The following morning, a heavy fog clung to the palace grounds, making the towering spires and stone walls appear like shadowy figures in a dream. The scent of rain still lingered in the air, and the palace seemed quieter than usual, as though it was holding its breath in anticipation of something. In the private quarters of the Valenridge family, Prince Alistair paced his study, his mind running over the events of the past few days.
The warning from both Miranda and Cedric echoed in his thoughts. They had both seen something in him that he had refused to acknowledge-his obsession with Lady Elara was not only dangerous to his own composure but also vulnerable to the eyes of the court. As a Valenridge, every move he made was analyzed, every glance scrutinized. If he continued down this path without care, he knew it could unravel not just him, but the precarious balance of power in Verathia's court.
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