Manon crashed to her knees. The king was instantly at her side, studying her for a heartbeat before he roared down the stairs, “NO!” That was all it took. Air flooded her mouth, her lungs, and Manon gasped, back arching as she drank it in. Her kind had no magical shields against attacks like that. Only when most desperate, most enraged, could a witch summon the core of magic in her—with devastating consequences. Even the most bloodthirsty and soulless of them only whispered of that act: the Yielding. Dorian’s face swam in her watery vision. Manon still gasped for that fresh, lifesaving air as
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