The Golden Master

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2026-08-18 00:29:23 -

The Golden Master

The banquet hall of the King of Ashwood was not a place of warmth, but of calculated cold, where the air hung heavy with the scent of roasted swan and the metallic tang of old blood seeping into the oak floorboards. Margaret Holloway sat at the periphery of the long table, her fingers laced tightly over the rim of her silver goblet, watching the candlelight dance across the faces of men who...

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