[ Ethlyn is, he thinks, far more worried about this than the healers back home ever were. Or his parents, for that matter. It's not as though he advertised his activities, but he'd made himself grievously sick enough times that he knew that what he was doing wasn't a secret to those who had to deal with him. If anything, his father had simply given him a long, appraising look and nodded his head at him. Not in blatant approval (rarely in blatant approval; he would have preferred that Claude done away with his enemies by force rather than shore up his own defenses), but in acceptance, in understanding.

More than that, though, he's surprised by what Ethlyn says next. ]

Is it really? [ His brows furrow in surprise. ] I'd considered it something of an -- occupational hazard, for most of us blessed with noble birth. Didn't you have political enemies that wanted to do away with you? Even within your own court, there must have been enough dissent and bids for power for the occasional assassination attempt.