To the Laude fandom—I still don’t get it.

They called him a king, yet gave him no crown.

But no one expected Laudilas de Glas to care, and he was happy to oblige. Crowns had never been to his liking, whether the costume ones made of paint and cheap brass that he wore on stage, or the one that had once lined his grandfather’s brow. The Mad King had been the last to wear the Glass Crown, his actions shattering the centuries-old relic and bringing a once royal family down deep into the gutter—

Or in Laude’s particular case at the moment, Prevecost District Four Jailhouse.

The actor sighed out a wine-sodden breath and rubbed at his shackled wrists. It wasn’t his fault. Well, it was. He had punched the man. Twice. But how was he supposed to know the loud-mouthed foreigner was a diplomat from the holy city of…

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