And then, slowly, something strange happened. She stopped missing the palace.
The vanquished do not always die. Sometimes they are lucky enough to live—and to discover that a throne is a cage, and a pig yard is a kind of freedom. the vulgar life of a vanquished princess
She grew thin. Her hair, once washed in rosewater, was shorn for lice. Her hands, once trained for the harp, became calloused and cracked, the nails broken and black. She ate what the soldiers ate—gray stew with gristle, bread that had to be dipped in water to be chewed. She slept on a pile of rags behind the cookhouse, waking each morning to the sound of a rooster and the smell of her own sweat. And then, slowly, something strange happened