“You, self-appointed as Prisoner Seventy-Three”—he peers down at me, eyes narrowed, and my smile widens in unison with his deepening frown—“are hereby charged for the murder of twenty-three soldiers of the Crown—” “Twenty-five,” I correct, and the room bursts with murmurs again as the Chancellor raises a brow. “Excuse me?” If he’s going to read out my charge, he might as well get it right. “Personally, I lost count. But the guard who led me here said I killed twenty-five.” The Chancellor opens his mouth to speak again, but I cut him off with a swift “Also, I’d like it added to the record that
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