Finally he pulled the amulet in its wrapping out of his bag. Wearing only his breeches, he slipped down the stairs, past the horses in their stalls, and into the cold stable yard. Some distance from the building stood a stone forge built when there was a blacksmith in residence. It had been Han’s hiding place since he was old enough to have secrets. Han lifted a loose stone at its base and tucked the amulet underneath, replacing the stone. Feeling more at ease, he returned to the stable and climbed the stairs, his mind working furiously.

Tomorrow he’d go back to Lucius, deliver his purse, and hopefully get paid. That might be enough to hold off the landlord for a while, especially if he mucked out the barn again.

Sitting down on his mattress, he dug in his breeches pocket, pulling out the princess coin Matieu had given him a lifetime ago. He turned it toward the dying fire, and the reflected flames picked out the silhouette engraved on it.

It was Princess Raisa ana’Marianna, heir to the Gray Wolf throne of the Fells.

“Hey, girlie,” he whispered, running his dirty forefinger over the image. “I’d like to see more like you.”

She was in profile, captured in cold hard metal—her graceful neck extended, her hair swept back from her face and caught into a coronet. No doubt proud and haughty as her mother, Queen Marianna.

No, Han thought sarcastically. It’s far too much trouble to come into the highlands to hunt. We’ll just have the deer delivered, even if it means setting fire to the mountain.

A princess wouldn’t have to worry about keeping a roof over her head, about where her next meal was coming from, or if she was going to be cornered and beaten in the street.

A princess would have nothing at all to worry about.

C H A P T E R  S E V E N

IN THE
GLASS
GARDEN

Raisa hurried down the corridor, her dancing slippers whispering over the marble floors. She’d intended to return to her chambers and change clothes, but was at a loss for what to put on. Her clan leggings and tunic were filthy dirty. She had no play clothes anymore, and anyway, this new solemn Amon in his dress uniform seemed to call for something more formal. But what if he’d changed into breeches and shirt? She’d feel foolish in her gown.

Hold on. She was the princess heir, come from a dance. Why should she feel foolish at all? What was the matter with her?

Magret was waiting up, nursing a cup of tea, her graying hair taken down and plaited. “You’re back earlier than I expected, Your Highness,” she said, rising and dipping a curtsy. “I thought it would go later.”

“It will. I’m going to see Amon now,” Raisa said, sitting in front of her mirror and removing the circlet. She’d leave the gown on, she decided, but take down her hair. Then she’d…