'I am a son of kings!' snarled Jezal, 'I will not—'
He was doubled over by a spear of pain through his guts, stunningly sudden. He tottered a step or two, scalding vomit spraying from his mouth. He crashed onto his face, scarcely able even to breathe, his crown bouncing off and rolling away into the corner of the room. He had never known agony like it. Not a fraction of it.
'I have no notion… of what causes you to suppose… that you could speak to me in such a manner. To me, the First of the Magi!' Jezal heard Bayaz' footsteps thumping slowly towards him, voice picking at his ears as he squirmed helplessly in his own sick.
'Son of kings? I am disappointed, after all that we have been through together, that you would so readily believe the lies I have spread on your behalf. That nonsense was meant for the idiots in the streets, but it seems that idiots in palaces are lulled by sweet slop just as easily. I bought you from a whore. You cost me six marks. She wanted twenty, but I drive a hard bargain.'
The words were painful, of course. But far, far worse was the unbearable stabbing that cut up Jezal's spine, that tore at his eyes, burned his skin, seared the very roots of his hair and made him thrash like a frog in boiling water.
- Last Argument of Kings, Part II, Behind the Throne