The Distant Whispers
The hall smelled of roasted goose and old stone. I stood by the hearth, watching the fire. It was a good fire. It ate the wood and gave back light. I was the King’s investigator. Or at least, I was supposed to be. My name was Arthur. It was a heavy name for a man who mostly watched. Lord Malvern sat at the high table. He wore velvet. It was dark red. It looked like dried blood. He laughed. His...
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