The Distant Joke

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2026-08-19 00:01:39 -

The Distant Joke

The feast hall smelled of roasted boar and wet wool. Torches hissed in the stone sconces, casting long, trembling shadows that danced across the vaulted ceiling. Sir Caelen sat at the far end of the oak table, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He did not eat. He watched the flame. Lord Ashworth stood at the head of the table. He was a large man, soft in the middle but sharp in the...

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