The Wistful Throne
The parchment lay on the workbench, its edges curling slightly in the damp air of the workshop, bearing the seal of the Guild and the final, crushing weight of the debt. Elias Thorne read the figures twice, his eyes tracing the inked columns of silver owed for Elara’s medicine, a sum that would require three years of steady labor to repay, yet the deadline offered by the High Steward was only...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews