Rows and rows of brightly-coloured rich folk line benched tables endowed with meat and mead and wine, steadily being stacked higher by skinny children from the castle kitchens. They will be fed well tonight. I will make sure of it.

The King claps his jewelled hands together three times. The room falls silent save for the shuffling of servant feet and the faint hum that comes from so many in such a small space.

‘Before we eat, a toast to the men who give us cause for celebration,’ he says. ‘Please raise your glasses to leader of the royal guard, Magna son of Solér.’

An impatient cheer from the crowd, here for their own pleasure not for congratulation of others. Magna nods around the room but all eyes are on food and drink, still rising.

‘The...

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