Pjot

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Tyrn’s platter of food ricocheted off the bars, an ugly knell that echoed through the dungeon. “You think I’m weak.” “I know you are,” Erik answered. “Would it surprise you that I’ve killed a man?” Elm raised his brows. He’d tried to pace as well, but after an hour, he’d gotten sleepy. “A little.”
Pjot
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Two Twisted Crowns (The Shepherd King, #2)
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