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... flatly, his voice echoing off the vaulted stone.
They sat in a circular chamber carved from ancient bedrock beneath the annex—a crypt that felt more like a wound than a room. Rosa sat beside him, unusually quiet, her posture tight. Gethra, calm and practiced, waved her hand. A chipped porcelain tea set shimmered into view on a low tray. She poured four cups and placed them before the group in silence.
The prince—pale, proud, draped in a moth-eaten coat—remained standing. His crow ...
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