The Golden Harbor
The ink on the form was still wet, a dark smear against the white paper that smelled of iodine and old paper. Astrid Ryberg, Captain of the Royal Guard, stood in the center of the obsidian hall, her hands clasped behind her back, feeling the weight of the silence that had settled over the feast. The court had gathered for the midwinter solstice, a time of excess and display, yet the air was...
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