"I presume," said Daphne Foster, breaking a tight little silence, "that you will grant me time to set my affairs in order?"
Vyrtl weighed a pebble in his hand.
"You expect to be executed," he stated flatly.
"Naturally, we knew all along that someone would have to pay for tricking you. The Emperor of Pollux must, after all, maintain his dignity."
Vyrtl wondered if he had detected a note of irony in the musical voice. He marveled anew at the pleasure of listening to her. But of course, he reminded himself, he heard his own imagined ideal of what a lovely woman's voice should be.
"No," he said abruptly, swinging about. "I am merely going to insist that you fulfill the terms of the agreement by remaining at my court. I want you near me from now on."
She blinked at that.
"But, surely ... you must realize ... it is only an illusion!" she protested.
"As am I," said Vyrtl. "A figurehead imprisoned in a maze of formalities and so-called pleasures."