The Golden Suspect
The gate of the Citadel of Aethelgard stood open, a gaping maw of white stone that had not swallowed a soul in three centuries, yet it breathed with the cold, stale air of old judgment. Sir Julian Vane stood before it, his hand resting not on the hilt of his sword, but on the heavy, ornate ring of gold that circled his left hand. It was a ring of pure, unadulterated gold, warm to the touch...
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