Ludovic flushed hotly. “I give up my crown to Ferdinand, or to any other man? Surely, Baron, either I misunderstand you, or you are joking.”
“Far from joking, sire. I was only thinking,” he added dryly, “of the trouble such a course would save.”
“None of my seeking,” Ludovic returned. “Either I am the rightful King of Drax-Beroldstein, or I am not.”
“Les absents,” said the Baron calmly, “ont toujours tort.”
This was more than Ludovic could endure. “Enough!” he exclaimed impatiently. “I will not discuss the point with you. Now, let us start for Teufelswald without further delay.”
Rollmar eyed him curiously. “I am ready. But for your Majesty it would be best to go first to Beroldstein.”
Ludovic walked up to him. “What do you mean, Baron?” he demanded.
The Chancellor gave a shrug. “Simply that you may with confidence leave the rescue of the Princess in our hands.”
“Indeed!” Ludovic retorted. “And what, think you, would her opinion be of the man who, having brought her into this strait, rode away and left her deliverance to others?”
Rollmar smiled, masking, obviously, his underlying intent. “Women are unreasonable. It need matter little to our Princess, once she is free, by whose agency her liberty is gained. More. Perhaps, all things considered, it would be as well that you should not appear as her deliverer.”