The Distant Joke
The parchment lay flat on the oak table, its edges curling slightly under the weight of the wax seal, and Elias read the clause regarding the forfeiture of arms with a calm that bordered on the mechanical, his eyes tracking the ink as if it were a ledger of grain prices rather than the death warrant of his father’s honor. Lord Malcador stood at the head of the hall, his hands clasped behind his...
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