Issuing orders and directing the hectic preparations take the larger part of the following hour. The cannon shot must have been a signal for the enemy. The ships aren't approaching yet, but there's more activity on their decks. They're preparing, too.

Servants bring my plate armor and help me don it in my room. They move about me as I snap at them impatiently, anxious to finally join Techo. I must get to the forefront of the action, make sure they get nowhere near our shores. This should be the most important day of my life—the day I triumph over our enemies and protect the legacy of my fathers.

Yet, ridiculously, my thoughts keep returning to Emilio. My mind keeps slipping into the whirlpool of memories and questions. Was it all fake? He must have been laughing at me all this time, like Bawdrick and his real son did. Their whole court must have been laughing at me for months.

I growl with frustration, and the servant securing my breastplate glances up anxiously.

"Hurry up," I snap.

Sagaristio walks in. He stops in the door, taking most of the doorway in his metal outfit, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He looks me over and nods approvingly.

"Ready?"

We go down the stairs, out armor clanging, and then across the courtyard, to the place where the horses and our people are waiting. Yet before we reach them, I stop in my tracks. This won't do. My mind is in turmoil. To concentrate, I must clear it up.

"Wait for me," I say to Sagaristio who turns to me, bewildered. "I must finish something first."

The dungeons are blissfully cool after the heat outside. I doubt its occasional occupants appreciate it, though, since what at first seems like pleasant coolness quickly starts feeling like freezing cold. It reaches your bones as quickly as the lack of sunlight and the quiet gets on your nerves.

I go down two flight of crooked stone stairs illuminated by the torches on the walls. Only one cell is currently occupied on this level. At my approach, its guard reaches for his sword before bowing his head as he recognizes me.

I wait for him to unlock the door, and then I step inside.

Emilio is sitting on the floor, hugging his knees. He lifts his head and squints at me, temporarily blinded by what little light the open door lets in. It must have been pitch black here before I came, with no windows and only a couple of hidden ventilation vents under the ceiling.

"I have questions," I say, securing the torch in the sconce on the wall.

He shifts a little. There's no more tears or hysterical shaking, as if he's got no resources left to fear or struggle.

"What..." His voice comes out rusty, either from crying or from having been nearly choked by me. He pauses to clear his throat. "What do you want to know?"

I watch him for a moment in the unsteady light, trying to see the real him—not the prince that I thought him to be, but just some...

"Whore," I say. "You're a whore."

He gives a one shoulder shrug. "Yes, we've established that."

"You're lucky I haven't slept with you yet. I would have killed you instantly if I had."

"You've sucked my cock once," he says matter-of-factly.

Blood rushes to my face, and my hand instinctively clutches the hilt of my sword. I have all but forgotten about that. Now, in the light of what I know about him, the humiliation of what I did strikes me with full force.

"Why does it bother you so much?" He tilts his head to one shoulder, watching me almost curiously. "I'm just a man who's had lovers before. You couldn't have expected for me to be a virgin. You even didn't hold what's happened with Messenio against me—in fact, you were very kind about it."

"I thought you were raped," I snap. "Turns out it was just another day at work for you."

"Trust me, it wasn't." The sudden edge in his voice takes me briefly aback, and I look away.

"I couldn't hold against you what wasn't your fault."

"You mean, everything else was?" He frowns. "Being born in a brothel—was that my fault? Forced to sell my body from the age other boys still played with their toys—was that my fault? Or perhaps being forced to accompany you, to save the real Emilio the disgrace?"

I scowl at him. "Do you expect sympathy?"

"I don't know!" His eyes blaze as he looks at me. "Maybe I do!"

"I'm not here to talk about your childhood."

"Then what do you want?"

I watch him, wondering what is it that I want. I ache with the ridiculous need to find out the truth, to learn whether there was anything between us that was genuine and good. It shouldn't matter, since I know now that he's so below me there could never be anything between us. At the same time, it feels hideous to know that the closeness I thought has developed between us lately has only been my imagination combined with his acting skills.

Yet what will he say if I ask? Of course, he will pretend it was real. There's no way for me to judge if he's being truthful or is simply trying to save his hide.

"I can't believe anything you say now. I don't even know who you are. Is there even such a thing as the real you, or do you just change in accordance to what's expected of you?"

He blinks at me, then lowers his gaze.

I shake my head. This is useless. This interrogation leads nowhere. My kingdom is in danger and I'm wasting my time talking to this dirty streetwalker. I search my mind for some words of goodbye, and then stop myself. He doesn't deserve them.

I turn away, just in time to see the door of the cell slam shut in front of me and hear the key turn in the lock.

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