“Don’t look,” I pleaded. I leaned toward him, braced on one hand, the other stretched out expectantly.

“Why not?” Lang batted my hand away, and I flushed as his ink-stained fingers brushed mine. His brow furrowed, and a grin stole over his face. “What’s wrong with it?”

I rose and sat behind him on the bed, cringing at my portrait over his shoulder.

I’d begged to be painted in the library, but Alessandra had dismissed the idea with a roll of her eyes. “We might as well have you in overalls, on your hands and knees weeding the squash.”

Perfect! I’d wanted to say. Instead, I’d kept my complaints to myself, sat straight-backed in the fine velvet chair, worn the flashy fuchsia gown she’d picked.

“It just wasn’t what I wanted,” I said, my face as pink as the ridiculous dress.

Lang slid the portraits and profiles back into the folder. “There’s nothing wrong with it. But I think they’ll be pleasantly surprised to see you in real life.” He looked back at me, eyes dark and smiling.

I huffed a laugh and dropped my gaze. “What, sweaty, covered in dirt and ashes?”

“You know what I mean.” Lang’s tone was steady. Warm.

Dangerous.

“Speaking of Prince Bertilak,” he went on, “before you came after me, I was going to ask why there’s no portrait of him in here.”

“I saw that,” I said. “Or rather, I didn’t see. I don’t know. Maybe his looks aren’t his best quality.”

“Likely.”

I hesitated. “What’s it going to be like?”

“England?” Lang asked.

“England. The court.” I paused. “The prince. Courting him.” I held my face in my hands. “I just feel lost right now. In the dark. No course, no clue where to go.”

I glanced up when I felt Lang’s hand smooth the hair that splayed over my shoulder. “I have good news for you, Seneschal-elect.” He smiled. “I know how to read a map.”

Lang, Yu, Perrault, Skop, Cobie, and I disembarked in the port town of Southampton, into a wooden rowboat that would take us up the River Itchen. But though there was nothing threatening about the countryside unfurling dewy and deep green around us, nothing forbidding about the willows and farms and small footbridges we passed or about the sky like a pearl overhead, Perrault and I had all the cheer of a pair of pallbearers. Lang and the other sailors seemed cheerful enough as they rowed us up the river, but the protocol officer and I—we were a two-person funeral procession.

He wasn’t particularly pleased I’d given up on my finishing lessons. I wasn’t particularly pleased to be here.

When we finally reached Winchester, we climbed out and surveyed the village. I wrapped my arms around myself, surprised by the sharp chill in the air so unlike Potomac’s humid warmth.