The Distant Nightmare
The debt is due, sir, and the Crown does not wait for apologies." Sir Kaelen stood in the center of the Great Hall, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword that felt too heavy for the silence that had fallen over the court. The air was thick with the scent of roasted venison and stale beer, a cloying sweetness that sat heavily on the tongue, masking the metallic tang of fear that was...
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