The Distant Crown
The rain had been falling for three days, a cold, relentless sheet that turned the cobblestones of Millhaven into a slick, treacherous mirror reflecting the dim, amber glow of the tavern lanterns. I stood by the window, my hand resting on the hilt of my sword, watching the water drip from the eaves in a rhythmic, mournful tick that seemed to count down the hours until my execution. Thomas...
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