The Golden Oath
The stone floor of the High Court was cold enough to seep through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots, a chill that traveled up his shins and settled in the marrow of his bones. He stood before the bench, his hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, burning weight of the lie being woven around him. The air in the hall was thick, heavy with the scent of damp limestone and the metallic...
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