The Wistful Show
The ink on the parchment had not yet dried when Sir Alaric Blackwood began to shake, a tremor that started in the marrow of his bones and radiated outward until his gauntlets clattered against the heavy oak table. The document before him, sealed with the crimson wax of the Crown, did not demand his life, nor his honor, nor his sword. It demanded his daughter. It was a bureaucratic cruelty, a...
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