A book bounces off a wall in the library of Wittenberg University and Horatio looks up with a mild, “My lord?”

“Would you believe,” the prince seethes, “that there’s an entire bevy of scholars convinced that I’m in love with my mother and want to – eurgh – sleep with her?” He shudders and adds, “That’s gross, it’s unnatural, and it’s bad enough that I have images of her sleeping with her husband’s brother crawling through my head all the time, and now I have to read this too?”