“Don’t—”
“Cardinal Pernal offers much for you on King Muncel’s behalf! Do you want to hear the terms?”
Dain closed his eyes for a moment, feeling gray and clammy. He knew he must not pass out. His only chance was to stay conscious.
“How naive you are,” Gavril said with something close to pity in his voice. “No doubt you thought you could just ride across the border, and the Netherans would receive you with joyous welcome. Hah! This is what comes of a weak mind and small education. You are no king. You have no right to swagger about with a circlet of gold on your head—” He ripped the ornament from Dain’s brow and flung it across the room. “You have no right to appoint two protectors to guard you. Your folly and conceit are as unfounded as they are pathetic. You’re naught but a pretender, Dain! A pretender!”
“What,” Dain asked, trying to buy time, “do they offer for me?”
“A potion which will cure Pheresa instantly.”