The Wistful Throne
The feast was a loud thing. It filled the great hall of St. Jude’s Academy with the smell of roasted boar and the sound of clinking silver. Julian sat at the edge of the long table, his fingers wrapped around a goblet of wine that had turned cold. He watched the light catch the dust motes dancing in the air. They moved slowly, like snow in a world that had forgotten winter. His mentor, Lord...
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