She hung her head. He considered her a disappointment. A burden. As if it were her fault her mother had died when Cara was less than a year old. As if her father’s grief were her doing. He didn’t love her. Couldn’t, or he would understand that if she could talk to him, she would say that she loved him more than anything, that he was her family, that she would give everything she had if only she could bring back his smile.

She looked at him again. He gazed back, and she thought she saw in his eyes a reflection of the inadequate daughter that motherless infant had grown up to be. She made her lips form the sound; tried as hard as she could to get it out. ‘Wh– what . . .?’

‘I’m sending you away for a while,’ he said.

Cara had wondered, hearing old tales, what it felt like when your heart turned cold. Now she knew. It was like being a tiny bird, a robin or wren, and looking up to see a cat two paces away, ready to pounce. ‘Wh– wh–’ Her voice was a thread. ‘Where?’

‘Not far,’ he said, and her heart unclenched just a little, letting her breathe. Perhaps he only meant a few days’ visit somewhere . . . From full moon to half, she could perhaps bear that . . . ‘I had thought to send you to court for a period,’ Father went on, ‘but I believe that would be too much to ask. You will go instead to Prince Oran’s household at Winterfalls. As he is now a married man with a child it will be perfectly proper, and if you apply yourself you should acquire all the skills your aunt believes you need. You will meet a wider circle there, including some young men of good family.’