The Golden Farce
You will cut it out, or I will have your head. The High Inquisitor’s voice did not rise; it simply filled the stone chamber, pressing against the eardrums like deep water. Elara kept her eyes fixed on the King’s back, where the skin had taken on a waxy, translucent hue, revealing the strange, golden geometry of the thorn beneath. She was the only one who could see it clearly, a fact that had...
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