“Who in the gods’ name is that?” Tristan murmured. “Why did you not show her to me before?”
Madame squinted and raised the lorgnette. “That is, um... I am not sure.”
“Then order her to approach us!”
Poppy glided into the room, trying to look as regal as possible. She lifted her eyes to meet the King’s astonished gaze.
“You!” Madame stepped between Poppy and the King. “I am sorry, my Lord. There has been a terrible mistake. This presumptuous hussy has offered herself without my knowledge or permission. She will be punished.” Tristan thrust her aside as she cried, “Camille, go back upstairs where you belong.”
“My name is not Camille,” Poppy said softly. She cast her mind back to the voice she had heard, the voice of the dress, and a new name sprang unbidden to her lips. “It is Azothe.”
