"The valiant captain Arnold Aramona is happy to inform his sovereign and all of Talig that the young noblemen entrusted to his care have undergone the necessary training and are awaiting orders from our king Ferdinand II. Let it be known to all that the said noblemen revere the Creator and His viceroy on earth, are proficient in swords and letters, and are full of zeal. Captain Aramona vouches for the loyalty and valor of these young men, whom he names one after another, according to their military successes and diligence."

They are all children of noble families. And he is the son of a traitor, who miraculously found himself there. His arm, injured during the fencing exam, hurts unbearably, and in his head only one phrase of his mother burns red - "kill him!" Roque Alva. The murderer of his father.

Hearing his name, the young man shuddered in surprise. The voice, a beautiful, lazy baritone, was unfamiliar to him.

I, Roque, Duke of Alva, First Marshal of Talig, accept your service.

Alva cast a bored glance at the new squire and extended his ringed hand, the hand that had killed his father! The unfortunate youth touched his lips to the smooth skin, smelling the faintest scent of incense. The Marshal took the squire by the shoulder and literally threw him into a chair, ordering him to place his hand on the table. The pain was sharp and short. Roque tore off boy’s cut glove, threw away his elegant stiletto and whistled, rising and approaching the ebony cabinet, pouring something into an enamel goblet.

Drink, and bottoms up! Close your eyes. If you want to scream, scream!