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... ts but still carrying a promise of light, filtered through the intricately carved ice-crystal windows of Sect Mistress Meng Yao’s private chamber. The air was still, carrying the faint, musky scent of their night-long passion, mingled with the exotic fragrance of the incense that had long since burned out.

Alaric lay propped against a pile of plush furs, his arm draped possessively over Meng Yao’s naked, sleeping form. She was nestled against his side, her usually severe features softene ...

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