The Pale Verdict
The iron taste of blood was not the only thing thick in the air of the White Court; it was the scent of burnt rosemary and the heavy, cloying sweetness of honey that had been left too long in the sun. Sir Aldous Vane stood at the center of the circular arena, his armor dented and stained with the mud of the outer realms, his sword raised not in a strike but in a desperate plea for silence. He...
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