The marble steps of the Royal Palace in Belgrade flet cold.
Moreau adjusted the buttons on his coat as he walked beside Ambassador Dufort, flanked by Yugoslav officers.
Their boots clicked across the stone floor as they approached the great ceremonial hall.
"This is a trap," Renaud whispered under his breath, walking behind them.
Moreau gave the slightest nod. "If it is, then we give them nothing to sink teeth into."
The doors opened into the throne room.
Grand chandeliers hung overhead, dimmed out of respect.
On the dais beneath the royal crest stood Prince Paul now the regent of Yugoslavia, his posture tired but unbending.
Beside him stood a semicircle of military brass and cabinet ministers.
Their expressions ranged from blank civility to open contempt.
Dufort offered a short bow. "Your Highness, honored gentlemen. France extends its deepest sorrow and reverence."
Prince Paul nodded once, curtly. "We appreciate the gesture. But we require truth more than condolences."
