The Pale Exile

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2026-08-20 03:18:25 -

The Pale Exile

The feast in the Great Hall of the White Tower was a cacophony of clinking silver and the low, rumbling hum of men who believed they were the architects of history, and it was here, amidst the smoke of tallow candles and the smell of roasted boar, that Thomas Bradshaw watched his own hand, the very hand that had held the sword of state, tremble like a leaf in a gale that no one else could feel....

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