The Distant Crown
The letter sat on the mahogany desk, its seal unbroken, the wax the color of dried blood. You watched it from the doorway, your hand still trembling from the cold that had seeped into your bones during the walk from the village. It was a Tuesday, a day indistinguishable from the last, yet the air in the study felt suddenly thick, charged with the weight of what was to come. Your father, Lord...
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