For a moment I thought Daniel would strike me. His hand flew up and then he froze. ‘I am sorry you call me a coward before your father’s face.’ He spat out the words. ‘I am sorry you think so lowly of me, your husband-to-be, and the man trying to save you and your father from a traitor’s death. But whatever you think of me, I am commanding you to help your father pack and be ready.’

I took a breath, my heart still hammering with rage. ‘I am not coming,’ I said flatly.

‘Daughter!’ my father started.

I turned to him. ‘You go, Father, if you wish. But I am not running away from a danger that I don’t see. I am a favourite at the palace with the queen and I am in no danger from her, and too small a person to attract the attention of the council. I don’t believe you are in any danger either. Please don’t throw away what we have started here. Please don’t make us run away again.’

My father took me into his arms and held my head against his shoulder. I felt myself rest against him and for a moment I longed to be the little girl who went to him for help, who had known that his judgement was always right. ‘You said we would stay here,’ I whispered. ‘You told me this was to be my home.’

‘Querida, we have to go,’ he said quietly. ‘I truly believe they will come: first for the rebels, and then for the Protestants, and then for us.’

I lifted my head and I stepped back from him. ‘Father, I cannot spend my life running away. I want a home.’

‘My daughter, we are the people who have no home.’

There was a silence. ‘I don’t want to be one of the people without a home,’ I said. ‘I have a home at court, and friends at court, and my place there. I don’t want to go to France and then Italy.’

He paused. ‘I was afraid you would say that. I don’t want to force you. You are free to take your own decision, my daughter. But it is my wish that you come with me.’

Daniel walked the few paces to the attic window, then he turned and looked at me. ‘Hannah Verde, you are my betrothed wife and I order you to come with me.’

I drew myself up and faced him. ‘I will not come.’

‘Then our betrothal will be ended.’

My father raised a hand in dissent, but he said nothing.

‘So be it,’ I said. I felt cold.

‘It is your wish that our betrothal is ended?’ he asked again, as if he could not believe that I would reject him. That hint of arrogance helped me to my decision.

‘It is my wish that our betrothal is ended,’ I said, my voice as steady as his own. ‘I release you from your promise to me, and I ask you to release me.’