The Pale Door
The seal was red. It was the only color in the hall. Marcus stood before the Great Seal of the High Court. It was a disc of wax, pressed with the emblem of the Crown, a lion rampant clutching a sword. The wax was brittle. It had been kept in the cold vault for centuries. Now it sat on the velvet cushion, waiting to be broken. Or to be kept. "Is the ink dry?" asked Lord Vane. He did not look at...
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