The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-25 09:22:03 -

Ailsa Buchanan was scrubbing the salt crust from the oyster shells when the King’s seal arrived, the wax hard and cold in her palm, forty-seven of the Salt Gate stamped into the red clay. She did not look up. The brine stung the cuts on her thumbs, a sharp, clean pain that grounded her while the feast roared behind the heavy oak doors of the temple hall. The air in the kiln quarter was heavy...

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