The Wistful Throne
The bells did not ring. That was the first wrong thing. In the Citadel of Aethelgard, the iron tongues above the Great Hall were meant to toll for the death of a king, the birth of a heir, or the breaking of a treaty. They hung silent, cold as stone, while the sky outside turned the color of a bruise. You stood in the center of the throne room, your hands trembling at your sides, feeling the...
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