Catherine munched a slice of hot buttered toast which she had spread thickly with a strawberry preserve and said, around the mouthful of toast, “So, Dame Mella, what can we expect today? Some brave soul to rouse the peasantry against our usurpers? Or my father to bow and scrape to them?”

​

Catherine's unladylike conduct earned a severely raised eyebrow from the Dame. All she got in return was Catherine's naughtiest grin. “We both know the answer to that, milady,” the older woman replied as mildly as she could. Mella knew where this was leading. Her mornings with Catherine had become increasingly fractious over the last year. 

 

“So, no change there, then?” Catherine said, waspishly. “Higher taxes. Our people working like slaves for a foreign overlord, our yeomen raised to fight his wars, our sons dying on his unjust battlefields.” Catherine's eyes widened as she saw the look of anger on Dame Mella's face and the younger woman realised she had crossed a line she should never have even drawn near. The Dame's son was lost on one of those battlefields three Summers gone.

​

Catherine lowered her gaze away from the Dame and the anger slowly drained away. “I am sorry, Dame Mella.”

​

The Dame drew a deep breath. Her son's body had never been found on that field. Some part of her held hope that he was still alive and might one day return. Though the probable outcome was that his shattered frame had been eaten by the savages he had been sent to fight. Mella gave Catherine her sternest stare and watched the girl wilt. She let out her breath and said “If I were you, Lady Catherine, I would be very careful making comments like those. Not only would they anger your father, they could be seen as sowing the seeds of rebellion and bring down such wrath upon your family that even I fear it.”

​

Catherine started at that last comment. Dame Mella had been her lady in waiting since Catherine had been weaned from her mother's breast and in those years nothing had scared the older woman. Nothing. She had even been at the battlements of this castle, loading crossbows for the defenders and helping the injured to the infirmary.

​

“My Lady,” Dame Mella went on, assuming her role as teacher, now, “you are of a family line that stretches back nearly nine centuries and has brought heroes, generals, scholars and even kings to the world. Your blood is in many ways purer than any other line in this land. A single thoughtless comment could bring ruin to your entire family, wipe their name from history and bring untold suffering to the people they swore to protect.”

​

Catherine pushed away her breakfast plate and dabbed her lips with the clean cotton napkin. She stood and curtsied to the Dame in a shocking breach of etiquette. “I apologise wholeheartedly, Dame Mella,” Catherine said with a sincerity that surprised even herself. “I have offended you and you have every right to report my insolence to my father.” She looked down at the floor. “I simply hope that I will bear whatever punishment he decrees with the same fortitude you show every day that you have to bear my own petty, childish outbursts.”

 

Dame Mella studied the shame-faced girl in front of her. “You have nothing to apologise for, milady. You merely voice the opinions of our own people as they toil in the fields and fight in the wars.” She paused and Catherine looked up with an expression of hope in her eyes. “I simply urge caution in the way you express those opinions. Caution, Lady, in when, where and with whom.”

​

“Our people cannot speak for themselves, Mella. Perhaps I should? After all, my father lacks the courage to do so!”

​

“Hush, child!” Mella retorted, angrily. The older woman struggled to regain her composure and eventually said, “Such carelessness costs lives, milady. Do you not remember the hanging of an innocent family in response to one insult directed at the overlord's son?” Catherine nodded, ashamed again. “You are walking a tightrope with comments like that, Lady Catherine. Do not let that rope end in a noose.”

​

The women regarded each other across the room. Catherine knew her anger was pointless and that Dame Mella was right. She had seen the hanging Mella referred to and the twisted expressions on the faces of the victims had haunted her dreams for years afterwards. The young woman did not like being beaten in such arguments. The Dame felt the weight of sadness in her heart increase at the thought of her lost son and his perfect bride who was standing in front of her. The silence was broken by a knock on the heavy oak door.

​

“Come,” Catherine said, her gaze not leaving Dame Mella. Two servant girls edged into the room, curtsied briefly to the Dame then more deeply and for longer towards Catherine, before clearing away the breakfast dishes and setting down a porcelain bowl and jug of hot, scented water, soaps and towels. The girls left the room and closed the door behind them.

​

“Shall I leave you, milady?”

​

Catherine relented. “No, Mella. Please stay.” She looked at the dress Mella had chosen for her. When did I last wear that? she wondered. “Are we expecting visitors today?” Catherine asked as she seated herself again and reached for the jug of hot water.

​

Mella sighed inwardly. What she had to say next would stir Catherine's already volatile mood. “Duke Gastar and his retinue arrived an hour ago.”

​

Catherine gasped in shock and spilled half the water across her chamber floor. “Gastar d'Alcene,” Catherine spat, “is no more Duke than I am the Queen of Karnath!”

​

“Such talk is unbecoming, milady,” Mella answered.

​

“And his retinue,” Catherine went on, unperturbed by Mella's warning tone. “By which you mean his pig-ignorant son, the ambassador who is so oily he leaves a snail-trail behind him and the Bishop of Lanmaar.” Catherine shuddered, rather theatrically Mella thought as she nodded. “Not to mention at least a dozen bodyguards who, it is said, compare their swords to their manhoods and vice-versa!”

​

Now it was Mella's turn to gasp. “Lady! Wherever did you hear such slanderous talk?”

​

“Oh,” Catherine paused as she thought up a lie, “just castle gossip. You know how it can be, Dame Mella.” Catherine had simply repeated the slander voiced by her own mother, in actual fact, during one of their late-night tutorials.

​

The girl looked down at the puddle of water by her feet which had also soaked the hem of her white cotton nightgown. She made to move to tidy her mess but Mella intervened.

​

“Here. I'll do that.” Mella directed Catherine to the vanity table and brought over the bowl and water jug. Carefully, she poured the remaining water into the bowl and handed Catherine a face cloth and soap. Mella then dropped a towel over the puddle of water, prodded it a couple of times with her toe, and let it do most of the hard work. She would call the servants later to finish tidying up.

​

Mella turned back to Catherine and helped the young lady gather up her long blonde tresses into a rather untidy bun on the top of her head and fixed the bun with several long, brass pins. She looked at Catherine's reflection in the large oval mirror of the vanity table as the girl lathered the soap and washed. She placed her right hand on Catherine's shoulder.

​

“You must look your best today, milady,” Mella began and immediately felt the girl tense.

​

“Why? So Gastar's son can spend most of the evening staring down my cleavage?” Catherine feigned vomitting to her right. “Or will the Bishop try to chastise me for my sins?”

​

“Listen to me, girl,” Mella's voice was dangerously low. Catherine could not remember the last time her lady in waiting had addressed her as 'girl'. “You are to be the absolute centre of attention at tonight's banquet. Tonight you will be called upon to do your duty to your family and to your people.” Horrified eyes stared back at Mella from the mirror.  

​

That could mean only one thing, Catherine realised. She was to be betrothed, promised, married off. Sold. The girl's heart sank. Her father was using her as currency, to be married off to Gastar's son in order to purchase a few more years of rule in his own crumbling realm.

Catherine's heart was beating fit to burst and her breathing was rapid as she struggled to control her temper. She twisted the face cloth in her hands as if she was throttling her father. He could not do this! part of her mind screamed. Her whole body shook with barely restrained rage and she felt Mella tighten her grip on her shoulders. 

​

“He can do this,” Mella whispered, as if she had read Catherine's mind. “It is his right as ruler of this realm. It is your responsibility, first and foremost as I have taught you for many years, to obey your father's decrees.” Mella paused to let this sink in to her charge. “And you will do it, Lady Catherine Fox,” Mella finished rather coldly, emphasising every syllable of Catherine's name and title. 

​

“I will not whore myself with Gastar's son, Dame Mella,” Catherine's voice was hoarse as she struggled to rein in her temper and her grief. Tears welled in her bright blue eyes. He will not  rob me of my virtue! she swore to herself. In her heart, Catherine had already chosen the man she would give herself to.

​

Dame Mella undid the pins which held Catherine's hair in place and began to methodically brush out the girl's waves of soft blonde hair, which tumbled past her shoulders almost to the small of her back. There was silence between the two for a while.

​

“It would not be the act of a cheap harlot, Catherine,” Mella whispered. “It would be an act of sacrifice for your people.” She paused and handed the girl a silk handkerchief and waited until Catherine had dried her tears. “In years to come,” Mella continued as she gazed at Catherine's reflection, “when your father has passed on, Gastar's son will rise to the lordship of our country. You will have that buffoon wrapped around your little finger and you, Catherine, will twist his rules and his laws to the benefit of your people.” Mella sighed heavily. She could feel the tension had left the younger woman's body and there was a steely determination on the girl's face in the mirror. “You may never be queen, Catherine, but you have the chance to be the power behind the throne. I beg you for the sake of our people and the memory of my son, do not squander this chance, milady.”