Memory
Fear stank of onions and three-day old body odour, Princess Natillie thought as she led her ladies through the crowds that filled the walkways. The Fae Kings’ camp was a dramatic scorch mark on the horizon backlit by the setting sun, pennants fluttering in the breeze, but the spread of their armies could be seen through every window, in every direction, and every noble from the surrounding land had crowded into the castle, seeking shelter from the murderous Fae knights.
She lifted her chin, pretending not to see the courtiers who clung to each other and wept in the alcoves nor that in the central courtyard, the elegant double row of trees under which she had spent many a day reading or sewing with her ladies, or playing as a child, were strung with bodies – suicides, preferr
