George Louis was waiting for him in his office when David returned from his morning round of the cells. Given what Greg had told him after the party last night, David was surprised to see him.

Less surprising was that the duke was sitting in David’s own chair. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he had rifled through all the papers on the desk.

Grooch was nowhere in sight, and the duke made no move to get up. David rolled his eyes and closed the door behind himself, then leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Came to apologise?” he asked. “Or to drag me in front of the firing squad?”

“Oh, shut up, David. I’m not in the mood for what you call humour. You know I won’t have you shot.”

“Mhm. How about Greg? Or Annabelle?”

George Louis hefted the letter opened in one hand as if he was considering to throw it. “They are both unharmed and back where they belong, are they not? So kindly stop pretending I’m some kind of blood-thirsty tyrant. You’ve got a letter from one.”

David ignored that last bit. “Why even sent that note to Greg then? Five minutes before the party?”

“I do not trust them. Excuse me for worrying about my son’s health and well-being.”

“You didn’t warn George, though.”

“I simply did not wish to upset him. If your brother had followed orders, the party would simply have passed. Nothing would have happened.”

“Except for your son’s disappointment. And going back on our word like that doesn’t exactly endear us to Annabelle’s pack, either.”

David paused, looking the duke up and down. “Nothing happened in any case, except that George had a great time.”

George Louis sniffed, still playing with the letter opener. “Fine. Whatever. I overreacted. I’m sorry. Can we get to the issue at hand now? You’ve got a letter from the Emperor!”

He actually said sorry. Huh. “That’s the second time this month you said that word. Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

George Louis finally did throw the opener at him. David caught the long piece of metal without bruising his fingers—which surprised him more than the duke.

“Will you please focus, David?”

David pushed away from the door, to have a look at the envelope the duke held out. It really did bear the seal of the Roi Solei, already broken.

“The Sun King himself?” David turned the envelope over, but it had no markings beyond the seal. “What does he want?”

“Your head.”

“Should I pretend to be surprised?” After he had killed the High Inquisitor he hadn’t exactly expected an order of merit. “Bit of a waste of paper, don’t you think?”

“He’s sending his son to collect it.”

That did give David pause. “He cannot possibly be that stupid.”

“Stupid how?”

David stared down at the heavy paper of the envelope again. Surely, the Roi Solei wouldn’t risk…. “Wait, which son is he sending? Not the crown prince?”

“The very same. Likely a measure to strengthen the prince’s position at court. Recapturing Loegrion, that’s the sort of thing Rambouillet admires.”

Politics, of course. Still. That didn’t seem like a smart move.

“So you want me to kill the prince?” David asked. “Capture him? Sounds like he’d be quite a bargaining chip.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” George Louis sneered, waving the letter. “He’s going to be surrounded by an army at all times. I don’t want you near him. I just wanted you to know that there’s money on your head. They’re making you a scapegoat. The Church has declared you an Enemy of Mithras, there’s general absolution to be had for the man who kills you, and a million gold pieces for anyone looking for a more worldly incentive.”

David froze in reaching for the message itself, pulling up his eyebrows. “One million gold pieces?” he repeated. “For little old me?”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” George Louis growled.

“Well, no,” David admitted. “That number makes me think they aren’t serious, either. There’s no way they’ll pay that much money for my corpse. In fact, I seriously doubt the crown has that much money lying around. They could buy a fleet with that.”

“I would think the number is symbolic, yes, to illustrate how very badly they want you dead. That doesn’t make it less dangerous.”

“How so? If there’s no real money to be had…”

“I bet there’s going to be real money, if not a million gold pieces,” George Louis sighed. “Look, David, the money isn’t the point, anyways. I told you, they’re making you a scapegoat. Any noble who stood with us—even people who fought on our side—if they have second thoughts, all they have to do is murder you, and be welcomed back with open arms, all sins fogiven. Hell, even Desmarais—or at the very least his family—could jump at the offer. This really is dangerous!”

David shrugged. He was trying to take this seriously, he really was. But mostly, he was relieved. This was something he might be able to use, to calm werewolves like Pierre. Show them that he shared the danger. That they weren’t the only ones who had to fear assassins, who risked their lives for Loegrion’s future.

“I’m going to put guards on your door,” Goerge Louis said.

“Don’t.” David smiled grimly. “I might take a healing amulet. But no guards. In fact, I think we should make this letter public.”

George Louis blinked at him. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Think about it,” David said. “The Valoise will make sure this prize on my head gets circulated, otherwise, symbolic or not, what’s the point? So let’s do it first. Show them we don’t fear their hired cutthroats.”

“People’ll attack you at home. Think of your parents!”

David leaned over the desk, looking the duke in the eye. “They already attacked us at home, George. I can ask Mother to go to Courtenay, but I doubt she will. They held a knife to her throat once already, and she didn't run. No. Make it public. Hells, I’ll offer a challenge to anyone who wants that absolution. They can meet me at the duelling court.”

“Now you’ve really lost it,” George Louis sighed.

David grinned at him. As long as it got him out of the bloody office.

George Louis jumped a little when the door opened and Greg walked in. David straightened, too. His brother paused, looking back and forth between them. “Am I interrupting?”

“Tell him he’s crazy.”

“You’re crazy, David,” Greg said without a hint of hesitation. Then he turned to frown at the duke. “I thought that was, like, general knowledge. Every werewolf hunter is, Your Highness. It’s a job prerequisite.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” George Louis said. “Do try and talk him out of challenging every devotee of Mithras, will you?”

“I’ll do my best,” Greg promised.

“I’ll just leave that here,” George Louis said, patting the letter. He waited until Greg was halfway between him and the door, then dashed outside.

“Something going on?” Greg asked.

“The Empire wants me dead.”

“You specifically? Why? And why now?”

“Apparently, they’re putting a one million gold pieces bounty on my head and are offering general absolution to whoever kills me.”

“Really. One million?”

“And the Heir Apparent is coming to collect. I don’t even know who that is, right now. They keep dying.”

“The Prince Levant, the Radiant Maluce. Why did George Louis call you crazy?”

David sat down in his chair, scanning the letter the duke had left. A lot of flowery prose and petty insults. Grooch would likely have approved of the handwriting, though. When Greg opened his mouth to ask again, David leaned back.

“I suggested publishing the bounty and whatever else they wrote. And offer a challenge, draw out the believers. Word will get out, one way or another. Hell, I’ll make it a contest to see who’ll live longer, a werewolf hunter of Loegrion or a crown prince of the Valoise. What do you think?”

Greg looked supremely unimpressed by the idea. “I think Mother will kill you herself if you do.”

“She wouldn’t fear a bunch of Mithrans,” David scoffed.

“No, but she would fear for you. Knives in the dark, poison… and even if the Mithrans were honest enough to fight you face to face, you don’t have time for that nonsense.”

“I wish I did,” David sighed. “I wish that was the whole of it, a few duells.”

“It won’t be just a few.”

“I bet once I kill enough of them, it’ll stop.”

David sighed again, running a hand over the paper, then stopped at one particular line. His Valoise wasn’t great but… The Prince Levant wanted to face him on the battlefield? George Louis hadn’t mentioned that part.

“Do you think I could be more useful down south?”

“I think you’re plenty useful right here.”

“Doesn’t feel that way,” David muttered. “Doesn’t feel like there’s a damn point to what I’m doing here.”

“What, because people aren’t hugging werewolves on the street yet?”

“Funny,” David muttered, not looking at his brother.

“Something else going on?”

“I’m just sick of sitting on my arse, I guess,” David muttered.

Sick of being out of his depth. Of feeling like an idiot. Sick of the girls throwing themselves at him, and Greg having to rescue him.

He didn’t want to fight and kill Valoision soldiers.

He really didn’t.

But at least he’d make a difference that way. If it was him, it wasn’t some kid who barely knew how to hold a sword.

He already knew what George Louis would say: That they had plenty of soldiers and that he was needed here.

Which was bullshit.

“Maybe I should go,” he said aloud. “The only person who needs me to be here is George Louis. He’s fabricated this whole idea that I’m the only one who can integrate werewolves into Loegrian society, but I think last night showed how that is patently untrue. I only need to be here because he’s scared and wants me around. In fact, it might be more helpful if I left him to deal with you directly. How else will he learn to trust you?”

Greg didn’t look thrilled at that idea, either. “Why don’t you go and blow off some steam at the fencing hall or the shooting range,” he suggested. “And we’ll talk about it later?”

David rolled his eyes. “I suppose that’s the nicest way I was ever told to shut up.”

He pushed back his chair, balancing on the back legs, which wasn’t easy in the heavy armchair. When was the last time he’d taken his horse for a nice, long ride? Maybe it would help him to get out of here.

“You know what?” David let the chair fall back onto all four legs. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

There was another thing bothering him, though he was loath to admit it. It was a stupid thing to be bothered by. He didn’t want Greg to be in trouble, especially not with George Louis.

But it was true that he had expected him to be, after last night. Stupid orders or not. He certainly hadn’t expected an apology, as meagre as it had been.

The man David had used to fear, had run from for a decade, the one who had turned on Lester and Clarence for power—the devil he had painted in his own mind—wouldn’t have said sorry. Wouldn’t have apologised to Annabelle… Though keeping her away from her own son very much fit into that old picture.

But if George Louis was changing—even slowly—then what the five frozen hells was he doing here? He had given Morgulon his word that he would watch out for the werewolves’ interest, protect them, as best as he could, from being stabbed in the back. He had even agreed to use the duke’s infatuation with him to that end, because it had seemed a worthwhile goal.

But if George Louis was starting to finally get over his silly fear—and how else was he supposed to take that half-assed attempt of stopping Young George from meeting his mother? George Louis couldn’t really have expected Greg to follow that order?—If George Louis was getting soft, getting to accept that the werewolves were needed…

Then David wasn’t.

He might as well stop pretending there was a way they would ever get back together while he still knew it was all just pretense himself. Save some of his dignity, and save himself the heartbreak.

There would be heartbreak, wouldn’t there? David hadn’t been enough to fully hold George Louis’s interest when he had been fifteen, surely, today he’d be even faster to find satisfaction in another man’s arms? David doubted that marrying Lane would make him fat and boring, but sitting at that bloody desk in his office certainly would.

Unless Greg was going to send him to the training grounds every time he had a stupid idea, in which case he should stay very fit indeed.