Ferlamund the Shadow King receives his son, the dark prince Baratoum

Baratoum strode into the private audience hall. Guards crossed halberds before him, but with a flick of the king's wrist, they stepped aside. Baratoum smiled icily and approached to within a few feet, making a lazy bow.

"It's been many years, father, though I was never far away until recently, in your dungeons. I'd have appreciated a visit."

Ferlamund didn't answer for long moments, when he did, his voice was haggard.

"Plagues, the woman, now you, vile thing. Always she whispers, now your voice is alongside hers. You're the same, plagues."

Baratoum sighed and sat at his father's feet.

"I like your high heels, very fashionable. The mask is a bit much, however. Aren't you tired, my kingly father? Wouldn't you rather rest and abdicate? I promise the whispers will cease."

Ferlamund flicked his wrist, the audience was over. Baratoum left without bowing again, his knights trailing behind.