“WHAT ON EARTH,” SHE SAID, blinking, “could be worth both your life and your kingdom?” “Alizeh,” said Cyrus quietly, and for a moment he looked quite desperate. “Please.” Oh, she was not made of stone. She was not unaffected by the sound of his voice nor the tragedy in his eyes. She understood, rationally, that Cyrus was a shameless brute, but she also knew the devil too well to dismiss the terror that accompanied his whispers, the way his riddles pierced a soul and lingered, clawing at a mind until one could think of nothing else. She couldn’t help it; she pitied him. “Cyrus,” she said,
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