The guards cowered and one said hastily, 'We did, my lady. He ignored it.'

'I am not pleased.1 These simple words to my guards made them pale.

She shifted her gaze to me. 'You reek like Kebal Rawbread-1 had thought Six Duchies men were cleaner.' Her eyes flicked toward the tub. 'Remedy it now. There is water in the tub.' She lounged back in her throne, challenging me. 'Wash, FitzChivalry. You will dine with me, and I desire to smell the food, not you.'

1 did not move nor allow my expression to change. She smiled lazily.

'Do you fear to lose your dignity by undressing and washing? I assure you, most of my servants do not remember what "human dignity" means, let alone care for yours. You cling to your stench as if it were your pride. I promise you this: you will lose far more than your dignity if you must be forced to bathe. Choose swiftly. 1 am not patient, and 1 will not smell such a smell at my table.' In an aside to her servants, she observed, 'You would think that a king's son, even a bastard, would have more pride in himself.'

'My hands are bound,' I pointed out stiffly. My mind searched for escape, for advantage in the situation and found none. Her words had made me aware that I did stink. I felt a moment of shame and then recognized her tactic. Chade had long ago explained the usefulness of breaking a man's pride and self worth before interrogating him. For some men, it was more effective than torture. Take a man's dignity, imprison him like a beast, and when you offer him back the small comforts of civilization, his gratitude is often disproportionate. Sometimes a man can be won over simply by a small display of kindness. Kept in a cold cell in the dark with no food, a man will perceive a candle and a hot bowl of soup as an offer of amnesty. It is far less work to break a man that way than with torture.

She smiled at me. 'Ah, yes. Bound hands would make your task more difficult.' She gestured to the guard. 'Take him to the tub and cut him free.'

I was propelled to the tub in a way that left no doubt that they would force me to do anything she desired. Refusing would give the guards further excuse to beat me. Complying might yield me some advantage, if only that of having my hands free. 1 gritted my teeth and surrendered my dignity. Once my hands were free, I turned my back to her and stripped. I managed to palm my fox pin from inside my shirt as I did so. I entered the water. I washed quickly, refusing to let the warm water offer me too much comfort. One of her women brought me soft soap in a bowl. Somehow I found myself gravely thanking her. She made no reply. The water was grey when I stood up from it. Two women advanced on me with towels. I took both towels and turned away from them to dry myself. A moment later, they were back, offering soft shoes of felted wool and a clean white wool robe. My weary Buck garb had vanished. 1 put on what they offered, concealing my pin inside the collar of the robe as I did so, and turned back to my audience. The Pale Woman had had her chair turned so that she could watch me. She smiled a cat's smile now, and observed, 'You have some interesting scars. And the body of a warrior. Shave him, Henja. I would see the full face of the man who was almost a king.'

It shocked me to hear such words. I had never thought of myself that way. For a moment, the title almost seemed true. Then I rejected it as another tactic of hers. The two women were back, bearing a chair and Henja appeared with a bowl, soap and shaving blade. 'I'll do it myself,' I said hastily. The idea of that woman flourishing a knife near my throat was unbearable.

'That you will not,' the Pale Woman informed me, smiling faintly. 'I do not underestimate you, FitzChivalry. I know what you were trained to be. Your family made you a killer, not a prince. They never let you see what they cheated you out of. But I will. I will show you the rightful heritage they stole from you. Yet, until I know that you perceive all that I offer you, no weapon will I put in your hand. Sit still now. Henja is a skilled body-servant, but I shall not hold her responsible if you twitch.'

I do not think I have ever been more uncomfortable in my life. While Henja shaved my face and then combed back my damp hair, the other women inspected my hands, cleaned my nails and trimmed them. And all the while, the Pale Woman watched me like a cat watches a bird. No one had ever administered to me in such a way before, yet I found this luxury humiliating rather than comforting. I opened my mouth once, to ask, 'Where is the Fool?' Henja's blade immediately nicked me. I felt the trickle of blood start from the side of my neck. Henja placed a towel firmly against the cut to staunch it while the Pale Woman replied, 'I do believe we are looking at him, are we not?'

At that point, I could scarcely argue with her evaluation. Her guards chuckled dutifully, but a glance from her restored their composure. As her maids fussed over me and her guards stood and stared coldly, other servants brought in a table. They set it with a white cloth and heavy silver implements and dishes. They placed a candelabrum upon it and lit the six tall white candles. Then they brought in covered plates and tureens. Steams and rich odours of food escaped to taunt me. Wine and glasses were brought as well, and finally two cushioned chairs were set at either end of the table. Henja wiped my face and stepped aside to bow to her mistress. The Pale Woman came closer to me, but remained out of arm's reach. She cocked her head and studied me coldly, from head to foot, as if I were a horse she was considering buying. 'You are not ill-made,' she offered me. 'Before your family allowed you to be abused, you might have been handsome. Well. Shall we dine?'

She walked to her chair, which one of her guards drew out for her. I rose and followed her to the table, aware that one of her guards shadowed me. A wave of her hand indicated that I should seat myself opposite her. Once I was seated, she waved again. The guard at my back retreated to the shadowed depths of the room. At her command, the pale globes in the room suddenly dimmed. Only the candlelight remained, isolating us in an island of yellow light. It gave a false air of intimacy to the setting, yet I knew that her guards and maids lingered unseen in the dimness, watching us from outside the circle of the candlelight.

The table was small. She ladled soup into a bowl and placed

it before me before serving herself from the same tureen. 'So you do not think I will poison or drug you,1 she explained as she took up her spoon. 'Eat, FitzChivalry. You will find it very good, and I know you must be hungry. I shall not trouble you with talk just yet.' Nonetheless, I waited until I had seen her take two mouthfuls before 1 picked up my own spoon.

It was very good, a rich and creamy white soup with bobbing chunks of root vegetables and tender meat. It was the best thing I had tasted since I'd left Buckkeep, and I would have wolfed it down if my manners had not stayed me. My self-control seemed to be the only shield I had left, and so I forced myself to eat slowly, to take bread from the basket she offered and butter from the plate. She poured white wine for us, and when the soup was gone, offered me slices of tender pale fowl from a platter. It was delicious, and the food comforted my body despite my desire to stay on guard against her. There was a white pudding for desert, redolent of vanilla and speckled with warm spices. We spooned it away, and all the while she watched me, silent and speculative. The wine hummed in my blood, relaxing me. I struggled against it, then recognized what I was feeling. I took a deep breath and relaxed into it. Now was not the time to struggle.

She smiled. Had she sensed that surrender? I became more aware of her. She was wearing a perfume, a scent like narcissus.