The Distant Promise
The wine was too sweet, cloying and thick in the throat, and the smell of roasting boar hung heavy over the High Court, masking the metallic tang of the ink that Elara kept wiping from her fingertips. She stood before the dais, the parchment rolled tight under her arm, her hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer exhaustion of holding the weight of the map. King Aldric slumped in his...
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