Winnsome and the king were along.
The girl had turned from him.

She was deathly pale and yet she was wondrously beautiful, so beautiful that Nathaniel's breath came in quick dread as the king approached her.

He could see the triumph in his eyes, a terrible eagerness in his face.

He seized Winnsome's hand and spoke to her in a soft, low voice, so low that it came to Nathaniel only in a murmur.

Then, in a moment, he began stroking the shimmering glory of her hair, caressing the silken curls between his fingers until the blood seemed as if it must burst, like hot sweat from Nathaniel's face.
Suddenly Winnsome drew back from him, the pallor gone from her face, her eyes blazing like angry stars.