The Pale Exile
The parchment lay on the oak table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the study. It was a standard form, the kind the House used for every minor infraction and every major treason, printed in a font so small it seemed designed to be missed. Eamon signed it without reading the fine print. He had read the title. *Notice of Stripping of Rank.* His hand trembled as he pressed the nib to...
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