The Faded Shield
The fire in the hearth of Blackwood Manor roared with a hunger that seemed to eat the very air. Thomas Bradshaw stood by the table, his hand resting on the rim of his wine cup, his eyes fixed on Lady Elara. He was thirty years old, a squire with a debt that stretched like a shadow across his family’s name. He needed her hand. He needed the Blackwood coin to bury his father’s shame. The room was...
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