The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-23 22:38:28 -

The Pale Bridge

The count was simple, if the hands would hold the silver steady. One, two, three. The chipped rim of the cup caught the flickering tallow light, a jagged white scar against the tarnished metal. Sir Aldric counted the hours remaining until dawn. Four. He had four hours before the sun rose and his son, Thomas, arrived at the gates. The castle of Blackwood was not a home; it was a ledger of debts,...

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