It was odd waking to noise in the bowels of the castle. Splashing water, rustling clothes, and hushed whispers wafted through the air. Hans rubbed his eyelids as the insane mess of yesterday filled his head afresh. This family has a proclivity for climactic interventions. He lowered his hands to massage his face, his stubble tickling his palms. Ugh.
He struggled to get himself upright. The hall was unusually well-lit, assuredly out of courtesy for the guests rather than any consideration for him. The air smelled less musty than normal, and the swish of a gentle breeze indicated the exterior door was propped open. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled in controlled measure as he swung his legs to the floor.
"You're awake!"
The prisoner squinted at Leone's friendly face framed by the metal grate. "Morning," Hans mumbled, his focus falling to the cracks in the stone floor. How fortunate for the Sicilian prince to have a family who willingly gave up everything to pay his way out of prison. One who welcomed him back with open arms and completely changed their world to avoid the trappings of their old lives. Perhaps things would've been different if I'd had anyone like that.
A snap jolted Hans back to the present. Leone's arm was sticking into the cell, his fingers pressed together. Hans shot him a perturbed frown, to which Leone merely grinned and resumed snapping. Hans rolled his eyes as he thrust the intruding appendage out of his face.
Leone's cheeriness remained undaunted. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine." Hans rotated his body and noted his fellow disgraced-prince was in a very royal-looking red-and-gold suit.
"Are you hungry?" Leone offered two rolls and an apple through the bars.
Hans stifled a yawn. "No, thank you."
Leone set the food on the table. "Something to save for later, then."
'I saved something for each of us.' It was just like Mirella to have appropriate clothing for a meeting with a king. Even if the Roveros had successfully abdicated, there was plenty of potential for an elegant occasion, given Mirella's family and Vincenzo's friends.
Of course, all the connections in the world aren't going to impress Father.
Hans reflected on the disdain he'd detected last night, well before King Lauris noticed his disowned son. While the Roveros still held their titles, Hans could tell the Southern Isles' king didn't see his Sicilian counterpart as an equal. To be fair, Hans was confident his father didn't see anyone as his equal, but the man held a certain amount of esteem for royalty. At least, royals who reigned with total sovereignty. The limited monarchies of parliamentary democracies were essentially diplomats, as far as his father was concerned.
That's probably not what disgusts him, though. If Hans knew his father as well as he thought he did, what appalled King Lauris was that the Roveros had refused the Sicilian citizenry's attempt to reestablish the absolute monarchy. Other kings could only dream of being so revered by the populace, especially those of his bloodline. After all, the Westergaards maintained order through fear created from brilliance and harshness. Meanwhile, the Roveros had secured their subjects' unyielding loyalty with sacrifice and forgiveness.
"Still groggy?"
Hans glanced at his ever-chipper companion. "I'll get over it in a minute." He tugged his left arm to stretch his shoulder. "I take it I'm the last to awaken?"
"Mamma was shocked it wasn't me, for once!"
"Twice," Hans corrected, switching limbs.
"Ha, right!" Leone chuckled at the recollection. "So you sleep better when we're around, then?"
Hans disregarded the odd twinge in his chest. "It just so happened that both times I was exceptionally exhausted from harrowing flights of life-or-death."
Leone lowered his voice. "You have your dagger, right?"
Hans used his toe to tap one of the bags under his bed.
A silent sigh slipped through Leone's lips. "Good. I hope you never have to use it, but I'm worried—"
"About what will happen if you're not around to protect me?" A wry, single-note titter escaped from Hans' throat. "I've lasted this long, haven't I?" Though I suppose I must admit it's not always been on my own. Vincenzo and Mirella defended him from being hauled away, Natalia rescued him from drowning, Leone saved him from a brutal beating... and, even though his childhood was endless misery punctuated by terror, someone had gotten him to Doctor Kronholm after Derrick and Damian nearly turned him into a human bonfire. Hans pushed away the urge to scratch his abdomen, extending his arms one last time before he relaxed his muscles. "You should have woken me sooner."
"You needed the rest."
Hans propelled himself to his feet. "I also need to shave." He passed an empty bucket between the bars. "If you could—"
Leone received the item with a grin and flung open the nearby door, causing the guards to jump. He darted past the startled sentries and dashed up the stairs two at a time.
Hans shook his head with a bemused smirk while he arranged his washbasin and mirror.
This may be the last time I see him bound off like that.
His chest constricted like a sack cinching shut. He kneaded it through his shirt, but the motion brought no relief.
"Is your scar bothering you again?"
Hans scowled at Natalia's form peeking through the gaps.
"I'm sorry," she whimpered, recoiling at his glower. "I just noticed you rubbing it like you have in the past—"
"I don't pry regarding your brother-inflicted injury—" He moistened his soap by dunking it in some stale water. If it weren't for the guards' rapid response to the sound of shattering glass, she wouldn't have survived. "—so it would be nice if you reciprocated that benevolence." Hans lathered his face with the bar, then plucked up his razor.
Natalia fiddled with her silk sleeve as she deliberated her next statement. "You did ask me about it, though."
He paused with the blade perched at the top of his foam beard. "When?"
She smoothed non-existent stray hairs back into her decorated bun. "During our sewing lesson."
His forehead creased as he brought the memory to mind. "I made an inquiry based on information I was given. I didn't ask for every sordid detail."
"I'm not asking for details either!" The tender touch on his shoulder was as light as the breeze. "I just want to know when you're in pain."
He ignored the invisible binding that hindered his breaths and concentrated on making even strokes. "Why? It's not as though you could heal me."
"No, but I can share your burden, if you'll let me."
His eyes locked with hers. "You don't know what you're saying."
She didn't blink. "Yes, I do."
A thud indicated Leone had returned. He triumphantly presented the pail to Hans. "I only lost a little bit!"
Natalia studied the half-full container. "Either you didn't fill it all the way, or you have a very generous definition of 'little.'"
"Maybe it's both," Leone teased with wiggling brows. Natalia merely pursed her lips disapprovingly.
The bucket wouldn't fit vertically through the bars, so Hans held out his basin for Leone to fill.
"Careful," Natalia cautioned as Leone tipped the pail, "not too fast, now."
"No worries, I've got this!"
As if to spite him, some of the liquid sloshed over the side of the bowl.
"Told you," Natalia grumbled.
Leone laughed it off but emptied the rest of the water with greater care. Hans replaced the basin and was about to wash up when he realized he was still being watched.
He aimed his annoyance at the onlookers. "Have you two nothing better to do than stare?"
Natalia averted her gaze while Leone shrugged. "We want to be right here if you need us," the latter stated matter-of-factly, "so don't be afraid to ask for anything."
Hans briefly contemplated the suggestion before ripping a blanket from his bed and tying a corner to the top-left junction of the gridiron.
"I think Mamma's calling," Natalia mumbled as she scurried away.
Leone pointed a pouting pucker at his friend, but Hans simply finished hanging the sheet on the grate.
"Don't be like that, Hans!"
Hans pretended not to hear the whine and rinsed his face.
Leone repeatedly jabbed the material obscuring his view. "You. Can't. Hide. Forever."
"It's not 'hiding' to want privacy."
The poking ceased. "Alright, but don't take too long. It's hard to look after you if I can't see you."
"I'm by myself in a tiny cell with a locked door and you think I need an overseer?!"
"What if you slip and land face-first in the water and you're unconscious and you drown?!"
Hans flipped the fabric aside to shoot an incredulous glare at the flailing man. "If such a ridiculous thing takes me out of this world—"
"'—I didn't deserve to be in it.'" Leone completed the sentence simultaneously.
Hans found himself more irked than he logically should have been. "Scat!" he spat before whipping the makeshift curtain back into place.
Footsteps scampered off as Hans retrieved a few bags from beneath the bed. He rifled through the contents, debating the proper attire. To his knowledge, expanding his wardrobe had not been expressly forbidden; therefore, wearing his casual gentleman garments might be fine. Still, his family members weren't the type of people who would approve of any improvements to his life, regardless of who was responsible. In that case, his only option was the outfit he'd worn for almost a year. However, it was so ragged that he found it inconceivable his relations would refrain from any snide remarks. Plus, his father wouldn't skip the opportunity to chastise him for a lack of resourcefulness in failing to meet the dress code.
He was pondering all possibilities when a guard entered the dungeon.
"Here," he barked, shoving the sheet aside and stuffing a strangely-shaped slipcover through the grate. Hans barely caught the pillowcase in time, and the corporal disappeared through the door before Hans could utter a word.
Inside the sack was his decorated naval uniform with a note stuck under one of the pins.
You may no longer be a prince, but your rank as a captain of the Royal Navy was never rescinded. I checked.
Damian
Hans traced one of the medals. It will be if Father sees me in this. He unfolded the coat. But, until he gives the order, he can't dispute it.
The ex-prince hurriedly swapped the plain clothes for his uniform and checked himself as best he could in his small mirror. Satisfied, he removed his blanket barrier and spread it over the mattress.
Hearing the clink of metal-on-metal, he glanced toward the hall. Lieutenant Gunst stood before the door, keys in the lock. "You will be summoned shortly." The hinges squeaked as the lieutenant yanked on the handle. "Be ready." With that, he left just as swiftly as he'd arrived.
Hans pulled on his gloves and grabbed his hat. He stepped out amidst the waiting family, all of whom smiled warmly at him as they finished their preparations.
Vincenzo wore a suit nearly identical to Leone's, save for the addition of epaulettes, the medallion engraved with the Rovero coat of arms, and various other status-denoting decorations Natalia was confirming those trinkets were fastened correctly, and Leone was having a terrible time staying still as Mirella attempted to tame his unruly curls while managing her impeccable violet gown.
"I told you you needed a haircut," she scolded.
"My hair's fine, Mamma."
"And put your gloves on!"
"Blech, I hate wearing gloves."
Mirella, immune to the griping, examined her work. "Well, that's as good as it's going to get."
"It was good to begin with!" Leone huffed, adjusting Mirella's necklace so the crest was centered.
"I'm sure we'll all pass muster." Vincenzo gratefully patted Natalia's hands before turning to the rest of the family. "Is everyone all set?"
The other four affirmed their readiness. Vincenzo smiled gently. "Then there's one more thing." He laid a hand on Hans' epauletted shoulder. "May we pray for you?"
Hans nodded, though he wasn't exactly in a position to refuse. The Roveros had given him all they could, and now they were about to put themselves between him and his father's judgment. If this makes them feel better, they're welcome to it.
Mirella clasped her husband's free hand and placed her other one on Hans' opposite shoulder. Leone and Natalia joined hands while each taking one of Hans' as well. The four bowed their heads, and Hans followed suit as Vincenzo spoke again.
"Heavenly Father, You understand our yearning to protect Hans. We ask for Your Hand to be upon everyone during this meeting. No matter the outcome, we know You are in control and everything will work out for our good in the end.
"We pray this in Jesus' Name. Amen."
"Amen," three of the other four echoed, releasing each other.
At least four of us are confident in a positive ruling. Hans wasn't one to pray, but he hoped that if there was indeed a Heavenly Father listening, He was a better father than his blood one.
Mirella suddenly snagged Hans with a suffocating squeeze. "You look so handsome!" she squealed, glowing with motherly pride.
Hans could feel the heat rising in his face. "Uh, thank you?"
"Darling, you're going to rumple his uniform," Vincenzo warned.
Leone sniggered. "We should be more concerned with cracked ribs."
"I'd prefer all my bones intact, please," Hans wheezed.
Mirella finally let go, stepping back to give him a quick inspection. "Well, I can't speak for your ribs, but it seems I avoided any mussing of your person."
"Hair." Natalia instinctively raised her hand to the ruffled patch.
Hans twitched and held his breath; Natalia noticed and hesitated.
I made her afraid of being invasive.
Something in the back of his mind prodded him to permit her encroachment of his personal space. A reasonable accommodation, he realized, given the potential (however slim) for future interaction. I ought to make amends for my earlier attitude.
He signaled his consent. "Go ahead."
Nevertheless, her limb withdrew several centimeters. "I'll get your mirror—"
"Goodness, we simply cannot leave these rooms in such a state!" Mirella announced in a volume far exceeding what was necessary in the cramped quarters. She led her husband and son to the cells at the end of the hall (which, Hans was relatively certain, had not been used at all).
Natalia blushed, though it was unclear whether the rosiness was from her mother's obvious ploy or her own anticipated action. She met Hans' gaze with a soft smile. "You do look very handsome," she murmured, reaching for his face. "Not that you aren't always handsome," she added hastily, "it's just a different kind of handsome." She began to brush the stray locks back into place. "But no matter what you look like, or what you do, or what happens today—" Her strokes fixated on one particularly stubborn strand. "—we love you." Her fingertips grazed his cheekbone on the last pass. "Remember that."
He clutched his abdomen and doubled over in anguish, blindsided by the same agony he'd experienced the night of his party. Instant overlapping exclamations of panicked worry filled the dungeon. Hans waved them off.
"I'm quite fine," he insisted, driving the recurring affliction as far from his consciousness as he possibly could. He straightened with an exhalation. "I'm simply not looking forward to facing my father."
Natalia entwined her fingers with his. "It's alright. We're all nervous."
Hans' attention dipped to their interlaced appendages. A strange sensation somersaulted his stomach, and his subconscious sought out the source before he could suppress it.
'I need them here.'
The castle-side door swung open with a creaking groan. The quartermaster appeared miffed that Hans was already freed, but shook it off as he ushered the group forward.
"It's time to go."
Hans stood before his father's study once more. The fact they were meeting here (versus the throne room or great hall) indicated King Lauris wanted to limit others' involvement as much as humanly feasible.
The Roveros were arrayed around him: Natalia at his left, Leone at his right, Vincenzo and Mirella in front. The guards stationed on each side of the wooden doors remained motionless as the heavy partitions opened from within. Captain Sorensen and Lieutenant Ryberg motioned the five inside and shut the doors behind them.
The room was as imposing as Hans recalled — large, cold, and pristine. King Lauris sat at his desk, while Klaus stood at his right hand. Neither made a sound, an arrogant atmosphere hanging over them. The pair observed wordlessly, seemingly waiting to see if their guests' etiquette still met royal requirements.
Hans removed his hat as his party gave the king the requisite bows and curtsies. He tucked the accessory under his arm and made himself stiff as a board.
"I trust you remember my eldest, Klaus," King Lauris began. "I decided he should be here today."
Vincenzo and Mirella nodded, acknowledging the crown prince.
"We've been briefed by the captain and lieutenant," the monarch proceeded. "Some internal issues have been revealed, and it was these faults that allowed this situation to come about in the first place. Henceforth, all lapses will be rectified with intermittent audits reported to me."
Hans knew this meant he would be guarded around-the-clock again. That's no surprise.
"After reviewing the circumstances of this incident and consulting with my officers, I have concluded this was not an escape attempt. That charge is dropped. However, there remains the accusation of assault." King Lauris folded his hands. "This is where you request to apply your protection, is it not?"
"I apply it in all matters concerning Hans," Vincenzo answered, "including this one."
"Meaning what?"
"The Rovero house will bear the punishment of all his crimes: past, present, and future."
Hans' eyes bulged.
"You're asking for a full pardon?!" Klaus sneered.
"We are."
"That's not possible." King Lauris' curt tone matched his expression.
"For what reason?" Vincenzo pressed.
"If I may speak plainly?"
"Please, do."
King Lauris thumbed a stack of documents. "Sicilia is an incredibly important ally to the Southern Isles, in multiple aspects. Quite frankly, we depend on your island. I do not wish to jeopardize that relationship." He rose, strolling to the window. "However, your reputation precedes you, Vincenzo. You will not burden your citizens to solve a personal matter, and you will not use your influence to compel me to kowtow to you." He took in the summer day visible through the glass. "On the other hand, there is an ice witch to my north incensed by a certain degenerate's egregious actions." He turned back to the group. "What do you think her reaction would be should she discover foreign monarchs have interceded to revoke the penalty incurred from treason against her crown?"
"Simply lay the blame on me."
"An intriguing proposition, but I have no intention of provoking her."
Vincenzo covered his crest in pledge. "We will protect the Southern Isles from harm, no matter the cost."
"A bold claim with no weight, unless you have a power that rivals the Snow Queen's."
Vincenzo didn't flinch. "I always honor my word, Lauris."
"Forgive me if I don't value that above a more certain method of preventing calamity."
"So you're refusing to pardon Hans due to fear of the royal he initially wronged?"
"She turned her kingdom into a frozen wasteland in the height of summer. You'd be wise to fear her as well, Vincenzo."
"Surely she can't be as infuriated as you envision," Mirella argued, "or else she would have already inflicted her revenge on you."
"I've surmised her royal education restrains her rage, but it is foolish to take unnecessary chances with such a force of nature."
"She's a human being!" Mirella snapped as she took a step forward.
"With powers no human can oppose!" King Lauris countered, slamming a fist on his desk.
"Please, reconsider," Vincenzo interjected while taking his wife's shaking hand. "We are prepared to pay any price, monetary or not."
"Nothing in this world could change my mind." The monarch took his seat. "Now, back to the present charge—"
"We will take responsibility for that."
King Lauris nodded. "This I will accept." He retrieved his pen. "Therefore, the four of you will leave Købense today, posthaste. None of you shall ever set foot in this city again."
A tri-voice chorus of protest surrounded Hans. He felt Natalia and Leone each take hold of an arm, as they'd done the previous evening.
Vincenzo held up his hand without looking back. His family quieted while he stared down King Lauris. "Are you that determined to separate us from Hans?"
"The edict is of equal severity to what I would have decreed had you not interfered." He tilted the top of his pen toward the group. "Do you choose to rescind your offer?"
Vincenzo showed no inkling of doubt. "Of course not."
The gravity of the exchange weighed on Hans' shoulders, crushing him in spite of his military posture. The grip on one of his arms tightened, but the other slipped away as Leone stepped forward.
"I'll stay in Hans' place."
The named man drew a sharp inhalation.
Klaus snorted. "Excuse me?"
The Sicilian crown prince pointed his confident countenance at his Southern Isles counterpart. "I'll be your prisoner, and Hans will go with the rest of our family."
His hat slipped from his grasp; he saved it with a clamp that coincided with the stabbing spasms in his sides.
"Out of the question." King Lauris' irritation was increasingly evident. "His imprisonment is a result of his actions in Arendelle, and I just stated I would not permit any intervention for that sentence."
"Then what happens to Hans?" Leone demanded.
"He'll spend a week in his cell, then he'll return to his usual tasks." The seated king shifted his focus to Vincenzo once again. "Out of respect for your crown, Captain Sorensen will be directly responsible for his handling. This is the only leniency I will grant, unless you object to my choice of liaison?"
Vincenzo sighed as though he were dealing with a willful child. "The only thing I don't object to."
King Lauris responded with a condescending chortle. "Then we're done." He rolled up the parchment. "Captain Sorensen, please escort these four off the castle grounds immediately."
"At least let us say goodbye!" Mirella stipulated.
"Criminals do not receive special treatment here." He gestured to the uniformed men. "Captain, if you would also see our guests to their ship."
Captain Sorensen nodded. "Your Majesties—"
Mirella whirled on her heel and snatched Hans into a fierce hug. Natalia and Leone clung to him, while Vincenzo clenched the whole group.
"Even if we're apart, you'll always be on our minds and hearts," he whispered.
Hans felt his father's glare bore into him, daring him to reciprocate the action or sentiment. Klaus mimed gagging while their father drummed his desk.
"My patience wears thin, Vincenzo."
The Sicilian king lingered a moment longer, then kissed the top of Hans' head before releasing him. Mirella distanced herself just enough to plant her lips on Hans' forehead as she cradled his face in her palms.
"Stay strong," she whispered.
Hans kept his chin level and shoulders back despite his temperature climbing with every second. How can they be so bold with Father right there?
The queen stepped aside to let her son follow suit. Leone gave each of Hans' cheeks a brief kiss, then clapped both shoulders simultaneously. He flashed a sad smile at his sister, who squared herself with Hans as her brother retreated.
Her eyes fixed on his, and he perceived there was something she desperately needed to tell him. She breathed in and opened her mouth.
"I—"
"Your grace period has expired," King Lauris snipped. "Captain!"
Captain Sorensen hastily guided the princess to the door, Lieutenant Ryberg at his heels.
"Ryberg, please attend to the daily routines for me."
The lieutenant saluted. "Of course, Captain."
The two opened the solid oak partitions and ushered the Roveros through.
King Lauris waved his hand. "Your presence is no longer mandatory, Klaus. You may continue with your duties."
The eldest Westergaard prince bowed and exited. The guards closed the doors behind him.
Hans remained where he was. His father hadn't dismissed him, and he had no inclination to incur further wrath.
The king scrutinized Hans' appearance. "I surmise one of your brothers found your old uniform."
Hans didn't answer.
"Leave. Have a guard deliver it to the naval yard. I'm sure they can make use of it." King Lauris resumed his work.
Hans turned his back to the man.
"No doubt with a more worthy officer."
Hans whirled around. The king was preoccupied with the papers, as though he were unaware his youngest son had heard the comment. But Hans knew better.
"You've always hated me, haven't you?"
"I believe I dismissed you."
"I believe I asked you a question."
His father arched his brows as he aligned some piles of parchment. "Hate expends time and energy—" He scribbled notes on a report. "—personal commodities far too precious to waste on something as unprofitable as the gaggle of extraneous offspring consuming my resources." The king maintained the flow of ink from the nib. "Of course, most of them have enough sense not to attempt a coup d'etat unless they can guarantee success."
His pen paused. "Then again, at least you tried to carve out your own niche in the world, which is more than can be said for some of your brothers. They've gotten complacent: undoubtedly afraid to fail. I've been ruminating on what I can do to prod their ambition."
The man spoke of his own sons as though they were cattle to be herded to-and-fro. "Is it so wrong to simply be content with what you have?"
"It's when you're satisfied that you're most vulnerable to decay. When your aspirations have been quenched, you fade away to nothing."
Sincere smiles, lively laughs, and heartfelt hospitality said otherwise. "The Roveros are not 'nothing.'"
"They shunned everything that made them royal." His father's pen picked up its pace. "Vincenzo should have left his son to rot and found a suitable husband for his daughter. Instead, they became peasants."
Hans bristled. "At least those 'peasants' are kind, generous, and loving!"
"They're debilitated, destitute, and dependent. The Sicilian citizenry must be quite dupable to reinstate such a king, and their parliament is certainly a collection of castrated clods to answer to him. Kindness does not command obedience. Generosity cannot safeguard a country's prosperity. Love is unable to eliminate threats. Such sentimental nonsense is for weaklings, and Westergaards are not weak."
"Strength at the cost of a frozen heart," Hans muttered.
"You've been spending too much time with the Roveros. You were raised better than that."
"I wasn't 'raised' at all! I was shuffled through an infinite cycle of caretakers while you were nowhere to be found."
"I ran a country while I paid for governesses to look after you, maids to clean for you, servants to attend to you, and tutors to teach you in a manner befitting a Westergaard. And I checked that all those things were being done properly during our quarterly meetings."
Hans threw up his hands. "Exactly! The only other times we saw you were the family dinners, and even then you never spoke to the younger half of us, let alone me!"
"I had no need to enter into discourse with you, but I was far from oblivious to the antics perpetuated by my more mischievous sons."
Hans released an exasperated exhalation. "'Mischief' like keeping the platters out of my reach and forcing me to beg for food like a dog?"
"Don't be so dramatic. I made sure your brothers gave you your share."
His "share" had been whatever scraps his brothers bothered to send down to the end of the table — yet another lesson in learning to fend for himself in everything, including procuring his own meals. "Yes, of course you did. That must be why Derrick and Damian chose to burn me alive instead of starve me to death."
Lauris' back straightened. "Who paid for your care? For Doctor Kronholm, the nurses, the supplies?" The king's line of sight met his son's. "Who made certain the twins never laid another hand on you?"
Hans scoffed. "You only saw to my survival because you didn't want the scandal of familial murder."
His father shrugged. "If you knew I hated scandal that much, you would have ensured you'd succeeded in Arendelle." He tapped his pen on the desk. "At least then you only would have been useless, instead of worthless."
He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "Are… are you saying that becoming king... wouldn't have mattered?"
"Arendelle is a young nation with a fragile monarchy, a feeble military, and inferior trade agreements. Any benefits from ruling it are negligible." The king raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think none of your brothers opted to attend Elsa's coronation? That country, sans its queen's powers, is about as insignificant as you."
Hans fumbled for a defense. "All that can be changed, improved with the right leadership. I would have—"
"But you didn't. And even if you had, would your Arendelle have rivaled the Isles? Ancient Babylon? The Roman Empire?"
The air left his lungs as a realization struck him. "Nothing ever would have been good enough for you."
"Of course it would have, had you actually accomplished anything."
Hans balled his fists, reining in the vile words he desired to spew in favor of a more dignified reply. "No, I see now that even the loftiest achievement imaginable is woefully insufficient in appeasing your impossible standards. I could rule the whole world and you would still belittle me because I wasn't God."
"This conversation has far too many theoreticals." Lauris clapped his hands twice. "Guards!"
The doors opened.
"Escort this prisoner back to the dungeon where he belongs."
The sentries moved to take him. Hans spun on his heel and strode out of the office first.