The sun had barely risen over Verathia, casting long shadows across the palace grounds. Lady Elara Davenwood had been awake for hours, her mind restless from the previous night's masquerade. The ball had been a display of royal grandeur, but beneath its surface lay a web of deception and intrigue that Elara could not ignore.
In the quiet of the early morning, Elara sat in the sunlit drawing room of her chambers, her fingers absently tracing the delicate embroidery on her morning gown. The room was filled with the soft, golden light of dawn, but the tranquility was deceptive. Her thoughts were consumed by the revelations from the ball and the enigmatic nature of Prince Alistair's behavior.
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