The Wistful Throne

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2026-08-19 09:22:54 -

The feast was a roar of gold and wine. Candles burned low in silver sconces. Smoke curled from the hearth. It smelled of roasting pig and stale sweat. I stood at the edge of the hall. My hand rested on my sword hilt. My knuckles were white. I was a soldier. I was the King’s shield. But I felt like a ghost. King Alistair sat on the high throne. He was old. His face was a map of war. He laughed....

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