The Distant Affair
The feast was a riot of gold and grease. Candles sputtered. Smoke curled. The air was thick with the smell of roasted boar and stale wine. Margery sat at the low table. Her back ached. The chair was hard. Wood bit into her spine. She looked down. The bowl in front of her was full. Porridge. Thick. Cold. It had been there since dawn. She had not touched it. The lord’s men laughed. They threw...
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