The grand hall of Verathia's palace buzzed with hushed conversations, the air thick with anticipation as nobles gathered for the king's council. Prince Alistair, seated on the dais beside his father, kept his expression cold and unreadable. His sharp eyes swept across the room, though his thoughts were far from the political discussions unraveling before him. His mind was singularly focused on one person—Lady Elara.
It had been weeks since their first encounter, yet the image of her soft smile, her kind eyes, and the way she moved with quiet grace haunted him. She had become a constant presence in his mind, a thought he could not shake no matter how much he tried. He hated it—this weakness she had awakened within him—but he couldn't deny the pull. Elara was different. She was untouched by the vile machinations of court life, a purity that felt almost foreign in the palace.
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