It starts in the middle of the beginning. Someone is after her, and there is a mob outside her door.

Or rather, her castle. She is a tall pale woman with long white hair clad in a long pale silky dress. Her castle is mansion-sized and built of red brick or stone, in a style reminiscent of the Smithsonian.

Her guard? lover? servant? rushes about, helping her flee – out the only door they can use, the front one. He is as tall as she, with short dark hair, and is wearing a dark – blue? – uniform of some kind.

The mob outside is growing louder. Whatever she did – something treasonous? – they want her punished. But she is also beloved of the people – they want her to escape.

She and her friend rush out, trying to get across the way to another red-brick building, this one much bigger. If they make it there, ironically, they are safe – it is the prison, and once inside no one will come for them. Yet. The king – conquering emperor? – is not yet here.

She has forgotten her shoes. Two guards catch her by the arms outside her door, and tell her, apologetically, that she has been sentenced to twenty lashes. Gracefully, she kneels. Mindful of her dignity, and out of love of her, they strike her lightly across the soles of her feet.

When she is allowed to stand and leave – the mob stands back, watching – her feet sting, but not much. Her man tugs on her arm, hustling her forward. They must still make it to the jail.

The mob is quieter now, but still in their way. They make good progress through it, but they do not make enough. From the crowd, an authoritative voice rings out, demanding to know why she has not yet been whipped. The guards protest that she has, but the king – pale-haired, like the lady – demands that she suffer the original punishment.

She has made it just over halfway to the jail, but the mob now cuts her off at the king’s command, and she kneels again. Her man clearly wants to intervene, but he shows the same ambivalence the crowd does – whatever she did, however he may be helping her, he still thinks she deserves this.

The guards, quickly but deliberately, give her twenty lashes across her back. She makes no sound, just stands gracefully when they are done. The top of her dress is badly torn, leaving her naked to the waist, but she does not compromise dignity for modesty. Her hands remain relaxed at her side.

The king is silent at the back of the mob, watching. The mob is silent now, too, and stands aside as she and her man pass into the jail. They go swiftly up to a set of rooms – rooms with barred windows and heavy doors, cold gray slab floors and cold red brick walls. They are barred in.

This is the place they were trying to get to. This is where they are condemned to stay – for now, until the king decides what to do with them.

Neither of them want to stay there, but there is no way for them to flee.

The man sets down a pack that he was carrying, and begins to unpack it. She takes the bandages he hands her, and some loose clothes, and walks into another chamber.

After a few minutes, he grows concerned, and sets down the things he’s holding, but she comes out just before he could get up.

In binding her back, she has bound her chest. She has rubbed some dark dye into her hair and eyebrows, and has cut her hair. It is still long, but the length that noblemen wear it, and she has tied it back severely. She is now wearing the dark outfit of a yeoman.

“I think I know how I can escape,” she says.