The Golden Suspect
The gavel did not fall with a crack, but with a sigh, a long, exhalation of wood against wood that seemed to pull the air from the chamber. Sir Julian Vane, High Warden of the Realm, sat at the high table, his fingers laced over the cold stone of the armrests. He was a man carved from the same granite as the fortress walls that loomed behind him, yet his face, in the slanting light of the high...
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