The Distant Crown
The dampness of the infirmary was not merely a lack of heat but a physical weight that settled into the marrow of Sir Alistair Thorne’s bones, a cold that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the fortress rather than the winter air outside. He sat on the edge of the straw pallet, his back rigid against the stone wall, watching the single shaft of grey light pierce the narrow slit in the...
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