The Pale Door

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2026-08-18 10:40:25 -

The Pale Door

The air in the Hall of Echoes was thick with the scent of roasted boar and stale incense, a cloying sweetness that clung to the velvet drapes and the sweat of the courtiers. Sir Julian Ashworth stood near the dais, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword that had not seen blood in ten years, watching the movement of the bees. They were not real bees, of course, but a tapestry hanging above...

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