Short of tooth but long of arm, the King hunches forward. His body hangs out of the throne like a scarecrow sat in a flowerpot. His father’s sword, dusted off for the coronation, sits like a dagger beside him. His spear, a Lowblood’s weapon, is hidden away in the armoury.

Oaths are due the new King. The first duke kneels. He is a heavy-browed man who yesterday struck the man who today is King.

‘My liege. Having won the crown through creative warfare and original alliances, you are as worthy to hold it as your father was. I will serve you until you are dead.’

The second duke kneels. He is a thin-bearded man who three days ago ordered his catapults to fire upon the armies of the man who today is King.

‘My liege. It is said that the throne can be seized only through glorious heroics or base treachery. I would hope for a hero to remain King for a long time.’

The King dismisses his new subjects. When his rule comes to an end, even his allies will call him The King Sanglorian