She, whose brother stands to gain the throne, takes her own life

“You speak fair, [Lord],” U. said, “but you must excuse me if my heart does not rejoice. Many of my people walked the stars yesterday, and some soon will from injuries sustained. My son’s wife chose to die rather than serve your lady. You must give me, and my people, time to feel the ashes we wear.”

O., realizing he had been talking too much in this early season of grief, nodded his understanding.

They had toiled past midnight just building all the pyres needed for those who fell that day in battle. One death stood out: that of a young woman with as much princely blood of F. in her veins as the other young woman who will, finally, sit on the throne. All others had died at the hands of an enemy. Perhaps she, in her anxiety and despair, was her own enemy. What might her life have been like if she had not cut it short? A living hell, she thought. But as the tale unfolds, she may well have lived long and happily.

Too much death. Too many lives cut short. Such a high and tragic price.

Tonight's snippet was from the middle of Chapter 57. Moving right along. I am guessing that I am about halfway through the tale.
--the BB