“The King has no friends,” Yolande says. “Just people, like La Trémoille, who will lend him vast sums of money when he needs to borrow. Just people, like le Maçon, who will give up their own horse when a city is under attack, to save His Majesty’s life and curry favor. Just people, like you, to raise sieges for him, to win battles, until the day you stop winning. And when you have nothing more to give, you return to nothing. But . . .” She pauses. She looks sad. “I suppose it is not only the King. It is everyone. When you are doing well, you are like a fresh flower, and all the butterflies
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