The Golden Oath

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2026-08-21 11:34:15 -

The Golden Oath

The air in the Hall of Whispers tasted of rust and old honey. It was a cloying scent, thick enough to choke a man, yet the courtiers breathed it in like wine. Margaret Holloway stood by the pillar, her fingers trembling against the cold stone. She was fifty. Her skin was a map of dry lines, a parchment stretched over bone. The clock above the throne ticked. Tick. Tick. Tick. It was the...

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