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... a’s palm, warmth flowing between their touch, grounding them both. His eyes searched hers, catching the flicker of vulnerability she so rarely displayed—an echo of memories, of losses and choices sharpened by war.
"You were never just a strategist, Wilhelmina," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble. "Before the chains, before the battlefield... you were a daughter of Credia, a noble’s child who saw the banners of war more than she saw spring blossoms. You know how wars stain more t ...
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