The Distant Crown
Could a man’s blood be worth more than a crown? Mehmet Bulut asked the question aloud, his voice cracking against the stone walls of the palace corridor, the blood from the cut on his left arm dripping onto the mosaic floor in a rhythm that matched his frantic heartbeat. He was a scribe, a man of ink and parchment, not a soldier, and yet here he stood, bleeding, clutching a sealed scroll that...
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