The Golden Farce
The wax seal on the parchment was cracked, a jagged fissure running through the royal crest like a vein of dark stone in pale marble. Sir Aldric held the document in his gloved hands, his fingers stiff with the cold of the early morning, and watched the light from the single tallow candle flicker against the damp walls of the magistrate’s study. He had ridden for three days from the capital to...
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