Katherine opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the torches set into the walls. Their flames quivered, still bright but beginning to fade in the first light of dawn. Beyond the window, a few stray snowflakes whirled down, the last remnants of a storm that had laid a pristine white shroud over the castle's rooftops and spires. For a moment, it looked more like a storybook palace than the fearsome fortress she knew so well—one haunted by both her happiest memories and her most painful losses.

Pulling the linen sheet around herself to hide her nakedness, Katherine moved to the window. In the courtyard below, hundreds of soldiers—clearly the Prince's men, not the Baron's—stood in silent formation. Their black armor glinted dully in the winter sun, and each man wore a cloak emblazoned with the crest of the Dragon. Motionless, they appeared more like statues than living, breathing soldiers. Their presence was a blunt reminder that the Prince's visit was not one of leisure: He was gathering an army to face the oncoming Ottoman threat. If he failed, Wallachia itself would be reduced to ash.

A soft click made her whirl around in alarm. The door opened—not to reveal the Prince, as she'd feared, but Lady Beatrice. Caught in a shaft of early sunlight, the Baroness's features flickered with a brief echo of the beauty she had once possessed, now shadowed by bitterness.

"His Grace has sent for you," Lady Beatrice announced, her voice brimming with barely contained contempt. "Once you're dressed, you will come with me to the north wing, where the Prince has taken up residence."

She gestured over her shoulder, and a pale-faced maid stepped in, clutching a neat bundle of clothing to her chest. The girl darted wary glances at Katherine, as though fearful of incurring a curse simply by meeting her eyes. Even when Katherine murmured a quiet "Thank you," the maid's hand twitched in the folds of her skirt, making a discreet sign against evil.

"Help her dress," Lady Beatrice ordered icily, then stepped aside.

Katherine bit back a queasy sense of dread and moved to the center of the room. Wordlessly, she let the maid clothe her in a gown of ivory silk lined with moss-green trim. The process felt interminably slow, and by the time the maid was pulling the final laces tight, the door swung open again. Lady Maria swept in, her face pale with fury, cobalt skirts flowing around her in a tumult of shimmering fabric. She looked like a vengeful sea goddess, intent on destroying whoever had dared slight her.

"So," Maria spat, halting a few steps away, "did you enjoy it last night—letting the Prince treat you like a common whore?"

Katherine stood silent. Anything she said would only feed Maria's rage.

"Answer me!" Maria demanded, voice trembling with rancor.

"There was nothing between us," Katherine replied. Her voice sounded calm, though her heart thudded in her chest.

Maria barked a laugh devoid of humor. "Don't lie to me, you little harlot. You schemed for this, jealous of my position and the future I had with him. Admit it—you resented me even before your father's fall. Everyone knows the whispers that you weren't truly his child. You wanted to ruin my chance with the Prince, so you spread your legs for him at the first opportunity—"

At the mention of her father, hot bile rose in Katherine's throat. "Don't you dare speak of my father," she said, her voice low and trembling with anger. "He kept your family from ruin more than once. As for the Prince? He would have rejected you anyway. Even a rumored monster like him wouldn't want a gorgon in his bed."

Maria's eyes flared, and she lashed out. The slap burned across Katherine's cheek. "How dare you speak to me like that? I'll see you flogged for this!"

Before she could strike again, Lady Beatrice caught her daughter's wrist. "Stop."

Maria jerked free, shooting Katherine a deadly glare. "I hope he makes you suffer," she hissed. "I hope your life ends in agony when he tires of you." Then she whirled away, storming out of the chamber.

Lady Beatrice let her daughter go without a word. Her gaze shifted to Katherine, cold and contemptuous. "You have never shown yourself worthy of being called a lady," she said softly. "Now, if even half of what people say about His Grace is true, he'll teach you obedience. Every whipping you've ever received here will feel like a caress compared to what he'll do."

Gathering her richly embroidered skirts, the Baroness turned toward the door. "Come," she said. "It's time you faced him."