They had talked into the middle of the night and had now circled back to a subject that Allegra was delighted to discover was a consternation to them both—the Prophecy.
Allegra set down the wine and popped onto her knees, her eyes aflame. When she had first learned of the Prophecy, from this busybody chambermaid or that, she had been a young girl not quite in her teens. At that age, the idea of love and marriage had been inconceivable, but the magical connotations of her supposed destiny had confounded her even more.
Young Allegra had stared into her looking glass on many occasions, examining her features, trying to reconcile how she could be the object of such a preposterous notion.
Allegra had found her face acceptable enough, but, in her sequestered existence, she’d had no inkling
