Lionheart opens his eyes and finds that strange dark face surrounded by white hair bending over him. He gasps, but she smiles at him, and her smile eases his fear. “Is it?” “What . . . what do you mean?” “You have the girl, this little friend of yours, safely in your service. You have proven yourself able to step up to your role as Prince of Southlands and make others do your bidding. Is this then what you want? Is this the life you have chosen, the dream you desire above all others? Do you wish to be the prince you were born to be?” He sits up, and her face pulls back. Her clothing blends into the night’s shadows. All he can see is the light from her eyes and the glow of her long, long hair. She is horrible and beautiful. “I don’t know what I want,” he says. “I don’t want to be trapped, that’s all I know.” “Trapped, my sweet one?” “You know. Forced into a role just because it’s expected of me.” Her smile grows. “You want freedom. I can give you that.”
