My shoulders lifted. “I don’t know.”

She touched my chin. “You do. Why can’t you go to Ireland? You put it so beautifully yesterday.”

“Because all I know how to do is fight to protect the things I love,” I told her, confused. “But I don’t understand.”

“That is a purpose many, many people can see themselves reflected in. If you make room for others to serve that purpose in their own way, you will be able to win the nobles and the people alike.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand, Eleanor. All along, Prince John has hurt me because of my connection to Rob, and the way the people love him. That won’t protect me.”

“Oh, my girl,” she said soft. “You don’t see how the people love you, do you?”

Shaking my head again, I admitted, “It’s not me, Eleanor. It’s always been Rob. He’s captured their hearts from the first, and the shine just rubs off.”

She smiled like she knew something I didn’t, and nodded. “Very well, I’ll allow you your wild misconceptions for now. But the common people are by far the harder feat—listening to them, knowing what they want and helping them get it—those are difficult things. Nobles are easier. And once you win them, John won’t be able to hurt you, because you’re not only a woman, a person they are trained to protect, but you represent their own power. If a prince can lash out at you, he can harm any earl, any lord without warning. And they will protect their own just as you will.”

“They are hardly trained to protect women,” I said with a snarl. Prince John enjoyed hurting me, and de Clare, the heir to the Earldom of Hertford, took his own sick pleasure in my pain.

“Small men will always hurt things that are weaker than them,” Eleanor told me. “But they betray themselves in so doing. Richard would never hurt someone like that because he doesn’t have to.”

Weaker things. I would never be counted as such.

I pushed my shoulders back. “If this will stop small men, very well. Teach me what I need to know.”

Three days after we arrived, we received our first answer to Eleanor’s call. It were a small company of knights, headed up by the Earl of Essex.

He walked into the cloisters where Eleanor sat and I stood behind her, washed in the sun. He were a tall man dressed in blue, a color that reminded me of Rob. He were young and dark-haired, a quick sharpness in his step that spoke of a fast, sure-footed fighter.

He knelt before Eleanor, letting his cape sweep over his shoulder to pool on the ground.

“My lady Queen. Lady Norfolk, Lady Margaret,” he greeted. A courtier—that were the only way he’d know their honors so well. His eyes flicked to me, and my chin raised.

“May I introduce Lady Huntingdon,” Eleanor said, gesturing her hand at me.

He looked sharp to Eleanor.

“Huntingdon,” he repeated. “I thought those were Prince John’s lands.”

“My Richard thought to see his daughter better taken care of,” Eleanor said.

My blood rushed faster. I knew she’d do this—she told me that invoking Richard’s name would help my cause, that we needed nobles at our side before the news of my life and creation reached John—but still. Hearing my father’s name spoke as such so plain, so clear, it brought iron to my bones.

His eyes dashed to me again, and it weren’t with warmth. It were a look of danger, but he bowed his head. “My lady Huntingdon,” he greeted.

“My lord Essex,” I returned, bowing my head.

“My lady Queen, I have brought you a company of knights to answer your call. Your lack of protection was a disgrace to us all, and I will see you safely conveyed,” he pledged her. He dashed his head down.

“Thank you,” she said. She touched her bruised cheek, and he lifted his head to watch her, a sad, vulnerable smile on her face. “It is such a welcome relief.”

“Does the vagabond that did that to you still live?” he asked, his voice a low half growl.

I looked at the ground, but Eleanor’s cool fingers slid around my arm. “No,” she said. “My granddaughter saved my very life.”

She took my half hand in hers, and I saw his eyes go to it.

“You’re Marian Fitzwalter,” he said, standing.

I pulled my hand away from Eleanor. “I was.” Though true in a strict sense, I’d never once called myself “Marian Gisbourne,” and I weren’t about to speak the words now.

He frowned. “I have heard much of your . . . deeds, my lady,” he said.

Eleanor did not seem surprised. “She and my son’s wife, Isabel, seemed to have much in common at Nottingham. They both have a tremendous concern for the common people.” She paused. “I’m surprised that didn’t come up in your many walks together at the palace.”

“She’s a thief,” he said, glaring at me.

“She’s the daughter of a king,” Eleanor snapped back. “And the lady of an earldom. She may have played at being common, but she has always been royal.”

I didn’t note the effect this had on Essex. Her words struck at me—were that true? All this time, Scarlet had felt like my true self, and Marian felt like a dress that never quite fit. What if it were the other way around? What if Scarlet were the falsity all along?

“Marian,” Eleanor said, tugging at my hand. “Are you feeling quite well?”