The Princess of Yarzat stood still as a statue, draped in pale silks that shimmered in the spring sun, outside the high gates of her court.
Behind her rose the stone-boned halls of her city's keep — lofty, old, and cool in its shade — but before her stretched the wide green breath of the capital's royal expanse, a sea of meadowlike calm that rippled toward the city.
Just off the main promenade leading down to the royal court, the Crown Gardens bled into view — a dreamlike enclave of color and perfume, where willows leaned like gossips and fountains whispered to the breeze, inviting any onlookers to its peace.
But there was no peace in the city today.
For the last week, the capital had drowned in celebration. The sound of lutes and bells, drunken laughter and the pounding drums of victory was all that could be heard. Banners danced from every rooftop, and children had not stopped screaming for joy since the fires of war had been quenched.
