The Wistful Throne
Act I Renard Morisset had seen the Duke’s face in the archives, a print on crumbling paper, and he knew then that the man was a lie. But standing on the cold linoleum of the court, the smell of ozone and burnt sugar thick in the air, the truth was heavier. The Duke, a towering figure in silk that cost more than the station’s quarterly fuel budget, sneered at the boy’s trembling hands. Renard,...
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