“For Beroldstein?” The words were snapped out impatiently, indifferently, save for a sneer.
“To regain my kingdom.”
“Ah?” He shook his head. “It is too late.”
“That is my fault in some measure, fate’s in a greater.”
“It is a pity fate is against you,” Rollmar returned, curtly. “Luck counts for much in politics, as in everything else. Well, I wish yours may return, Prince.”
Clearly he did not think it would. He was turning away, busy with more urgent speculations, when Ludwig’s next words recalled him.
“As the husband chosen by yourself for Princess Ruperta, I may look to your Excellency for help in asserting my rights?”
Rollmar looked at him sharply. “Help? It is no business of mine or my master’s to set you on the throne. And I have already told you that the alliance we sought was with the undisputed heir to the throne of Drax-Beroldstein.”
“An excellent reason,” Ludwig returned with a confident smile, “why you should render me all the assistance in your power. I do not ask much. Only the few troops you have here, ready to hand, in my very territory. I am going straightway to claim my crown, you know I am neither a coward nor a fool, and luck has of late not been altogether against me. Will you, who profess such interest in me, grudge me the escort of this handful of men with which to enter my kingdom?”
“A forlorn hope, Prince.”