"I cannot see them," said Lenore. "Tell them to go away. I am busy."
"But, Highness—"
"Away, I said!" The princess' voice was silken-soft no longer; it flamed with sudden petulance. "I am too busy to hear their petty grievances. Send them away! And you, too!"
With abrupt, feline violence she snatched a handful of baubles from the table before her, hurled them at the aged servant. Marta stood like a withered Danae beneath the rich rain, whined, "Yes, Highness," and disappeared. The princess shut intrusion from her mind as the door closed. She turned once more to her playthings, picked up and fondled a pendant of intricately interwoven sapphire and tolumnis. Its green-and-scarlet flame burned cold against the smooth satin of her breast. She hummed softly to herself, happy....
It was then the voice spoke.
The voice was a man's voice. Its masculine deepness was like the rasp of grating steel in the languid femininity of this room.
"Send them away, eh, Princess? Very well. As you have judged, so shall it also be judged against you!"
The Princess Lenore whirled to the doorway, startled white hands leaping to her throat. Her gray-green eyes were wide with shock ... and horror. They widened even more as they found ... no one!
"Wh-where are you?" she gasped. "Who dares enter the boudoir of the Princess Lenore?"
She heard no sound of footsteps, but the voice drew nearer with each word.