The Distant Crown
The letter lay on the oak table, its seal broken, the ink still wet where the scribe had signed. Elias Thorne read it twice, his thumb tracing the jagged edge of the paper, feeling the grit of the wood beneath his nail. The royal contract for the northern wool trade was his, provided he could present the Crown’s seal within the fortnight. His textile house was bleeding coin, the looms in the...
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