The grand halls of the palace had begun to quiet as dusk settled over Verathia. The earlier excitement from the king's council still lingered in the air, though the court had dispersed, leaving only whispers and the soft clattering of silverware from distant banquet rooms.
Prince Alistair Valenridge retreated to his chambers, his mind swirling with thoughts of Lady Elara Davenwood. He had made his intentions known, albeit subtly, during their brief exchange, but her demure response had left him craving more. The tension between them, the way her breath had quickened when he drew near, had only fueled the flame of his obsession. She was everything the court was not—untainted by greed, pure, and distant from the corruption that had ruled his world since birth.
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