The Pale Door
The parchment lay flat on the cold stone of the courtyard, the wax seal broken, the ink still wet with the damp of the morning. Sir Aldric of the Royal Guard read the order twice, his fingers stiff and white against the hilt of his longsword, the words blurring into a meaningless scrawl of duty and death. The sentence was clear: Lord Vane, accused of treason, was to be executed at dawn by the...
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