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Malvoria had expected some form of resistance, a last stand worthy of a ruler who had once been feared on the battlefield. But the fight had ended swiftly, almost disappointingly so.

His blade had been steady, his stance unyielding, but he had fought like a man who already knew the outcome. Like a man with nothing left to lose.

And he had lost.

Now, he sat in the cold stone chamber of her castle, bound to a heavy iron chair, his once-pristine tunic torn, blood drying ...

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