The Golden Suspect
The banquet hall of the Citadel of Aethelgard smelled of roasted boar, spiced wine, and the heavy, metallic tang of unwashed bodies, a scent that had settled into the very stone of the walls over centuries of such gatherings, and I stood at the periphery of this golden cacophony, my hand resting on the pommel of my sword, feeling the cold bite of the iron against my palm as a grounding anchor...
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