The Wistful Throne
The iron gate of Ashworth Manor groaned under the weight of the siege, a sound like a dying beast dragging its breath through rusted lungs, while young Julian Ashworth stood amidst the splintered remains of his father’s study, his small hands stained not with ink but with the dark, viscous blood of a servant who had tried to shield him from the crossbow bolt that whistled past his ear. The air...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 50 Views 0 Anteprima