The Golden Suspect
The banquet hall of the Sovereign’s Citadel is a cavern of excess, where the air is thick with the scent of roasted boar and stale wine, and the chandeliers, dripping with crystal, cast a fractured, watery light over the faces of the courtiers who have gathered to witness the coronation of the new Chancellor. You sit at the head of the table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your eyes...
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