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They walk on. “Your chambers are just along here,” the man says in his simple, expressionless way.

They turn into a corridor that is a little meaner than the wide halls they have been strolling through. Though rich enough, there is less gilding, less elaborate carving here. Of course the finest parts of the palace are kept for the Dareks and their inner circle.

“Do you have no others in your party?” the man asks as they stroll on.

“My party?”

“You are the Plumian envoy to Azuria. I am surprised that you are alone.”

“The arrangement was that one man would come alone,” Xan says, refusing to be shamed by this, adding, almost petulantly, “Pluma is not wealthy enough to send a great retinue of servants and men whose only purpose is to hold other men’s cups. My men are bound by your Imperial Guard to stay on the ship. The Mother of Men is moored at Attar docks. I alone will stay here in the palace.”

The man leads Xan into a fine set of rooms. “This is the chamber reserved for envoys to the empire.” He stands in the middle of a parlour with two plump settles covered in dark brown velvet. There is an emerald green rug on the floor. The wood panelled walls are decorated with carvings of birds and fruit. A cheery fire burns. High windows of leaded glass show a distant view of the Mortingale Sea.

Xan walks into the room, taking it in, before opening the only other door. Beyond it is a bed chamber, with the same decorated panelling and a large bed of matching wood, dressed with furs and linen. A second fire burns merrily below a mantle.

Xan turns in the doorway and smirks. The man still stands in the centre of the parlour. Clearly not eager to step any nearer to Xan’s bed chamber.

“That is a big bed,” Xan says, deliberately playful.

“I suppose they expect envoys to have a consort.”

“Ah, but I am here alone. You will have to arrange a concubine for my bed.” Xan drops his voice to a low rumble. “I will get lonely otherwise.” Such games are foolish, he knows, but he cannot resist them.

“I, no, I cannot.” The man’s voice comes out satisfyingly flustered. Xan wonders if he is blushing. “I am an acolyte of Zai, you would have to speak to someone else about that.”

Xan shrugs, big and easy, letting his wide shoulders move in his sleeveless jerkin. He finds himself wondering where this man’s bed chamber tastes lie. “I cannot speak to anyone else. Unless you intend to bring me a whoremonger who speaks Plumian.”

“As far as I know there is no such person in the Rose Palace,” the man stammers. Xan is certain now this man’s face is reddening under that veil. It’s delightful. Xan takes a step closer.

Xan would like to suggest that if this man cannot find him a bed warmer, as his host he ought to take the role himself. Perhaps he could spin a story that this was a Plumian custom. He has no doubt an Azurian would believe it.

But he is certain such a suggestion would send his nervous translator fleeing from the room.

“Why are you called Hare?” Xan says instead, taking another step as he changes tack.

There is one of the settles between them. Nevertheless, it feels as if they are standing intimately close. And the man’s reactions are amusing.

He takes a breath. Xan watches the veil move. If he looks closely he can see it brush against the face beneath it. It is strangely erotic to be able to see it. Things hidden, things forbidden, can easily become enticing.

“It’s just how I am known. It means—” The man says bara, the Plumian word for rabbit, then, “But not exactly. A creature like a rabbit. I do not know the exact word in Plumian.”

“You don’t?”

The man makes a huffing noise. “I do not know the name of every animal.”

“Bara,” Xan says thoughtfully. “Then perhaps your name, Hare, means baraboo.”

“What is baraboo? I do not know that word.”

“A small rabbit.” Xan smirks.

The man shakes his head. “No. A hare is not a small rabbit.”

“But it does suit you. Baraboo. So small and sweet.”

“I am here as your translator, Sire.”

Xan steps forward again, bringing himself directly behind the back of the settle. “But you are truly a baraboo. And also,” Xan leans forward, resting his hands on the settle’s back and peers as if inspecting the man. He raises an eyebrow, “Chaste?”