CHAPTER ELEVEN
The last time Rupert had met with those who supported him, there had been considerably fewer men there. Now, there were enough to crowd the dining room of the townhouse he was staying in, sipping port while they tried to pretend they had been with him all along, and had only been waiting to be asked. It was in the way of things that men were fickle.
“Gentlemen,” he said, from a spot he’d chosen by the fireplace, “I am grateful to see so many men of note here. So many valiant soldiers, decisive members of the Assembly, and men of wealth.”
That was true. What he was planning would only work if he had the soldiers, the law makers, and the men whose money moved the world around them. Rupert would have liked a couple of priestesses of the Masked Goddess there too, because thos
