Chapter Thirty-Five - The Imposter

Eithne knew she was in trouble when the man in the surcoat planted his dirty boots on the part of the floor she had just finished scrubbing. Orange and mauve, her least favourite colours in the world.

“You are to come with me, Princess,” he said, extending his arm.

She scrambled to her feet without assistance, wondering why every time someone sent by Clara spoke to her they did so with a sneer. The way he pronounced her title made it sound as if she belonged in a dung heap. It couldn’t be any worse than here.

Her heart sank to see they were on their way to the royal chamber. The escort rapped once on the door and stood back so that Eithne came face to face with Ephron.

“There you are, you little harlot. Tell Mama how you behaved like a true fille de joie with an unknown man.”

Two things alarmed her about that last sentence. Her brother used the Frankish term for a prostitute when he had always professed a distaste for Clara’s mother tongue. And he apparently hadn’t recognised Xand