out.
Only moving, going through every ordinary
motion, kept her from curling up in a corner
of this aerie and never emerging.
She had to keep moving. Had to.
Or else she would cease to function at all.
She didn’t care if it was obvious to others.
Ansel of Briarcliff had sought her out in the
Great Hall last night because of it. The red-
haired warrior had slid onto the bench beside
her, her wine-colored eyes missing none of
the food that Manon had barely eaten.
“I’m sorry,” Ansel had said.
Manon had only stared at her mostly
untouched plate.
The young queen had surveyed the solemn
hall around them. “I lost most of my
soldiers,” she said, her freckled face pale.
“Before you arrived. Morath butchered them.”
It had been an effort for Manon to draw her
lily
(lily)
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