The Faded Masquerade
The torchlight in the Great Hall of the Palace of Westminster flickered, casting long, trembling shadows against the stone walls, but Sir Elias Thorne did not flinch. He stood before the dais, his armor dented and stained with the mud of the road, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword not in threat, but in the rigid posture of a man who had nothing left to lose. King Henry, seated on the...
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