The Distant Crown
The carriage wheels bit into the gravel as Elias Thorne left the Royal Mint, the dust of London settling around him like a shroud. He was forty years old, his hands calloused from thirty years of chisel and steel, and he carried in his breast pocket a letter of commission that smelled of iron and desperation. His brother, Arthur, had died owing the Crown a debt that could not be paid with coin,...
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