The Wistful Throne

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 15:13:41 -

The stone chair was cold. It always was. Margaret sat in it. The wood was ancient, dark as wet earth, and worn smooth by centuries of kings who had forgotten how to sit still. Her hands gripped the armrests. They were thin hands. Knuckles like knotted rope. She did not look up. She looked at the floor. "You are late," said the King. He did not sit. He stood. He was tall. He wore a cloak of...

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