The Wistful Mirror
You are not the man who walked in there. Aldric stood before the great pane of glass in the ancestral keep, the cold biting through the wool of his doublet. The year was 1240, and the air in the Hall of Mirrors smelled of wet stone and old, dried blood. He wanted his brother’s name scrubbed clean from the record of treason. He wanted the Crown to admit that Ewan had been a loyal soldier, not a...
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