"You may wait outside."
Silence followed.
Frederik did not move.
Neither did Cecil.
Across the hall, one of the senior professors physically shut his eyes for a second, as if in prayer or private despair. A student near the rear went pale with the sort of excitement only young people felt in the presence of impending disaster that was not, strictly speaking, theirs.
Halvern, hearing nothing wrong in his own voice, added, "I would like a private word with His Highness."
Frederik looked at him directly then.
At nineteen, he had inherited enough of Gregoris to make that simple act unwise for lesser people. He had grown taller over the last five years and broader through the shoulders without losing the dangerous leanness of his youth. The soft, ash-blond hair of childhood had long since turned into something colder. He had Gregoris's calmness, silver eyes, and enough of Rafael's intelligence to know when silence hurt more than speech.
He said, very calmly, "No."
