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Martin.”

4
    Henry stayed silent until they reached the Residence. It was a large, regal-looking building only a block from the palace itself, built to house visiting dignitaries. Two guards flanked the very ornate, very tall double doors at the entry, and bowed when Henry stepped forward. One knocked at the door and a moment later it swung open. On the other side was a man who had a bearing similar to Brian, the butler at Thomas’s house, only a great deal haughtier. Henry walked in, tossing his cloak at the man.
    “These two are with me,” Henry said. “Where is the rest of my party?”
    “In the Rose Room,” said the man, catching the cloak and handing it to a footman without batting an eyelid or losing the slightest bit of his bearing. “Shall I take your sword, my lord?”
    “Most certainly not,” said Henry. “Thomas, Alex, with me.”
    The front hall was extravagant. A chandelier of at least fifty candles lit the room. The floor was marble, the stones laid out to perfectly follow the original grain of the rock, and polished bright. Henry strode through it without even wiping his boots, Thomas and Eileen hard on his heels.
    Henry led them past a sweeping staircase that split halfway up to reach two balconies above and through a pair of smaller, ornate doors that led to a long, scrupulously neat and well-decorated hallway. Halfway down were yet another set of double doors. He threw them open and went in, drawing his rapier and dagger as he went. There was a shout from within. Thomas and Eileen drew their own blades and charged in behind him.
    Henry was already halfway across the room, circling around a long, polished table holding the remains of a substantial dinner and a half-dozen bottles of wine. A dozen men, Sir Martin among them, were stumbling to their feet, staring at Henry.
    “My lord,” said a large man dressed in deep red velvet from his spot near the head of the table, “What is it that you—”
    Henry only stopped advancing when the point of his rapier was directly under Martin’s chin. “I seek a traitor.”
    “I am no traitor,” said Martin, not backing away.
    “I didn’t say it was you,” said Henry.
    “Since your sword is at my throat I thought it a fair conclusion.” Martin’s tone was as condescending as one could manage under the circumstances. “Forgive my assumption.”
    “Where have you been today, Sir Martin?” said Henry. “Before and after you came and spoke to me, where were you?”
    “Here, Lord Henry,” said Martin, still not batting an eye.
    “And I should believe that?”
    “I haven’t left the Residence save to seek you,” said Martin. “And since you had no desire to listen to me about which allies to seek,” he took a moment to sneer at Thomas and Eileen, “I came back and stayed here.”
    “I must ask, Lord Henry,” said the fat man near the head of the table, “who are these two, and why do they have drawn swords?”
    “They’ve drawn because I have,” said Henry, his blade not wavering. “And they will remain drawn until I am satisfied. Who else did you talk to, Martin, when you came looking for me?”
    “Your brother won’t be pleased if you kill me,” said Martin, his tone unchanged.
    “I’ll give him a heartfelt apology.”
    “He spoke to no one, my lord,” said another man, similar to Martin in build and dress. “I was with him the entire time, save when he went into the private room with you. He couldn’t have spoken to anyone without my seeing it.”
    Henry’s eyes narrowed; the rapier remained at Martin’s throat.
    Martin took a long, slow glance down at the blade, then back up at Henry. “I believe you owe me an apology.”
    Henry didn’t blink. “You are confined to this building for the remainder of our stay. If you leave, I will ask the chancellor to order your execution.”
    “On what grounds?” Martin demanded.
    “Because I wish it.” Henry pulled the sword away and sheathed it in one motion, then turned to the