The man jerked once, eyes wide, then crumpled over the table’s edge. Blood pattered against the map like sudden rain.

No one moved to catch him.

Sergius slid the smoking pistol back into its holster, his voice as even as if he’d been discussing the weather. “We don’t use prison trash. The King will smell the lie. Don't confuse me.”

Silence swallowed the room, broken only by the scrape of a chair leg as someone shifted uneasily.

Sergius looked up, meeting each pair of eyes in ...