The Wistful Throne
The crystal chandeliers of the Ironworks’ grand hall swung gently, casting fractured light over the sea of black tie and white gloves, a spectacle of wealth that Arthur Vane watched with the weary, appraising eye of a man who had spent forty years measuring the distance between ambition and reality. He stood near the service entrance, a glass of untouched brandy sweating in his palm, his heart...
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