Leopold Thyrasson, Crown Prince of Eingarde, combed a hand through his long golden hair. The treaty was signed, provisional government was in place. His father had summoned him home—whatever “home” meant now. He hadn’t seen the capital in eight years. And he was no longer the innocent 19-year-old who had left it.
He heard movement outside the closed tent flaps. At once, his spine straightened, posture falling into place.
Come in.
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