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Updated: June 12, 2025
The shadow of the Red Tower, the stain of the Red Axe, was over us both so long as we abode on the Wolfsberg. Yet what it cost us to depart at least till we were out of the gates of the city I cannot write down, for to both of us the first waygoing seemed bitter as death. I remember it well. My father had been busy all the morning with his grim work on the day when we were to ride away.
"To kiss you, perhaps, at the waygoing?" he insinuated. "No!" thundered I, at last. "Prince, you do your Princess great wrong." He lifted his hand in a gentle, deprecating way, most unlike the rider who had ridden so fast and so hotly that night of our coming. "You mistake me, sir," he said. "On the contrary, I have the greatest respect for the Princess Ysolinde.
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