The Distant Crown
The silver circlet sat on the desk, tarnished and heavy, a cold weight that seemed to press against the air itself. Elias Thorne, the Royal Archivist, stared at it with the exhaustion of a man who had spent twenty years cataloguing the kingdom’s secrets and found his own life to be the most poorly indexed document of all. He was forty years old, though the hollows beneath his eyes made him look...
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