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To say Azriel looked like he'd been in a fight and lost badly was an understatement. The bags under his eyes were darker, like they were more bruises than shadows made by sleep's evasive movements; not unlike the real bruises that were a stark contrast to his qahllyn'qir tattoos. Bruises that swept along his jaw …

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"Your honor guard is no longer necessary, Bayls Qaeniri. My twin lives." She stared at the door that Rhyshladlyn had closed behind him. Could feel him on the other side, could just catch the barest whiff of his tears, his magickal signature pressing against the wood like the gentle but insistent hands of a child …

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