Chancellor Triban Gnol spoke in an equally reasonable voice, ‘Your prince believes otherwise, Preda. It behoves you to accord that opinion due respect.’
‘The prince’s beliefs are his own concern. I am charged by his father, the king, in this matter. Regarding what I do and do not respect, Chancellor, I strongly suggest you retract your challenge.’
Moroch Nevath growled and stepped forward.
The Preda’s hand snapped out – not to the Prince’s Guardsman, but towards the niche where Brys stood, halting him a half-stride from his position. The sword was already in his hand, and its freeing from the scabbard had been as silent as it had been fast.
Moroch’s gaze flashed to Brys, the startled expression giving way to recognition. The man’s own sword was but halfway out of its scabbard.
A dry chuckle from the queen. ‘Ah, the Preda’s decision for but one guard is… explained. Step forward, if you please, Champion.’
‘That will not be necessary,’ Unnutal said.
Brys nodded and slowly stepped back, sheathing his sword as he did so.
Queen Janall’s brows rose at the Preda’s brusque countermand. ‘Dear Unnutal Hebaz, you rise far above your station.’
‘The presumption is not mine, Queen. The Royal Guard answer to the king and no-one else.’
‘Well, forgive me if I delight in challenging that antiquated conceit.’ Janall fluttered one thin hand. ‘Strengths are ever at risk of becoming weaknesses.’ She stepped close to her son. ‘Heed your mother’s advice, Quillas. It was folly to cut at the Preda’s pedestal, for it has not yet turned to sand. Patience, beloved one.’
The Chancellor sighed. ‘The queen’s advice-’
‘Is due respect ,’ Quillas mimed. ‘As you will, then. As you all will. Moroch!’
Bodyguard trailing, the prince strode from the chamber.
The queen’s smile was tender as she said, ‘Preda Unnutal Hebaz, we beg your forgiveness. This meeting was not of our choice, but my son insisted. From the moment our procession began, the Chancellor and I both sought to dissuade him.’
‘To no avail,’ the Chancellor said, sighing once more.
The Preda’s expression did not change. ‘Are we done?’
Queen Janall wagged a single finger in mute warning, then gestured to her First Consort, slipping her arm through his as they left.