Madeleine Marshall

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“Please.” I’m begging him with my eyes, my face, even my hands clasped in front of me. If he has any soul, any at all, he’ll see the pain in my face. But he has nothing inside of him. He just laughs, shaking his head. “Not a chance,” he says. “That would spoil all the fun.”
Stolen Heir (Brutal Birthright, #2)
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