The Distant Crown

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2026-08-22 05:25:41 -

The Distant Crown

The road to the capital was a ribbon of mud that swallowed the wheels of Thomas Bradshaw’s cart, and he drove it with a fury that matched the ache in his own left hand. It was the year 1342, and the air smelled of wet stone and rotting hay, a scent that clung to his clothes and his skin. He was thirty years old, a scribe of modest reputation in the King’s court, and he carried a single,...

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