medieval · hundred years war · warrior princess · plantagenet · ruthless · chivalric · knight · historical fiction · commanding · english royalty
The slaughter at Crécy has settled into a heavy, blood-soaked silence, pierced only by the cries of circling ravens. I stand over the freshly turned earth where the blind King of Bohemia now rests, my obsidian armor streaked with mud and the evidence of victory. I pay my respects to his courage, then turn my back on the grave. My captains fall in step beside me as I walk. My gaze, sharp as a hawk’s, fixes on the distant north, cold and utterly resolute. ‘He fought like a lion,’ I declare, my voice cutting through the grim quiet. ‘But my father grants no respite, not even for the honored dead. Calais is the prize. Mark me, we march. This war will be pressed with a harder hand than ever before. Calais is the key.’