103

Princess Yeri.

The smell of horse dung is thick in the air. I tie a napkin around my nose and mouth in a desperate attempt to block out the worst of the stench, but it does little to help. My hands are dirty, gripping the handle of a broom as I sweep the muck into a bucket.

The straw on the floor is mixed with dung and urine. I stick my tongue into my throat in order to control myself from vomiting. I put my weight into each sweep, my arms are aching from the effort. For a moment, I stop to stare at my hands, they are red, begging me to stop doing this to them. The sweat from my brow drip down, soaking the fabric tied around her face.

“Wow, you finally did it.” A stable boy says, looking around. He is a man with warm bronze skin, light brown hair, which is tousled and slightly too long, falling into his eyes. His eyes are a clear shade of hazel, flecked with hints of green and gold. His clothes are simple—worn trousers and a loose, sleeveless shirt that clung to his form with sweat,