Constance could barely keep herself from weeping as she bathed the most horrific wounds whilst her mistress slept an unnatural sleep. After an hour or so Sophima entered to thank Annatrice for her most altruistic of efforts, clearly delighted that her father had once more woken. The Princess was greeted with far more scorn that she had perhaps expected. “Where are the physicians?” Constance's raised voice was not worthy of the princess but in this case, Sophima brushed it off. “Is Annatrice sickly? I came to offer my gratitude.” “Gratitude? Whilst the castle celebrates with gluttony and revelry my Lady lies grievously wounded and not one cares so long as the King is well again!” Constance's heart almost burst with the emotion that had been welling inside of her. Sophima looked down upon the prostrate and forlorn figure, the welts across her body clear to see. The princess held her hand to her mouth.
