“Of a sort,” was the answer. “These are the princes and princesses. Some of them.”
“These are all Lothaire’s children? There must be ten here.”
“Yes. But these are not all of his children. Honore is the oldest, but there are…” Fanon rolled his eyes up in thought. “Four others beyond these you see here.”
Two children roared up to Gareth, using him as a barrier, as they clawed at each other, screaming and hissing. He tried to step aside, but the boys grabbed his legs, leaping from one side to the other. He reached down to urge one farther away, but when he covered the male’s face with his hand, the wide-eyed female jumped the boy and smashed him to the floor.
Gareth was about to ask if they could wait somewhere else a bit less like the center of Hell when a distant door opened and a man who resembled an older, fatter Lothaire entered. Several children shouted and ran to him. He smiled and reached out, grasping or touching each one. He lifted a young female into his arms, and as he was swinging her around, his gaze fell on Gareth. Lothaire halted comically with his mouth open. He pushed his head forward as if that would clear his vision.
“Gareth?” he muttered in confusion.
“Your Majesty.” Gareth bowed.
The French king staggered forward with several children attached. He stopped a few paces from the Scottish prince and stared while a grin slowly broke over his face. “I don’t believe it. Why are you in Paris? No, never mind.” He impetuously embraced Gareth, pressing the wriggling little girl between them.
Gareth inhaled the familiar scent of his friend and his youth. Lothaire’s frame was softer, with less muscle and anger, but he was still much the same.
The king set the complaining girl down and grasped Gareth by the shoulders. “It is so good to see you, I can’t tell you. I can’t believe you’re here.” Then Lothaire’s face fell into suspicious disappointment. “Oh no. Are you here from your brother? You’re not bearing messages from Cesare, are you?”
Gareth smiled to comfort his companion. “While this isn’t entirely a social call, you may believe me, I am not here on Cesare’s behalf.”
“Good!” Lothaire scooped up a different child out of habit. “I’ve heard entirely too much from your brother recently. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I had no way. I don’t have packs of retainers to do my bidding.”
Lothaire pursed his lips reproachfully. “So I’ve heard. How’s Baudoin?”
“He’s well. Thank you.”
Lothaire began to jiggle the boy in his arms to placate his cries for attention. “Gareth, I heard about your father. My condolences. Dmitri was a remarkable king.”
“He was indeed.”
“All the more remarkable to have avoided killing both you and Cesare at some point.”
Gareth laughed and indicated the menagerie of children. “Is that the voice of a father?”
The king rolled his eyes. “Sometimes. I’d introduce you, but they’re young and they don’t care who you are. My eldest is about. He’ll want to meet you.”
“The Dauphin. We intersected briefly. He seems quite…vigorous.”
“If he was disrespectful, I apologize. The younger generation is uncontrollable. They’ve had everything too easy. Not like when we were boys.” Lothaire brushed at the soft hair of the child in his arms, and smiled to himself. “Gareth, you have no children?”
“No.”
“So you never found anyone…”
Gareth hesitated and then, to save complications, he said, “No.”
“What about Hallow?” Lothaire asked, falsely casual. “What became of her?”
Gareth let silence stretch out, pretending to be amused by the stampeding offspring all around him. Then he replied politely, “That ended. Badly.”
“Ah. Well.” Now the king found some distraction to pull his attention away.
Gareth felt no discomfort, but was amused by Lothaire’s. So he decided to ask a question that might bring embarrassment on him. “So, how is…your queen?”
Lothaire guffawed. “My queen is well. And she is still Katerina. She will want to see you, of course.”
“Katerina bore you all these children?” Gareth shook his head and nodded toward the female across the room. “I thought perhaps she was the new queen. She seems exhausted enough.”
“No. She’s a nanny.” Lothaire noticed the infant on the floor was screeching, red faced. He caught the nanny’s attention. “He’s hungry.”
Without a change of expression, she went out another door and quickly came back with a human woman walking behind her. They waded through the children to the spot where the infant bawled. The human sat on the floor, and the nanny used a clawed finger to slice her across the throat. Dark red blood oozed out immediately. The baby stirred toward the woman, crawling onto her lap and staring at the dripping neck, crying out, reaching up.