The Princess had watched in mournful dismay while the plasterer extracted the crossbow bolt. Pulled from the wall, the long spike was marked by three green stripes – found only on those fired from a crossbow of the King’s Rangers.

Despite her protests, she had been escorted away to her chambers, where she was fussed over appropriately and handed a bowl of broth to nurse. Her guards were speaking with someone outside.

A moment later, Acalle entered. The Queen’s eldest daughter swept into the room with an air of imperiousness swirling around her like a thick fog, looking at her disapprovingly.

Phaedra sighed. “Don’t say it.”

“I don’t have to. I know, and you know, that no good was ever going to come of it.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Acalle.”

“The Captain of the King’s Rangers is no fit companion for a Princess to be seen with, did I not say?”

“No. Dabrose did not try to shoot me! He is an innocent man!”

“And on what basis do you make this claim, pray?”

“Dabrose would not have missed!”