Angelique stared at the railing of the dais and wondered if Lazare’s blundering admittance was kinder than these false pretenses they tried to feed her about tradition and what was natural. It wasn’t a nice feeling, knowing she was beheld in terror like a wild animal. In fact, it was soul-crushing. But at least she now knew straight out it was her power they feared. She could understand that. Their insistence on pretending otherwise, however, was a blade between the shoulders and a wound that wouldn’t heal because it gave her false hope that if she said the right thing, looked the right way,
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