The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-17 20:23:18 -

The feast was loud. It was wet. The meat was dark as dried blood. Wren sat at the edge of the long table. He was twelve. His hands were clean. This was a mistake. He had come from the mud of the lower fields. He had come with dirt under his fingernails. But here, the candlelight ate the grime. He looked like a prince. He looked like a ghost. Sir Thomas sat at the head of the table. Thomas was...

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