Nicaise had picked up a gilt three-pronged fork, but had paused before sampling the dish in order to speak. The fear he'd shown of Damen at the ring seemed to still be there. His knuckles, clenched around the fork, were white.

'It's all right,' said Damen. He spoke to the boy as gently as he could. 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

Nicaise stared back at him. His huge blue eyes were fringed like a whore's, or like a doe's. Around them, the table was a coloured wall of voices and laughter, courtiers caught up in their own amusements, paying them no attention.

'Good,' said Nicaise, and stabbed the fork viciously into Damen's thigh under the table.

Even through a layer of cloth, it was enough to make Damen start, and instinctively grab the fork, as three drops of blood welled up.

'Excuse me a moment,' Laurent said smoothly, turning from Torveld to face Nicaise.

'I made your pet jump,' said Nicaise, smugly.

Not sounding at all displeased: 'Yes, you did.'

'Whatever you're planning, it's not going to work.'

'I think it will, though. Bet you your earring.'

'If I win, you wear it,' said Nicaise.

Laurent immediately lifted his cup and inclined it toward Nicaise in a little gesture sealing the bet. Damen tried to shake the bizarre impression that they were enjoying themselves.

Nicaise waved an attendant over and asked for a new fork.

C.S. Pacat