Please, take our offering of fifty percent increase in taxes, and take Cleareta as a wife, and let's have this thing settled."

He takes a step towards me—I can sense the men behind me tense—but all he does is offer me his hand. His daughter smiles at me enticingly. She's a beauty, for sure. Yet I have quite a few beauties in my palace, one from each of the mainland kingdoms and tribes that I and my predecessors have subdued. I've had male lovers, but none among my official wives, and given how proud Lotinen is, I'll feel like I'm fucking their whole kingdom if I get their prince in my bed.

Which appeals to me very much.

On the other hand, fifty percent is indeed considerably more than twenty.

"I want to see him," I say.

Bawdrick stares at me heavily before glancing back over his shoulder and giving a sharp nod. There's shuffling of feet and rustling of clothes as people move to the sides. A few seconds later, a young man steps out from among them and comes to stand by his father.

He's not as tall as Bawdrick, and, frankly, bears no resemblance to him at all. He's like the girl in a blue dress, though—the same heart-shaped face and fair hair, although in his case it's falling down to his shoulders instead of being gathered into her pearls-laced hairdo. He's wearing a red tunic decorated with golden lacework, black trousers, and a fur embellished cloak around his shoulders. Apart from his high cheek bones and a sharp little chin, now set in a stubborn way, his other features still bear some of the softness of the childhood he has only recently left behind. There's a certain ambiguity about his looks—he could be twenty or sixteen, he could be a boy or a girl in a different set of clothes.

I smile to myself. Maybe I should try that with him. Make him dress like a girl.

I can tell that Bawdrick doesn't like my smile, and neither does the prince. He meets my gaze, and I'm briefly taken aback by the fierce hatred burning in his large emerald eyes.

"What's your name?" I say.

"None of your business," he snaps.

Gasps and whispers come from the crowd, as if a swarm of bees has just entered the hall. Bawdrick looks at his son in horror, then at me. His shock seems only to increase when I begin to laugh.

"I'll take him," I say. "And I want that fifty percent tax raise, too."

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