"Well?" Miguel asked.
"State your terms once again," said Kesley.
Miguel frowned. "The room is crowded."
"I know, sire. Witnesses may be in order."
"Very well," Miguel said wearily. "In return for services to be rendered, I do promise the hand of my ward, the Lady Narella, to Dale Kesley of my vassalage."
"When?"
"Upon his return from the successful completion of his endeavors in my behalf."
"Said endeavors being?" Kesley prodded mercilessly.
"The elimination of Duke Winslow of North America," Miguel said. "His death by any means whatsoever."
"All right," Kesley said. He glanced from Miguel to the Archbishop—who seemed somewhat pale beneath his olive skin—to Narella. "Now that terms have been stated, we can talk business. Miguel, what assurance do I have that I'll get the girl when I come back?"