The Pale Banner
Thorne, you are late. The summons came at dawn, sharp and cold, delivered by a boy in livery who did not wait for a reply before vanishing into the grey London fog that clung to the palace walls like damp wool. I am fifty-two years old, and I have served this Crown for three decades, a period of service that should have secured my pension, yet here I stand in the antechamber of the King’s...
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