The great arched windows of the High Citadel’s royal solar stood wide open to the crisp mountain morning, allowing the fragrance of alpine cedar, wild heather, and melting snow to flood the ancient stone halls. For four centuries, these chambers had been cloaked in heavy, suffocating tapestries of black velvet and dark crimson brocade, their shutters bolted tight against the common folk of Highstone. The Alphas of the Concordat had…
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