“Let's talk without your dog, eh, prince?” He said quickly and angrily. “I've been waiting for this all day!” And he hit Arel in the stomach will all his power, forcing him to bend over.

“Kors, no!” Arel wheezed, not trying to fight back. It was as if it was not at his Estate, but in the office of the King's Security Chief.

“No?!” Kors hit him in the jaw, with a bang tore off the shield, which additionally closed the gap in the mask, made especially for the ring. Arel grabbed his face, covering the mask with his palms, closing the ring.

“Did you mock my daughter here? I know you very well! Did you cut off her hair?! What else did you do with her?”

Kors continued, although Arel still didn’t answer him, didn’t resist. Sitting on the floor and pressing his back against the wall, at some point under a hail of professional blows, he was forced to peel his palms off his face, but tried to cover his head with his hands.

Kors saw the ring:

“What the hell is that?!” He immediately reacted, tried to grab hold of him, but Arel managed to dodge.

“Kors, Nik will learn about this!” He cried in despair with anguish. “What should I do, Nik?! What should I do?”

And Kors stopped.

“Again you behave like a madman! Gods! You are completely sick, how could I forget! Get out!”

He opened the door, pushing Arel out, who didn’t even have time to get up. He slammed the door behind him. Throwing out the prince, Kors squeezed his temples in his hands and collapsed into a chair. He was shaking.

On stiff legs, Arel limped to his room. He entered like a somnambulist, without looking at Verniy, sat down on the bed. The shield from his mask remained at Kors. And Ver saw that Arel came without it, and his hair was tousled, and the buckle on his jacket was torn out with the roots and dangled on a piece of leather rag. The prince glanced at the unclean guiltily, looked away.

“Brush your hair,” Ver said to him in unclean language and pointed to the comb. Arel understood him, he obediently went to the mirror and sat down in front of it. He grabbed a hairbrush to smooth the tousled strands.

“Take off your jacket, it has to be sewn up,” Ver pointed to the jacket.

Arel uncomplainingly took off his jacket.

“Do you hear the owner? In your head? Do you hear him?” Ver knocked on his dog's head, trying to convey to the prince the meaning of the question.

“No, I don’t hear him,” Arel barely whispered, “I don’t hear you, Nik, forgive me.”

Ver went up to him to take the jacket, and Arel handed it to him. And Ver put the key on the table in front of Arel. It was the key to the part of the mask that covered his perforated cheek. Having opened the lock at the temple with the key, it was necessary to unfasten the buckle and remove the flap that covered the lacing.

By unlacing the slit in the mask, the hole could be opened. Arel raised his head in horror:

“No! No,” he whispered, “Nik, no.”

Ver, without another word, stepped away from the table. Sitting down in his place in the corner, he began to mend Arel’s jacket. With trembling fingers, Prince Arel took the key, there were tears in his eyes.

“Yes?” Kors distracted himself from the map, which he took out of the cylinder, using the seal. “Who's there? Valentine, is it you?”

And since there was silence outside the door, he swore and, coming up, sharply opened it.

Arel stood on the threshold, without a jacket, undressed to the waist, and Kors froze, a little dumbfounded, but quickly pulled himself together.

“Oh,” a pause followed, “do you want more, prince? Well, come in.”