One thing I do know. You don’t take folk to an out-of-the-way spot like this just to say thank you. Especially when you’ve already thanked them the day before. For a bit nobody says anything, then the prince clears his throat. He’s looking down, scuffing his shoe on the path. Nervous. Can’t think why.

‘I have a favour to ask,’ he says.

‘Ask it, then,’ says Blackthorn. Sounding edgy now.

‘It’s a little difficult,’ says the prince. ‘You may think it sounds foolish.’

We wait.

‘I need your help to solve a mystery. Something that has been troubling me for some time; something whose answer I cannot work out for myself. A dilemma I cannot take to anyone else.’

‘Why not?’ I ask. Blackthorn’s got enough to worry about without some prince dumping his problems on her shoulders.

‘Because anyone else would tell me I’m imagining things.’

From the way he says this, I guess he’s told someone the story already and got the answer that it’s rubbish. Though who says that to a prince, when he could lock them up if he wanted and throw away the key?

‘And you think I wouldn’t?’ says Blackthorn.

‘You seem . . . open to possibilities,’ the prince says. ‘You are a wise woman. That means – I understand it to mean that you see things differently from other folk. That you believe in the power of stories. That perhaps you do not dismiss the existence of . . . of the Other.’

He means the fey. Or maybe magic. I think of Conmael, but I don’t say the fellow’s been wandering around in Dreamer’s Wood. I don’t tell the prince one of the fey was at his council. Chances are Blackthorn and me were the only folk who could see him anyway.

‘Perhaps we could sit down somewhere.’ Blackthorn looks around. There’s a bench under the birches, beside the path. She sits at one end and the prince sits at the other. The dog jumps up on his knee. I lean on a tree trunk, close enough to hear but not too close. The prince is all knotted up with worry. Might be easier for him to talk if he can pretend it’s just him and her.

‘This is . . . private. Absolutely confidential. You understand?’

‘Mm-hm,’ says Blackthorn.

Maybe the prince has done something he shouldn’t and picked up a nasty ailment. Doesn’t want to pass it on to his new bride once they’re wed. Awkward for him to come out with. Still, it would take a lot to make Blackthorn blush.

‘It concerns Lady Flidais,’ the prince says, lowering his voice, though there are only the three of us here. ‘This is indeed difficult . . . I hardly . . .’

‘I know how to keep secrets,’ says Blackthorn. ‘Even the most sensitive ones. If you want someone who can hold her counsel, you could do worse than choose a wise woman.’