The Wistful Skyline
The ink was wet on the decree, a dark bruise on the parchment that smelled of lavender and decay, and Margaret stood in the center of the great hall, her hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, crushing weight of the words she had just signed, which stated that her son, Julian, was to be stripped of his title and exiled to the northern border for the crime of high treason, a crime she...
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