Just as Greg had hoped, Duke Desmarais sent the messenger back with an invitation for tea. David’s interview was long over by then. “Good luck,” he said. And then he left with Nathan to deal with the unsettled werewolves in the cells.

Grooch didn’t seem to mind that he was being left alone with a werewolf. He was quite happily showing Greg all his ledgers, the reports from Rust’s group, and all the journals from the university. Mr. Howell pitched in with an overview on the press situation and then both in unisono moaned about all the grief the paper money was causing them, from outright forgeries to the trouble of administering a working system of recourse.

“We should have a clerk just for this job, better two,” Grooch sighed. “And at least one auditor to visit the camps.”

All in all, Greg felt he was fairly well prepared by the time he went to call on the duke. Still, he was shaking with nerves as he presented himself. The two guards standing outside in the corridor didn’t help calm him. At least they didn’t carry silver.

Even without silver weapons, this whole experiment might have taken a rather unpleasant turn here for him, had the butler greeting him recognized what he was. Fortunately, the man led him through the little waiting room and into the office proper right away.

The duke, however, took one look at him and said:

“You’re the werewolf.”

“Your Highness.” Greg bowed in reply.

He could feel the servant’s stare in his back, and heard him stutter: “Your—Your Highness—should I call…”

The man trailed off when Duke Desmarais raised his hand. He thought for a moment, clearly choosing his words with care. “I expected your brother. But take a seat, Lord Feleke. I take it you were the one who sent the message?”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Greg said, breathless with relief. “You are too kind.”

He had hoped—he’d been fairly certain—the duke wouldn’t turn him away, but he hadn’t quite dared to hope he’d address him by his proper title. And in front of a witness, too.

He had to fight down a mad grin as he picked one of the plush armchairs. There were four of them, forming a little seating group around a coffee table almost overflowing with the duke’s usual generosity when it came to food. Today, it was all sweet: tiny cakes, candied fruits, biscuits, pastries, chocolates and a plenty of things that Greg didn’t even recognize.

“Have some tea,” Desmarais said, settling down himself. “And some cake. Or would you prefer something savoury?”

“Not at all,” Greg said. He waited until the duke helped himself, then filled one of the offered little plates with confections.

Desmarais watched him try one of the round little chocolate balls. When Greg involuntarily smiled, he shook his head. “Who’d have thought a werewolf would have a sweet tooth.”

“We enjoy sweet treats just as much as anyone else, Your Highness,” Greg replied. “It’s just really hard to get sugar in the wilds. I was lucky Pierre’s pack had access to honey. It was the only thing they could feed me after that other she-wolf tried to rip my throat out.”

Desmarais smiled wryly. “Reminding me how much you risked for all of us, huh? Well, I suppose I knew you weren’t calling on me to catch up. Out with it then. What brings you here?”

“I’m actually here to talk about food,” Greg said.

“Well, colour me surprised. I do enjoy talking about that. What do you need?”

“David intends to bring several werewolves into the palace this coming half moon,” Greg explained. “The prince has been asking to meet us, and I’m sure you are aware that he’s not the only one interested in seeing a ‘real life werewolf.’ I suppose I don’t count,” he added, which earned him a chuckle.

“You do sometimes make it rather hard to believe. But I fail to see the issue?”

“The interest being what it is, and with war looming above us, it does not seem sufficient to start small and slow,” Greg explained. “So what we would like to do is a little garden party. Bring in the whole pack from Windish, but keep it in the fresh air so they won’t feel crowded. Give the werewolves room and the court an opportunity to meet them. However, with our current budget, the best we could manage for refreshments would be some soup, perhaps some bread. Which doesn’t seem quite—appropriate, given the situation.”

Duke Desmarais helped himself to another piece of cake. “I’m aware of your current budget,” he said slowly. “I find it hard to believe that a bit of soup is the best you could manage with that. Where’s all that money going? Last I was informed, your brother only employs two scribes. His monthly allotment should allow him to host a feast every other week with what is left.”

“Your Highness, are you aware how many werewolves my brother’s office is supervising right now?”

“I’m reckoning a few hundred?”

“Quite so. And each one of them receives what they call the ‘new moon special’—one silver worth in paper vouchers. That bonus, being the only payment the werewolves fighting for Loegrion currently receive, has proven a positive influence not only on morale, but also recruitment. Obviously, when my brother’s budget was drawn up, nobody expected that werewolves would be audacious enough to demand payment beyond food and clothes, but here we are. Once you detract the new moon special, there’s just about enough left to pay the two secretaries that make up the total of his staff and the newspapers David gifts the werewolves in the cells.”

Desmarais stopped eating to stare at him.

“David has brought up the issue with Duke Stuard,” Greg went on. “And I’ll be pressing the matter, too. But I doubt we’ll work out the details within the next few days, so I’m here to ask you, Your Highness, as lord of this castle, for your help in getting something decent out of the kitchens. Something that’ll impress on the werewolves that we do feel grateful for their help, and something the lords and ladies will enjoy.”

Desmarais chewed industriously on his cake, swallowed, and suddenly smiled. “And if I do help you with that, I’ll condone in the same action the fact that your brother is spending most of the money he’s been alloted on this ‘new moon special’ rather than human employees. Quite clever.”

Well, it had been too much to ask for the duke to miss that part.

So Greg said: “Thank you. I even think you should raise the special. No soldier would ever risk his life for a single silver per month. You don’t want your regular troops to fear they might be replaced by cheaper werewolves, do you? Especially not right now?”

“Don’t cut yourself,” Duke Desmarais warned. He dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “I would ask you how a common soldier would ever come to think they might be replaced, but I hear from Duke Stuard that you are quite adept at handling the press, too.”

The duke chased a piece of cake around his plate, chuckling softly to himself. “A simple budgetary allocation. Yet such a complex issue. We allow your brother to pay your fellow werewolves, and we not only have to drum up the money in the future, we also set a precedent that werewolves may own property. Which I’m not saying is a bad thing,” he added, before Greg could defend the point. “But it will upset a lot of people.”

Desmarais looked up to scrutinise Greg. “I suppose my question is why did you bring this issue to me, today. Surely, our soon-to-be king would be equally capable of organising dinner? And it would be him who will have to defend the decision, even if I’m willing to back it up.”

Greg hesitated. George Louis probably wouldn’t like the true reason getting around. But he didn’t owe him anything, did he?

“It seemed rather rude to pass you over,” Greg said. “Especially given the fact that this is in no way the final decision on any of the matters you mentioned. For the moment, it’s just about one meal, and this is your castle, Your Highness. Moreover, this was about my own comfort. I’d have had to wait for David to finish his other duties, since our soon-to-be king is terrified of being alone in the same room as I. It’s not generally conducive to a conversation if one party can barely breathe for panic. Nor would it have been enjoyable for me.”

Desmarais almost spit his tea across the table. “Five frozen hells, you’re serious. What about the summer solstice? He even brought his own werewolf that day.”

“Duke Stuard is capable of quite surprising feats when the crown is on the line. And he does trust in my brother’s skills.” Greg picked up his own tea cup. “He might have talked to me, but I didn’t ask. I knew he certainly wouldn’t invite me in for tea.”

Desmaras chuckled darkly. “I suppose that explains why the Honourable David Feleke constantly looks like he wants to strangle someone when His Grace is around. Mind you, he’s always rather stiff in public. Which is just as well. The ladies are chasing him as it is, if he were more of a conversationalist, Countess deLande might have to worry.”

“Oh, she really doesn’t,” Greg said, and couldn’t quite stop himself from grinning.

“They are quite well matched. I don’t suppose there is a date yet?”

“I don’t think they’ll set a wedding date until the war is over, Your Highness.”

“Of course. Countess deLande did say that already.”

“Just for clarity,” Greg changed the topic, “may I ask if we can count on your support in the upcoming event?”

Desmarais waved at him. “Will my word suffice or do you want something written down?”

“I would never doubt your word, Your Highness. But I would like to have it stated clearly.”

“Ha. You are a smart kid. Fine. Yes, you and your brother can count on my support for your little get together.” Desmarais leaned back and fole his hands over his round stomach. “I have to say, I’m surprised your brother ever sent you into the mountains in the first place, let alone that he did it twice. Clearly, he could have used your help here earlier. You mentioned he is busy. Will he be by later, or is this on your shoulders?”

“Thank you very much, Your Highness. David is currently on his way to Fort Brunich, escorting some werewolves who were released just today. From tomorrow onwards, he’ll be busy settling in the new convicts, so it’ll mostly be me.”

“Splendid. Before you leave, tell me more about what you’re planning,” Desmarais said. “You mentioned a garden party? And please, have some more tea. And cake, have some cake. Or some chocolate. It’s hard enough to get these days. ”

Greg gladly helped himself, and began to explain what he had envisioned. When he left more than an hour later, his pockets were filled with the biscuits the duke had pushed at him. They were quite excellent and made it easier to pretend that he didn’t notice the way the guards were looking at him. The butler had clearly told them about him.

In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised him if the whole palace knew by now that Duke Desmarais had received a werewolf. Hopefully, the word had spread.