Grace Baldwin

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When we entered the throne room, I expected to find dozens of courtiers buzzing about, but it was just the Mist King. At the end of a long stretch of carpet, he lounged on a throne made of…stars. It glittered like diamonds, driving away the darkness, matching the crown that he hadn’t been wearing earlier. Gone was the boring cloak, the mask, and his pretense that he was a simple rebel. His silver tunic and black trousers hugged his muscular frame, but it was the dark cloak that caught my attention. It draped around him, its edges embroidered with silver crescent moons.
Of Mist and Shadow (The Mist King, #1)
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