The Pale Banner
The fever in the King’s blood was a technical failure, a systemic collapse that you, Elias Thorne, had spent thirty-four years learning to diagnose and treat with the precision of a surgeon and the patience of a monk. You stood before the bedchamber door, your hands steady despite the tremor in your own pulse, because the winter solstice was three days away and the kingdom’s stability rested on...
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