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Chapter 71: A Garden Full of Vipers
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... n is barely holding on."
The voice belonged to Marquis d’Arvayne, a man whose skin always looked slightly too tight for his skull, as if his own greed were trying to burst through. He slammed a weathered palm onto the table of the Great Council Table, the vibration rattling the silver inkwells. The air in the Royal Council Chamber was thick, a cloying soup of ancient, dust-laden parchment and the King’s preferred heavy tobacco. It was a scent that usually signaled stability. Today, it fe ...
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