Following the final, unresolved chords of the waltz in the subterranean ballroom, Lord Cassian Drake took Elena by the hand, leading her away from the watchful eyes of the orchestra. They ascended a narrow, spiraling wrought-iron staircase that wound thirty feet up the granite cliff face of the cavern. The air grew progressively warmer, redolent with the dry, noble scent of antique beeswax, aged parchment, and the resinous warmth of…
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