Historical disclaimer: So, currency was sort of a mess around the time Reign takes place, but it seems a peasant's yearly wages at the time were around 100-150 francs. So the figure I've settled on hopefully represents about half a year's work to a member of the lower classes, but a huge insult to the middle-.

Probably should mention this chapter deals with some rough subjects, while I'm at it. Please keep in mind that just because a person writes a character or position, does not mean they endorse he or it.

IV.

"Something must be done about your son, Stéphane."

When Henry had called him to court, it had been ostensibly to discuss other matters. Matters of land, taxes, feeding the kingdom. But he must have dreaded the conversation would turn to Eduard eventually, when they had opportunity to speak privately.

So there was no surprise to show on his face. Merely an uncomfortable smile, a long "Ahhh" of resignation.

"You know to what I refer already."

In truth, there were a number of possibilities to choose from. But Stéphane chose the one that had been brought to his attention most recently, by a particularly persistent advocate who had dogged his party all the way to court.

"I do," he told the king, "and I assure Your Grace I already have the situation well in hand. The girl's family will be well compensated for the embarrassment she suffered: eighty francs. To be deposited annually if the incident results in issue. The family's advocate agrees, it is a more generous offer than usually comes of these circumstances."

But Henry was laughing at it before he could even finish. "You will buy their cooperation, then? Eighty francs, for a tenant's daughter's virtue!"

"I hardly think the young woman in question had any virtue left to buy."

That muttered under his breath, but the king's look of righteous disapproval made him instantly regret it. "It was a known fact the young lady had other lovers," Stéphane said. "She may not have been renting her services outright, but you can bet she was well compensated for them."

"Yet the matter at hand is not one of insufficient payment!" Henry's voice echoed like a slap inside the closed room. "Allegations are that Eduard forced himself on the girl. And when she refused him, that he beat her and threatened her to the point she feared for her life and the lives of her family!"

"Now, my son did not beat that girl. That is nothing but a vindictive lie, intended to slander my family's reputation among the peasantry—"

"And the other charges look downright innocent by comparison, do they?"

Stéphane did not know which was worse, that it was his king accusing him of raising such a contemptible child, or his old friend. Tears of humiliation—and, yes, for one brief moment, fear—pricked at the back of his eyes, but he swallowed them down.

It took him a moment more to find his voice again. But when he did, he was careful to give no indication of his trouble.

"Let me be clear, if the accusations against my son are true, I do not condone them. But surely, as a father yourself, you understand my position. If it were Francis being accused of such a crime—and I am not saying he ever would be," he was quick to add when Henry's nostrils flared, "would you not do everything in your power to protect him?"

"I would slap him in irons and let him spend a few nights in a cell," Henry growled, "until the boy learned his lesson." (Yes, a heated cell, Stéphane was sure, with ample chain and a warm supper.) "Unlike yourself, I have a duty to my countrymen, bestowed upon me by God, to ensure they receive their due justice. I cannot simply throw more money at a problem and hope it goes away."

"Then you and I aren't so different, Your Grace," Stéphane said, putting all the warmth of their many years of acquaintance behind every word. "I, too, care that justice is served—yes, I know it doesn't sound like I have much sympathy for the girl's family, but I do. God did not see fit to bless me with any daughters; but if He had, and such an atrocity befell one of them as what this young woman is claiming, I would be here crying for blood as loudly as any father."

"Then you will understand if I have Eduard arrested and made to stand trial."

Stéphane paled just thinking of the humiliation that would be heaped upon the Narcisse name if Eduard were dragged before a tribunal. The favor Stéphane would lose among his peers and his standing at court, no matter how amicably Henry still thought of him personally.

All of which failed to compare to the thought of Eduard calling out to him for help, and being able to do nothing.

But Stéphane let none of that break to the surface as he held Henry's gaze.

"Understand?" he said. "Yes. But I cannot agree."

"You would defy your king over this matter?"

"Your Grace," dare he still call the man Henry? "I have been nothing short of loyal to you during your reign, and to your father before you. You know this. You know that if you asked me to increase my yields tenfold or surrender my holdings to the crown, I would do so without dispute, for love of you. But if you ask me to give up my only son . . ."

He squared his shoulders. "I cannot. Your Grace, I cannot do it. Fine me, if it assuages your conscience, if it silences the other nobles. I care not for the coin. But trust me to handle Eduard myself."

And surely, Stéphane thought, loyalty had to be worth its weight in gold. Or, at very least, in grain.

"Discipline your son," Henry said after some thought. "Have him whipped, if that's what it takes. He may even thank you for it twenty years hence, if his cock is still attached to his body."

Stéphane dared not protest that he feared it was too late for such measures, and be accused of questioning the wisdom of the king. It was a generous ruling. What could one do, under the circumstances, but nod and say "Yes, Your Grace"?

And vow in his heart that he would never allow himself to bargain from such a weak position again.