“Rassendas has many experienced generals. My father, of course, is eager to form a treaty of mutual defense with Deserae. Under the right circumstances.” Kevin added this last bit offhandedly, not making a point of what those conditions were. Logan glared at him anyway.

“Wine, yes, thank you,” said Bigelow. He was talking to a white-jacketed steward, who proffered him a tray. He swirled the glass of deep purple liquid and tasted it. “Good wine, this.”

“Imported from Rassendas,” said Hepplewhit, as each of the other men took a glass. “You don’t care for it, Lord Logan?”

“It is adequate for cooking, perhaps.” Logan put his glass, barely tasted, back on the tray. “I’m afraid that the wines of Rassendas cannot compare to the full-bodied wines of Angostura. Like many of the products of Rassendas, they tend to be immature and weak.”

There was certainly insult in this. The group fell silent, a small pocket of quiet in the surrounding conversational hubbub, waiting to hear how Kevin would respond. Bigelow especially let his eyes flick to Kevin’s waist, noted that the Prince was not wearing a sword, and gave a speculative glance at the heavy knob of his walking stick. Logan’s Black Guards leaned forward. But Kevin answered cheerfully enough. “Can’t argue with you there. I don’t know much about wine—don’t really care for it myself.”

“You prefer beer?” said Bigelow.

“Beer’s all right, Sam. I really prefer cider, when I can get it.”

“Cider? Really?” Ashbury pushed forward. “Prince Kevin, you must try some of our ciders.” He grabbed Kevin by the arm and led him across the room. “You’re a cider man, eh? I myself have extensive orchards on my estate. I supply many of the breweries in Deserae. In all modesty, I must say that my ciders are—well, I’ll let you decide for yourself.”

“You have orchards? Really?” Part of the crowd, seeing the Prince leave, followed them.

“Oh yes. Apples, cherries, plums, pears—now here.” Ashbury let him out a side door, into an antechamber where a number of barrels were stacked. Stewards were filling glasses and setting them on trays. The Baron ran his free hand over the barrels. “Ah, here we go. This is one of mine. We keep the best for ourselves and ship the rest. And the King, of course. We supply the King with our best and sell the rest. Now, wait until you taste it.