The Wistful Throne
The chisel struck the oak, sending a shard of splintered wood across the floor, and Elara did not flinch. She was thirty-four, the Head Mason of the Royal Court, and her hands were wrapped in leather so thick they looked like part of her skin. The King’s new throne sat in the center of the Hall of Whispers, a skeletal frame of dark walnut that had not yet been carved. It was a monument to...
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