In the Palace, the Throne Room doors began to swing open and a fanfare sounded. "Okay, here we go," Tarlac said. "Remember, don't kneel when you're presented, even if some of the courtiers do. You're not part of the nobility." "We will remember," the First Speaker said. Tarlac didn't have time to say any more, as the fanfare was replaced by the first notes of Williams' Imperial Anthem, and they had to make their entrance. It was a long, slow, ceremonious walk from the door to the Throne, since this was a full-scale Grand Audience. The courtiers, nobles and their guests--those who had managed to make it to the Palace on such short notice--all had a chance to study the open-shirted, scarred Ranger and the massive gray-skinned beings with him. They knew Traiti from pictures, but none of these had seen them in the flesh. And more than their presence here drew comment. Two of the aliens were armed, in the Imperial Presence! Normally only Rangers and Life Nobles had that privilege, and seeing enemies so honored brought angry murmurs, even after the tapes all present had seen of Tarlac's account of the Ordeal, of Kranath's Vision. Tarlac heard the murmurs and smiled. If they thought this was bad, just wait! His plans were going smoothly; if the emotional currents he sensed continued, it was likely that soon these courtiers would be glad for the Traiti's arms. Hovan was beginning to feel uneasy as he followed Steve down the red carpet toward the Throne, and he wasn't quite able to place the reason. It wasn't the humans' anger; Steve had warned them to expect that at first. And it wasn't the strangeness of being on Terra, or even in the Palace's Throne Room. This, despite its size and splendor, bore a strong similarity to a gathering hall, even though its dais supported the Throne instead of an altar. This place felt out-clan, nothing more sinister. His unease was due to something else, something his combat-honed senses insisted was like walking into an ambush. He sighed inwardly. If there was going to be trouble, why hadn't Steve said anything? But Steve was a Lord now, he reminded himself, and it was axiomatic that Lords did things their own ways for their own reasons. All he could do was remain alert, prepared to take any action that might seem necessary. As they neared the Throne, Hovan found himself more impressed than he'd thought he would be. Twin columns of swirling silver flanked Emperor Charles Davis where he sat in the rather plain, high-backed wooden chair that was the Throne, on its meter-high marble dais. He wore green-and-silver robes and a silvery crown ornamented with winged stars; the scepter he held matched it. The regalia could not disguise the strain lines engraved in his face, but he was smiling slightly, and so was Crown Prince Forrest, from his place behind the Emperor's left side.