The Tyrant’s False Heart

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Chapter 47 Grace- POV

GRACE POV

The air in the Great Hall of Drakmor didn’t smell of incense and royalty anymore. It smelled of sour sweat, spilled wine, and the frantic, biting scent of fear.

I stood in the shadows of the gallery, my hand resting on the pommel of my new officer’s saber, watching the vultures pick ...

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