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... id I decide to take the carriage?’
Bruce sat stiffly inside the carriage, his jaw clenched and sweat collecting at his brow despite the cool breeze slipping through the small windows.
He was certain—absolutely certain—that if they didn’t arrive soon, he would die. Not from enemy blades or poison or some elaborate assassination plot.
No, he’d die from the pressure.
He cast a glance toward the open slit of the window and watched longingly as Queen darted through the ...
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