Lord Robert found her at midday, and looked out with her at the sky for a long minute before saying only that there was no message yet. Just the sound of his voice was a comfort. It was him who had been the first to soothe her when she came out of that awful place, before her lady arrived to barter for their release. He had even wiped the blood and tears from her face, gentle as her own father – or as a father should be, if he cared more about his daughter than his drink.

So when, hours later, the Welshman appeared on the roof, she made herself stay still. She knew it was Lord Robert who had told him where to find her, and he would only do that if he thought she should hear what the Welshman had to say.

He held himself differently now. It had been there in the hall and it was here too. It wasn’t just the fine new clothes they had given him. There was a sureness in his body, an absolute control of the space around him, the confidence like arrogance that was the birthright of highborn lords. It was so very far from the shrinking man she had found tied to a tree. When had it begun? Why had she not seen it for what it was?

She looked out at the horizon, and felt him looking at her. It was a long time before he spoke. He soaked in her silence first, fit himself into it in that way he had. For a moment it felt like it had only days ago, like she knew his every thought and feeling. Hiraeth, she thought – and knew it was not the distance from his lands that grieved him in this moment. It was the distance from her.

“It means naught to me that they call me a prince,” he said quietly. “Is but a word. One that has damned me.”

She tried to believe him. She tried not to remember how he had lain naked before her, all spread out like a banquet beneath her greedy hands, no shame in her as she compelled him to serve her hunger.

If it were but a word, she would not feel this way. If it were but a word, he would have told her.

“The Welsh have no kings, only princes with little wealth,” he continued, so determined to explain it. “My only worth has been as pawn, to my father and to Edward.”

Nan had no worth to any kings, and her worth to her father had fit easily into the palm of his hand. A few coins, spent and forgotten. Her worth.

“It is the Normans who rule, and it means little to them that I was called a prince. When I lived among them, they looked on me with contempt.” It was there in his voice, how it still stung him. “They sneered at me. Every day, for years.”