Explore "In the Palace of the King" by F. Marion Crawford on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Don John smoothed her golden hair. Never since he had known that he loved her, had she seemed so beautiful as then, and his thought tried to hold her as she was, that she might in memory be always the same. There was colour in her cheeks, a soft flush of happiness that destroyed all traces of her tears, so that they only left her grey eyes dark and tender under the long wet lashes.
"It was a cruel dream, dear love! It was not true! " Finding him again, her voice was low, and sweet with joy.