The Golden Circuit
The letter lay on the mahogany desk, a slender rectangle of heavy cream paper that seemed to absorb the dim light of the study, and Elias Thorne stared at it not as a document but as a mirror, for the ink upon it was the same deep, arterial red as the blood he had watched spurt from his father’s throat three weeks prior, and in that reflection he saw not his own face but the face of the King,...
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