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His beady eyes raked the length of her, and he laughed as Lady Eleanor turned away, steering Bronwyn in a different direction.

“You do not like him,” Bronwyn said.

“I do not care for the way he looks at me. Or at the other ladies-in-waiting. He leers at us as if we were nothing more than objects of desire, not real women with minds and hearts, worthy of respect.”

“And you, Lady Eleanor?” Bronwyn asked. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

The good lady smiled. She was of about forty years, closer to the empress’s own age, and whilst she carried herself with confidence and grace, there were one or two lines on her face that came from seeing many summers.

“Because when I heard that a humble servant had saved my empress’s life, I was keen to meet her. You did a wondrous thing, and I wanted to see you with my own eyes.”

“I didn’t do anything so great as you make it out to be, milady. I just…”

“Attacked an armed man twice your size—and ended up killing him.”

Bronwyn tensed. “I never meant to… It was an accident. I only meant to stop him.” Shame and sorrow filled her. She hadn’t meant to kill anyone. He’d fallen on her dagger and his own weight had crushed the life out of him. She would have done the same for anyone in danger, empress or not.

“I could guess as much. But the fact remains that you saved the empress’s life, and that has not gone unnoticed. Another person might have been struck dumb or frozen at the sight. Not you, Mistress Blakenhale. Not you. You’re special, and the empress sees it, even if you do not.”

“Lady Eleanor, the empress needs you,” Lady Morwenna called, eyeing them with another lady-in-waiting.

“I’ll be anon. Tell her I’ll join her presently,” Lady Eleanor said.

The young women inclined their heads and left, whispering among them.

“I swear, that young woman is like a crow with that dark hair of hers, always muttering and whispering about something.” Lady Eleanor snorted. “I’d best get back. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Blakenhale.”

“And you, Lady Eleanor.”

Lady Eleanor’s dimples deepened in her cheeks when she smiled, and her warm, brown eyes were kind. “Do not doubt yourself, Bronwyn. I came from a simple family too. A potter’s daughter, and now I count the empress to be one of my closest friends. You too can rise, if you wish it.”

Bronwyn laughed. “You jest, milady. I know my path. I will be a baker, and maybe a wife and mother someday.”

“Perhaps. But you might do something before that, or during, or after. You are special, Bronwyn Blakenhale, I can just see it. Good day.” Lady Eleanor squeezed her hand and walked away.

That evening, Bronwyn sat at one of the campfires with the other cooks.

The men laughed and teased one another as they dined on hot, thin potage, a sort of hot mash mixed with nuts, berries, and whatever they could find.

The lords and ladies never went hungry, and as the saying goes, an army marched on its stomach. She well understood its meaning now.

She found herself alone at the small cooking fire. The smells coming from the pot were delicious, but it had long since been scraped clean. With the pot removed from the heat, it was now a small fire.

Perched at the end of a log, Bronwyn felt the rough timber beneath her bottom and shifted uncomfortably.

Most of the cooks had gone to drink, gamble, or sleep, but she stared into the flames and the darkness, watching the orange sparks crackle and fly.

She wished she could see Rupert again. To see his smiling face and golden hair, even just for a moment.

It would give her something to be happy about.

A woman sat down nearby, saying nothing. She was of an average height but appeared black when silhouetted against the firelight, appearing like a being made of shadow, until she moved aside her thick fur mantle of her cloak and the light revealed her face.

Bronwyn opened her mouth to speak when the woman raised a hand.

“Do not speak until I have asked you to.” The empress’s firm voice was clear. “Why do you not drink with the others?”

Bronwyn shrugged. “I have things on my mind.”

“Such as? A handsome young man, perhaps?” Her voice was teasing. “Life on the road can lead to romance, you know.”

Bronwyn shook her head. “Not for me.”

She cocked her head, inquiring.

A chill wind blew, and Bronwyn hunched her shoulders against it.

Even when curled up near a fire, she still found it cold at night.

She said, “I got separated from my father during the battle. I don’t know where he is, or my stepmother, or our apprentice, Wyot.

He’s only ten. I don’t even know if they’re still alive. ”

She stared moodily into the flames, forgetting briefly to whom she was talking.

The woman’s teasing smile had faded. “How old are you, girl? And what is your name?”

“Bronwyn Blakenhale.”

“A Welsh name.”

She had never liked her name. Not a Jane or Mary, hers sounded far too much like Wynn for her liking. The old irritability of having a boyish-sounding name felt like a flickering candle in the dark, a whisper of a life that had ended long ago. Her childhood, perhaps.

“I am eighteen years old.” She would celebrate nineteen summers in June.

“Well, Bronwyn of Blakenhale, when I was your age, I had already been married—for quite some time. Today, my son is in France, and my foolish husband is fighting to keep a hold of our territory. Each day that passes, I do not know if or when I will see them again. So you see, war separates us as well. You are not the only one affected by this anarchy.”

Bronwyn met her gaze. Her dark eyes were fixed on her face, but her mind was elsewhere. But then the fire cracked, and Empress Maud’s sharp attention returned to her. “I have heard your name mentioned by my ladies. I did not know it was you of whom they spoke.”

“My lady?” she asked, wincing at seeing the empress’s bristling expression.

“You address me as ‘Your Grace,’ or in private, ‘Empress.’”

“Yes, Empress.”

“Better.” She nodded. “A lady-in-waiting of mine, Lady Alice Duncombe, mentioned you. She says you were a servant of hers for a time, when she was looking for a new maid.” Her hard gaze seemed to assess Bronwyn to see if that was true.

“Yes, Empress.”

She narrowed her eyes, perhaps trying to tell if Bronwyn was mocking her.

When Bronwyn stayed silent, Empress Maud said, “I have also heard it said that you are quite capable, and smart for a baker. You work in the cooking tents but also proved your father innocent of murder. Did that truly happen?”

Bronwyn had just opened her mouth to answer when an arrow flew into the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks. She and the empress shot to their feet together, looking around. A pair of fighters tumbled and fell into the fire, making Bronwyn and the empress fall back with a cry.

A man warned, “It’s an attack!” and the empress looked at Bronwyn, her eyes wide.

They were engulfed in chaos. Suddenly, they stood on the outskirts of a battle.

A voice called out, “Protect the empress!”

Empress Maud said, “Dear God, they’re after me.”