The Golden Visit
The feast was a lie. It sat heavy in the belly of the hall, a mountain of roasted boar and stale ale, under a sky that had forgotten how to be blue. Sir Aldric stood at the edge of the table, his armor cold against his ribs, his gauntlets clasped before him. He was a man made of iron and silence, a shield of the Kingdom, a wall against the dark. But tonight, the wall was cracking. The King, fat...
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