The Distant Crown
1912, October 14. I woke again with the circlet burning in my palms, the metal so hot it blistered the skin, a phantom weight that pressed against the inside of my wrists until I threw back the covers and gasped for air in the cold October night. It is always the same dream, a golden band of royal authority that I cannot drop, a symbol of the prestige I have chased through the halls of St....
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