The Distant Promise
The feast ended in silence. Candles guttered. Wine pooled in the flagstones. Edmund sat alone. The hall was vast. Stone walls wept dampness. He held the cup. It was cold. The liquid did not move. He was the King’s hand. He was the law. Or so they said. The guests had fled. Fearsome whispers. They called him the Wraith. They said his shadow lengthened. They said he ate the truth. Edmund drank...
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