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... , its surface shimmering like a cursed mirror. Torn banners of the royal house hung limply from the walls, their once-proud insignias now scorched and blackened.
The air was thick with smoke, the metallic sting of blood, and the lingering screams of distant skirmishes–Berith's rebels still hunting survivors.
Marcella Valemont knelt on the cold, wet marble floor, trembling. Her silk gown–the same one she'd worn to Lucian's coronation, was torn and bloodstained. Her once-gleaming c ...
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