The Wistful Throne
The parchment lay on the table, its edges curling in the damp air of the guardhouse. Sir Kaelen read the order twice, his finger tracing the jagged ink of the Chancellor’s seal. It was a simple command: surrender his sword, strip his armor, and await the King’s judgment at the capital within three days. He folded the paper, the texture gritty under his calloused thumb, and looked out the...
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