Quinlan let the word 'ruler' lie where the old king had dropped it, and for a while the only sound in the basement was thaw-water ticking off the casks as the last of his frost let go of the stone.
Then his grin shifted into a lighter gear.
"So. The rest of your life," he said. "That's what's on the table."
"It is." Alexios's thumb worked over the pommel of his sword, the grave weight of his own offer still sitting on him. "However little of it remains."
"Hmm." Quinlan began a slow, aimless stroll along the cask row. "What if I become the ruler before you die?"
The king's brow creased. "...Then I'd die having fulfilled my promise?"
"Sure, sure. But say it happens fast. Like, so fast you're still in peak form." Quinlan turned, and his voice came out weightless with innocence. "Would you help me take on the outside world as well?"
"The outside world," Alexios repeated.
