The Faded Portrait
The parchment lay heavy in the saddlebag, its edges worn soft by the friction of weeks, a physical testament to the weight of a name that had been scrubbed from the rolls of the Kingdom of Aethelgard for the crime of being wrong. Sir Julian Vane did not look like a man who carried a secret, but he carried the seal of his father, a wax impression the color of dried blood, pressed into the corner...
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