The rain fell on Blackwood Hall the way it always had in...

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2026-06-03 12:49:03 -

The rain fell on Blackwood Hall the way it always had in autumn—heavy, insistent, as though the sky itself were grieving.

Edward Ashworth stood in the family crypt beneath the hall, the iron crown heavy on his brow. It was meant to sit on a velvet cushion in the chapel, this symbol of the Crown Command, the highest military honour the Kingdom could bestow. Instead it sat on his head, too large, pressing down until his neck ached. The crypt smelled of damp stone and old bones—his ancestors, all of them, staring up...

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