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... hests that still smelled of cedar and spilled powder. Hallen shuffled ahead, and Belle noticed anew how his boots didn’t match—one polished to a mirror, the other scuffed at the toe, as if he’d dressed in panic. A splash of spilled wine marked the flagstones where his cup had sloshed; trembling hands? She filed the clue.

At the turn, lanternlight flared across a figure stepping from gloom: a woman taller than Belle by a head, shoulders clad in dove-grey velvet that caught the glow like s ...

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