He was wearily used to that study. Ever since he'd been barred from the throne of Elluria barely hours before assuming it, the world was curious about his feelings. Sometimes he felt like a caged animal, staring back at faces pressed against the bars, all watching him for some sign of weakness. And he would die before he revealed such a sign.

These days his expression was habitually grim. He was a serious man who normally found little in life to make him laugh, although he secretly envied those who could. Recently heaviness had overcome him completely. Those who might have been his subjects had known what to expect from him, gravity and devotion to duty, tempered with a quiet, stern kindliness. Now they were almost afraid of him.

The prime minister, Jacob Durmand, approached him nervously. “Your Royal…Your Highness…oh dear!” He lapsed into confusion at having used the term “royal” to one who could no longer be described that way.

Randolph turned, forcing a brief, reassuring smile. It wasn't Durmand's fault. “It's a trial to all of us,” he said. “Don't worry about it.”

“Thank you. Oh dear, this is all very difficult. If only-”

“If only my dear, scatterbrained father hadn't fallen in love with an actress when he was young,” Randolph said wryly, “and been persuaded to go through a marriage ceremony when he was too drunk to know better. If only he hadn't believed those who said it wasn't binding. And if only he'd made sure of his situation before marrying my mother. But you knew my father, Durmand. He was the kindest man in the world, but he had this fatal habit of hoping for the best.”

“And if only Prince Harold hadn't discovered that your parents' marriage was bigamous,” the prime minister sighed. “Once he knew, he was bound to pounce, hoping to take the throne himself.”