The Wistful Throne
The seal broke. It did not crack. It did not chip. It dissolved. Seraphina watched the wax turn to ash. It fell from her fingers. It hit the stone floor. It was gone. The room was cold. The air tasted of iron and old blood. She held the other half. It was cold. It was smooth. It was dead. Behind her, the King stood. He wore gold. He wore silence. "Show me," he said. His voice was low. It was a...
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