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... es occasionally flickering toward the Palace gates. He pondered the identity of the guest his lord was expecting, the so-called informant Frejlurd mentioned to his lord.

The day had begun like any other. Servants moved like clockwork, sweeping marble floors, dusting antique artifacts and trimming the hedges outside. It was routine, but tension hung faintly in the air, like morning mist.

"My lord." Galliard asked as he approached Estefan, who sat lazily on a velvet couch in the la ...

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