The Golden Quest
The hall was thick with the smell of roasted lamb and beeswax. Candles flickered in silver sconces, casting long, trembling shadows against the tapestries. Margaret stood at the head of the table. She wore silk the color of bruised plums. Her face was a mask of calm. Below her, the court waited. They were her subjects. They were also her mirrors. Every laugh, every cough, every shift of weight...
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