The entrance of Queen Amara brought a fresh wave of panic to the Conclave lords. They had been told by Chancellor Vane that the southern bride was a compliant hostage, a delicate flower broken by northern darkness. Instead, she stood before them like a radiant sovereign, her amber eyes burning with unyielding authority. "You have no jurisdiction in this hall, southern girl!" Chancellor Vane hissed, his reedy voice cracking with…
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