The wicked uncle had a crafty and cruel face. The jewelled gold crown came almost down to the ears of his small, round head, and the kingly, ermine-trimmed green velvet robe hung loosely from his short, stooping figure.
“Princess niece,” said the uncle, without any “Good morning” greeting, “you are now over nineteen years old and it is time you were married, so I have chosen a husband for you. King Rupert from the land two days’ journey beyond the sunset is coming at the end of a month to marry you.”
Princess Katrina’s happy, beautiful face turned very pale. “Do you mean that cross, unkind old king who visited you a six-month ago and who one day at banquet broke the neck of a poor, faithful hound who offended him? Nay, Uncle Wulfred, I will not marry such a man.”
“I say you shall marry him,” stormed the uncle, walking up and down the room with jingling spurs.
“Never! I will die first!” cried the princess. Rising suddenly in front of her uncle, she faced him with white cheeks and flashing eyes. The scarlet-and-gold tapestry fell from her hands to the floor.
“You shall marry King Rupert, or die!” the uncle shouted; his small eyes snapped angrily, his face grew purple, and he brought his steel-gloved hand down upon the table so heavily that the embroidery bodkins and scissors rolled off, clattering, to the floor. “This-very-morning,” he said so fast that the words almost tumbled over each other, “I-will-shut-you-up-in-the-East-Tower. At-the-end-of-a-week-I-will-come-to-ask-if-you-will-marry-King-Rupert. If-you-refuse-to-mind-me, I-will-put-you-where-you-will-have-a-harder-time, the-second-week.”
When her uncle stopped, purple in the face, to take breath, Princess Katrina answered him scornfully and without fear: “You are a wicked uncle. It is because you want to keep my kingdom that you are trying to make me marry that cruel old king, who lives far away.”
At these words, the uncle grew more angry than ever, because they were the truth. He stamped heavily with his right foot three times upon the stone floor.
Instantly three tall men in black robes, with black masks over their faces, rushed into Katrina’s bower. One of the men pushed back from the doorway Katrina’s old nurse who lived with the princess now as serving-woman. Quickly throwing a part of his black robe over the head of the gray-haired woman, the man led her away.
“Make the princess a prisoner!” commanded the uncle, pointing with his sword at Katrina, who did not move or even cry out.