So, she has come to me on this! This most personal of all business. And yet, of course, for a princess there is more than what is private to be considered. And nobody knows this better than Wenna. For if there is not love to bind her to her prince, and no child, then all that is left is the fickle bond of politics. Should it suit our leader to no longer be allied to his wife’s kin, what price for her slender crown then? How much has it cost her to seek my help? Pride might have stopped her. Or the desire not to admit her failing to me. But I am being foolish, for her barrenness is not a secret.

‘Can you help me?’ she asks. ‘Are you able to serve your prince in this way?’

Now I understand. Clever woman indeed! By placing her malady in my hands she has ensured that any failure to produce an heir could be laid at my door. At the same time, she knows that, should I succeed and she give her husband his longed-for child, she will take the credit. She will be lauded and revered, her position secured. Perhaps she will even earn his love. But should I fail, should no babe appear, then the shortcoming will be mine, even if it must be put about secretly that she sought my assistance. She will no longer be seen as the sole reason for a childless marriage. It could even happen that in such a case Prince Brynach would cease to find my company so desirable. Could that be her hidden motive? Clever woman indeed, for I cannot refuse her.

I stand up and take my knife from its hook on the wall. Both women start, their eyes wide, their bodies taut. Quickly, I turn the knife in my hand so that the blade points toward me, and offer the handle to the princess.

‘Cut me a lock of your hair,’ I tell her.

She takes the knife, and Nesta fumbles with the pins securing her twisted hair. At last, some falls free.

‘You must cut it yourself,’ I explain.

She does so, with purpose, not taking some tiny wisp, but a bold hank. She means my magic to work, then, that much is plain.

I take the hair from her, coiling it tightly. In my wooden trunk I find a small leather pouch to keep the precious lock. Tying the drawstring firmly, I slide the pouch into the pocket of my tunic.

I remain standing and the others get to their feet.

‘Have you any instructions for me?’ Princess Wenna asks. ‘Is there any action I should take, anything…’

She casts her eyes down, and for the first, the only time, I see the vulnerable young woman beneath the mask of privilege and position.

I shake my head. ‘I will do what needs to be done,’ I tell her.