The Distant Crown
The bayou mud sucked at the wheels of the supply wagons as the Imperial line marched past Saint-Vaast, a grey river of steel and mud that swallowed the light of the afternoon. Romain Thibodeaux watched from the shadow of his lamplighter’s shed, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the vibration that hummed through the rusted iron band he wore against his skull. Luc was gone, taken by...
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