"The queen was pleased with the food they brought the king,"

Fayme confided to the others. "A nice thick hot soup, fresh bread, butter, and a baked apple. We were able to get him to eat it all. I did not believe in a place so rough there would be good food."

"We're fortunate to have a place at all tonight to lay our heads," Edmee remarked. "My poor wee princeling being robbed of his rightful place and his heritage. Well, if those Yorkist pretenders believe they can hold on to their stolen goods, they're wrong. You mark my words, the queen will see to it, and we'll be back in London before you know it." She popped a piece of meat pie into her mouth. Edmee was an old woman now, at least sixty. No one knew for certain. A hot meal had restored her spirits.

"I do not think that we will be back in London quite so soon," Alexander Givet said quietly. "I know for a fact that the queen means to send to Queen Marie of Scotland and ask for refuge once the storm has stopped. She means for us to shelter in Scotland. Queen Marie must give her refuge, for their shared blood demands it, but she will be able to do little more than that. Her own child has only recently become king, and he is near our prince in age. It will take time to rebuild our king's forces. She might even send her son to Anjou for his own safety. He and his father will now be hunted down with an eye towards killing them both."

"Mary, Jesu, have mercy!" Edmee cried, and she crossed herself. "They would not kill a child, would they?"

"Every moment Henry and Edward Plantagenet live, they present a danger to King Edward of York," the physician answered. "The father they will kill outright when he is caught. The boy will suffer a tragic accident. It is the way of our world, old woman."