The Wistful Throne
The air in the sealed stone chamber of the King’s tower was thick with the scent of rotting lilies, a cloying perfume that clung to the back of Elias’s throat as he adjusted the alembic. It was the year 1342, and for three years, the wasting sickness had eaten away at his brother Thomas, leaving him a hollow shell of bone and skin behind the iron bars of the infirmary. Elias, the court...
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