In Westria, Elizabetta had been a grand lady, exotic and yet familiar in her sumptuous gown and jewels. Last night, at the dinner, her simple dress and manner had made her seem young and sweet, even more beautiful than before. Now, as she greeted Molly in a well-worn tunic not even as nice as the ones her slaves were wearing, her hair braided loosely in back, much of it escaping at the sides in wayward curls, her face glowing and her expression bright with expectation, Elizabetta was transformed yet again. Now she was Molly’s comfortable old friend—like Winifred, except that she was a princess, and beautiful. The chessboard had been set up outside on the covered porch, where they could enjoy the garden as they played. They sat on gilded chairs on either side of the table, facing each other. Molly had seen people play chess before. She even had a board of her own back at Barcliffe Manor. It had come with the estate (along with the books she couldn’t read and the instruments she couldn’t play).
