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Chaol looked just as he had when she left, his black and gold uniform clean-pressed, the eagle-shaped pommel of his sword gleaming in the midmorning sun.
At least he was now using the blade. After killing Cain at the duel, he hadn’t worn it for the few weeks it’d taken her to recover from her injuries. When she’d left last month, he’d still been using another blade. Still had those shadows in his bronze eyes.
But those shadows were gone now, as she looked down at him from beneath the black cowl of her hood. He was just standing to the side of the gate, arms crossed over his broad chest, that familiar frown on his lips.
She clicked her tongue and dismounted, tossing the reins to one of the awaiting guards as she turned to face the captain. “What—no flowers?”
The frown deepened. She smiled broadly.
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