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... her probably thought as he stared at Natalie—my Natalie—standing like a tempest in the middle of the King’s ballroom, glowing like the wrath of the gods, and calling judgment down on a man who deserved it.

But I didn’t move.

Not at first.

Because a petty part of me—one that was bitter and wounded and still furious with my father—wanted to watch him squirm.

I warned him. I begged him to cancel this damn ball. Told him it was a bad idea. That sending men after Natal ...

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