Cressyda froze.
‘What are you up to, Little Pet?’ said Samsel.
Cressyda tried to swallow, but the bread had become a hard, dry lump in her throat.
‘Stuffing your face while no one’s looking, are you? I thought you were supposed to be fasting with the Queen? My mother would be so disappointed.’
She shook her head, frantically brushing crumbs from her lips.
‘Naughty Pet.’
Before she could escape, Samsel lunged towards her and grabbed hold of her chin, yanking her head back. He held her still, fingers digging into her jaw.
‘Spit it out.’
Cressyda stared at him. She wanted to run, but she knew hewould be faster. Recently he had started pinching and jabbing her when no one was looking, leaving mottled, mauve marks. She had taken to keeping a general watch on where he was at all times, trying to stay out of his way. She had not expected to see him here now; he was supposed to be attending the King’s council meeting.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Samsel hissed. ‘Spit it out or I’ll tell the Queen.’
Cressyda wished Alinore were here. Or Ottone. But the corridor was empty and there was no one else.
‘Spit it out.’
Cressyda pushed the half-chewed mush through her lips with her tongue. It dribbled down her chin and splattered on to the floor.
Samsel smirked. He released her and wiped his hand on the front of her dress. ‘Good Little Pet,’ he said.
Further down the corridor, another door opened. An attendant appeared and hurried towards Samsel.
Cressyda breathed out in relief.
‘His Majesty asks if you have found the parchment you were looking for yet, Prince Samsel?’ gabbled the attendant, dropping into a bow.
‘All right, all right,’ muttered Samsel. ‘I’m coming.’
He turned and marched away, leaving Cressyda standing shaking and silent.
Alinore
THEY WALKED ALONGthe corridor, arm in arm, stepping in unison, their shoes tapping on the terracotta tiles, their long winter skirts hissing and swishing. From somewhere behind them came the clanging bells of the Sanctuary, distant chimes echoing along corridors, ricocheting up to the battlements, tolling the hour.
‘So where’s this painting of a woman with a dragon?’ asked Alinore.
‘Just a bit further.’
‘I hope this is worth it, Cress.’
The Princess had asked Alinore to do away with naming formalities. Only if they were in the presence of others was Alinore careful still to address Cressyda as ‘Princess’.
‘You’ll like it, Alinore. I know you will.’
They were walking through the east side of the castle, in a musty, dim, forgotten section on the first floor.
‘I thought it was down here …’ muttered Cressyda. ‘Yes! Look, there it is.’
They approached a large, unframed canvas, hung slightly crooked on the wall.
‘It’s Princess Tiannie,’ said Cressyda. ‘The last Mountain Princess. And the first Maiden Sacrifice.’
