The Distant Crown
The herald’s horse stamped in the mud, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards of the crumbling manor, and you stood in the doorway with the silver crown hidden beneath your tunic, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You were twelve years old, a squire in name only, and the man before you, clad in the livery of the Duke of Ashworth, looked at you with the...
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