The Distant Crown
The grafting knife slipped into the stem of the *Paphiopedilum*, and Elias Thorne held his breath, the cold air of the greenhouse biting at his exposed wrists. He was not a man accustomed to stillness, yet here, in the humid dark of Duke Valerius’s private conservatory, his hands remained perfectly steady, the blade finding the precise angle of the cambium layer. The Duke’s steward, a man named...
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