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... r, my hand barely brushing the thick, midnight fabric of his cloak. The stairs beneath us gleamed like black glass, polished obsidian veined with molten gold. Every breath I took echoed in my chest like a warning.

Don’t trip. Don’t faint. Don’t run.

And yet all I could do was stand there—next to Draegon.

He looked like he was born to wear a crown. Well, maybe he was. He was a prince after all. But it wasn’t the same for me, I never thought about standing in this place.

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