Raisa resisted her first instinct, which was to wrest herself free and ask Bulkleigh just who she thought she was, assaulting the princess heir of the realm in such a manner, and if she’d like to spend the night in gaol.

Instead, Raisa kept her face turned away as best she could, hoping to somehow salvage the situation. “Yes, ma’am?” she mumbled.

But Bulkleigh seized her chin and jerked her face up so she was looking her in the eyes. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, girl.”

Raisa looked into the cook’s eyes, dumbly waiting for recognition to flood into Bulkleigh’s face, waiting for the premature end of her ill-fated adventure.

“What’s your name, girl?” Bulkleigh demanded, giving her a little shake. “I’m going to report you to the steward, I am. Impertinent little snip.”

Raisa was so astonished, it took her a while to get her voice going. “Um…R…Rebecca, ma’am,” she said. “Rebecca Morley, if’t please you,” she said, trying for a curtsy.

“Where were you going in such a hurry?” Bulkleigh asked, steely-eyed.

“Well. I was…ah…going to market for—”

“Whatever you were doing, it in’t as important as this.” Releasing her, the cook turned and picked up a covered tray and thrust it into Raisa’s hands. “The princess heir is taking her supper in her rooms,” she said. “Carry this up and leave it in the upstairs pantry.”

Raisa blinked at her. “This is for the Princess Raisa?” she asked.

“The princess heir to you,” Bulkleigh said. “Now be off with you; it’s getting cold. If I get a complaint about it, I’ll skin you alive. The princess is very particular about her food, she is.”

“She is?” Raisa said, before she could stop herself. “And you want me to take her supper to her?” She would have added, Aren’t you worried about poison or assassins, or…but the cook’s expression stopped her.

“Do you see anyone else waitin’ for the assignment?” the cook said sarcastically. “Queen Marianna is hosting dinner for fifty in the main dining room, and sure it would’ve been more convenient if Her Highness had troubled herself to come down to eat with the rest of ’em,” Bulkleigh said. “But she didn’t. Now go on.”

Squaring her shoulders, Raisa turned and hurried back the way she came. As soon as she was out of sight of the cook, she stowed the tray behind a statue of Queen Madera feeding the multitudes, and left the servants’ corridors for the safety of the main hallways.

Raisa felt relieved, yet oddly disappointed. She was the blooded princess heir, yet in servants’ clothes she was apparently unrecognizable. In the stories, rulers had a natural presence about them that identified them as such, even dressed in rags.