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Yet this place seemed like a paradise. Pink
and blue flowers draped from windowsills;
little canals wended between some of the
streets, ferrying people in bright, long boats.
She’d never seen so many Fae, had never
thought they’d be utterly normal. Well, as
normal as possible, with their grace and those
ears and canines. Along with the animals
rushing around her, flitting past, so many
forms she couldn’t keep track of them. All
perfectly content to go about their daily
business, buying everything from crusty
loaves of bread to jugs of some sort of oil to
vibrant swaths of fabric.
Yet ruling over everything, squatting in the
palace on the eastern side of Doranelle, was
Maeve. And this city, Rowan had told Elide,
had been built from stone to keep Brannon or
any of his descendants from razing it to the
ground.