The Golden Oath
I was counting the copper pennies in my palm when the Court Master’s gavel struck the wood, a sound like a bone snapping in the dry, dusty air of the Hall of Aethelgard. The smell hit me first, a cloying mix of old parchment, dried lavender, and the metallic tang of fear that clung to the sweat on my own neck. I looked up, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the high, arched...
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