The Golden Farce
The sword in Sir Kaelen’s hand did not tremble, though the chamber of the Royal Court was held in a silence so heavy it felt like a physical weight pressing against his eardrums. He stood before the dais, his armor dented from the long march north, his face a mask of grim determination that belied the hollow ache in his chest. King Aldric sat upon the throne, a figure of regal composure, yet...
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