The Golden Master
The ink on the parchment was not merely black, but a deep, settling void that seemed to absorb the light of the tallow candles burning in the iron sconces along the stone wall, and it was this darkness, this inky abyss that had seeped into the very marrow of Sir Caelan’s bones since the day he had sworn his oath to the Crown, a bond that felt less like a contract and more like a slow,...
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