The Wistful Throne
The rain hits the cobblestones with a sharp, rhythmic hiss. You pull your coat tighter. The wool is heavy, soaked through to the bone. You are walking toward the Palace of St. Jude. It looms in the mist, a gray beast of stone and silence. You are not a king. You are not a lord. You are the tailor. But today, you carry the Crown. It is not gold. It is not diamonds. It is a sash. A strip of...
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