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... looked at her.

Then, after a pause, his voice turned playful again, tinged with genuine curiosity. "Say... why do you always call me ’Young Emperor’? You know it always throws me off."

Zynaria turned her head slightly toward him, her crimson gaze steady. For a moment, she said nothing. The firelight from the distant bar flickered in her eyes like dying suns, and her voice came soft, barely louder than a whisper carried on the wind.

"Because you carry my father’s crown." ...

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