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... yke felt different with Yara on that ancient throne. The Seastone Chair loomed behind her like a kraken frozen mid-strike, its black surface drinking in what little light filtered through the narrow windows.

I watched from my deliberately understated position as the Ironborn filtered in. Captains, raiders, and weathered old sea dogs—their faces carved by salt spray and hardened by lives spent on merciless waves. They were hard men, strong soldiers, but sadly they were ironborn.

T ...

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