Sibil sat on a bed in a servant’s quarters, her head spinning. Had it not been for previous visits to the palace with Princess Lewen, she would not have known where she was. The Steward had escorted her briskly to the room some time ago, leaving her to entertain herself.

There seemed no end to the mystery surrounding her Mother. Supposed premonitions of death had been unnerving enough, but now... an audience with the king? At his request! It was surreal, and Sibil’s wildest conjectures did not begin to explain it. Her attempt to seize control of her own life seemed waylaid once again. She was imagining herself a bit of flotsam from a shipwreck, at the mercy of the ocean’s currents, when the steward returned, shutting the door angrily behind himself.

“Where is my mother?” she asked as he approached.

“With the king.” Without warning, the steward sat so close to her their thighs touched. “I should like to see her.” Sibil started to rise.

“In due time.” The steward caught her arm and pulled her back to the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“If your mother were more forthcoming, you would not be so inconvenienced.”

“How do you mean?” Sibil’s eyes darted toward the door.

“The woman’s hiding something. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what that is.”

“My mother has nothing to hide from the king!”

“I could be convinced of that, I suppose.” The steward loosened his hold and placed a palm against Sibil’s cheek. “There are many ways for you to prove your loyalty to the throne.” His hand brushed her breast as he withdrew it. “Are you prepared to do so?” Before Sibil could respond, he leaned in, his lips seeking hers.

Sibil pushed him away, struggling to stand. “How dare you!”

“Need I remind you where you are?” The steward rose, positioning himself between her and the door. “Or who you’re talking to?”

“I mean no disrespect, m’lord, but if you—"

“Take off your blouse.”

“What?!”

“Like mother, like daughter. Take off your blouse and let us see what you are hiding there.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” said Sibil breathlessly. “And if you lay another hand on me—"

The steward grasped her sleeve. Sibil twisted violently away, her blouse ripping at the shoulder seam. 

The steward grinned. “You see? One way or the other!” He started to laugh, sobering quickly at the sight of the dagger Sibil produced. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.”

“Take me to my mother!” Sibil waved the dagger at him.

“Did I not warn you about making demands?” The steward lashed out, recoiling as Sibil’s blade pricked his arm. He swore loudly as he inspected the spot of crimson staining his white blouse. “You’ll not soon forget what I’m going to do to you.”

“Touch me and I’ll kill you!” Sibil lurched past the steward and onto the bed, clambering quickly over it, but he intercepted her before she could reach the door. He kicked a stool separating them toward her. Sibil grabbed it and flung it back at him. The stool sailed past the steward’s head and crashed against the door.

“Make all the noise you want,” the steward said. “No one cares!”