I refuse to be baited like a bear. With one flowing movement, I throw my cape back over my shoulder to reveal Tanwen. I lift her high, holding her up and turning slowly so that all in the room may see her. There is a collective gasp. Though her birth was not a secret, this is the first time my child has been seen by any besides myself and her father. She has known no more than two moons, and has still the purity of the newborn about her. I have dressed her in a simple muslin shift, so that her plump, pink arms and legs wriggle free, her paleness—my paleness—clear. Young as she is, she has a head of hair soft as thistledown and white as cotton-grass. Already her stout heart and singing soul are evident, for she is not afraid, but gazes about her with interest, happy and curious. There is a tension in the room now. All eyes are upon this tiny likeness of myself.

‘Bear witness to the coming of a new Prophet of Llyn Syfaddan! Behold Tanwen! Destined to one day hold the position of Shaman, Seer, Prophet. Born in the magical waters of the lake, carrying the ancient magic in her blood. Descendent of the revered witches of Llyn Syfaddan. Blessed by the Afanc herself. Daughter of our noble ruler, Prince Brynach!’

There is a louder gasp now. For all the rumors and tittle-tattle regarding my child’s parentage, to hear Brynach so boldly named as her father shocks them. Wenna’s expression tightens. Rhodri scowls, not so much as attempting to mask his displeasure. There are murmurings all around, and people shift and shuffle, the better to see this strange and wonderful child. I lower her and step forward until I am standing directly opposite the prince. We are separated by the worn wooden table, and by centuries of tradition that dictates a noble man must take a noble wife. I offer Tanwen to him.

‘Will you hold your child, my Prince?’