The Pale Banner
The king’s breath misted in the cold air of the throne room, a fragile, white ghost that hung between us before dissolving into the shadows of the high vaulted ceiling. I stood at the foot of the dais, my armor clinking softly as I shifted my weight, the sound too loud in the heavy silence of the court. I am Sir Thomas Bradshaw, and I have served the crown for forty years, but tonight, for the...
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