The Golden Song
The rain had turned the border mud into a sucking, black paste that clawed at Elias Thorne’s boots as he fled, his lungs burning with the effort of keeping his breath steady and silent. He was thirty-two years old, a sergeant who had bled for the Crown in ten years of skirmishes, yet here he was, running like a common rat through the woods, clutching the silver circlet of Lady Elara to his...
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