“I see you have suffered some inconvenience.’ Duke Michael reached into a pocket of his gold-threaded robe. ‘God knows, I am well aware how inconvenient princesses can be, so …’ He held some coins up to the light. ‘Here is something …’ He put a couple back, then tossed the rest onto the dirty cobbles. ‘For your trouble.’ Bostro peered down, scarcely more impressed than he had been by the dirt in Alex’s purse. ‘Thought she was a fucking princess?’ ‘When announced by a herald it is typically without the fucking, but yes.’ ‘And that’s what her life’s worth?’ ‘Oh, no,’ said Duke Michael. His servant sank gracefully to one knee beside him, pulled open his coat, and produced a large sword, its stained sheath chased with shining wire, its battered gold pommel tilted towards his master. The duke rested one fingertip upon it. ‘That’s what your lives are worth.”