Could this have been managed without the princess, Curdie would have preferred leaving her in ignorance of the horrors from which he sought to deliver her.

He feared also the danger of her knowledge betraying itself to the evil eyes about her; but it must be risked and she had always been a wise child.
Another thing was clear to him--that with such traitors no terms of honour were either binding or possible, and that, short of lying, he might use any means to foil them.

And he could not doubt that the old princess had sent him expressly to frustrate their plans.
While he stood thinking thus with himself, the princess was earnestly watching the king, with looks of childish love and womanly tenderness that went to Curdie's heart.

Now and then with a great fan of peacock feathers she would fan him very softly; now and then, seeing a cloud begin to gather upon the sky of his sleeping face, she would climb upon the bed, and bending to his ear whisper into it, then draw back and watch again--generally to see the cloud disperse.

In his deepest slumber, the soul of the king lay open to the voice of his child, and that voice had power either to change the aspect of his visions, or, which was better still, to breathe hope into his heart, and courage to endure them.
Curdie came near, and softly called her.
'I can't leave Papa just yet,' she returned, in a low voice.
'I will wait,' said Curdie; 'but I want very much to say something.' In a few minutes she came to him where he stood under the lamp.
'Well, Curdie, what is it ?' she said.
'Princess,' he replied, 'I want to tell you that I have found why your grandmother sent me.' 'Come this way, then, she answered, 'where I can see the face of my king.' Curdie placed a chair for her in the spot she chose, where she would be near enough to mark any slightest change on her father's countenance, yet where their low-voiced talk would not disturb him.