One sentance

 This is a story I wrote in one continuous sentence; please tell me if the grammar is not correct in in some way. This is not a run on sentence because it only has one subject and one predicate. It might be called horrible style but I believe it to be correct grammar.

Away from the world that you and I know, far across the sea, on the island of orem, a small nation state tucked away in the place where the fold lines of a map that was torn out of the atlas long ago obscure the tiny squiggle that frames its coast, king Edward, who was known chiefly for his wicked conduct toward those still loyal, despite the persecutions they endured at his hand, to the king who he had unjustly taken the throne from, not in battle but by appeal to the least known and most foolishly penned, though nobly enough conceived, law in the great law book which, being filled with an hundred thousand controversies now with their organic furry having been extracted from them and replaced with cold and solid legalese, read like a fossilized history of those things great and small that had been important to various generations of oremeites and which was housed in the great library of orem, where it had often unseated and raised kings but never in so patently petty a way as it had unseated the former king and put Edward so precariously on the throne and for his use of that law book, twisted and turned, read and interpreted through those few pages that others would call obscure but he called central, reigned, awaiting with great fear, a fear born of the knowledge that he alone possessed that his interpretation of that one central law, of which the short man in the swirl-striped hat had taught him so long ago as he sat reading that strange book by the grandfather of the king, a book he had then thrown aside to march into the castle and demand of the king the throne by virtue of the fact that he was the person who, in all the kingdom, was least suited for it, was wrong and that any moment someone with a sharp eye (or reading glasses) could open the book to the one page which thankfully was still considered obscure and, bringing the true king from the cave by the sea, uncomfortably close to where the castle stood on orems southern coast, close enough that Edward would sometimes wonder if the seagulls that often stole his food were the same that the king had fed with crumbs from the rations of bread taken without ceremony to him each day, where he now lived in exile, could walk into the palace their footsteps echoing, like the footsteps he now heard, along the corridor of statues where Edward’s statute would never stand, and take one man away to shame and place one in the honor he deserved.