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... ank and a little more of the forest’s geography.

He was hungry for the throne, for the Faceless Imposter, for whatever stitched his madness together; baiting it out of him was as easy as waving a bone.

He swallowed it.

"Say his name!" I shouted, my voice cutting through the roar of the wind. "Call your king! Tell him you’re coming to steal his crown!"

That did it.

Freedman—no, the thing that used to be Freedman—lurched, his shadowed form twisting violently ...

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