The Distant Crown
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a cold, grey curtain that turned the courtyard of Thorne House into a slick, treacherous mirror. Elias Thorne stood beneath the eaves, his hands white-knuckled around a letter that felt heavier than the wet wool of his coat. The paper was thin, the ink stark against the cream background, demanding the immediate repayment of a debt his father...
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