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... was deafening.

The Emperor stepped forward, her hand still held tight in his while his gaze was still locked on the woman who had just climbed out like a legend born of smoke and shadow.

"And what," he asked, his voice low and dangerous, as if trying to weave a spell of his own, "is your name?"

The weapon didn’t curtsy, she didn’t kneel, she didn’t so much as flinch beneath the weight of his throne or his gaze. Normally, he hated people who acted like this... like, by no ...

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