The Golden Visit
The air in the Hall of Whispers tasted of copper and old honey. Kaelen pressed his shield against the wet stone floor, the impact sending a shudder through his aching bones. His sword, a heavy blade of black iron, was notched and dull. It had seen too many nights. Too many silences. He was the last of the Iron Guard, the elite sentinels of King Aldric’s court, though the title felt like a coat...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior