The Wistful Witness
The ink was still wet on the parchment when the king’s hand came down, a heavy, velvet-gloved slap that shook the table. It was a small violence, the kind that happens in quiet rooms where the air is thick with dust and the weight of crowns. Thomas Bradshaw did not flinch. He was a scholar, a keeper of words, and in the grand court of the Old Kingdom, words were the only currency that did not...
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