The Pale Door
The feast was loud. It was too loud. The silver clinked against the crystal, a sharp, bright sound that cut through the thick air of the Great Hall. Candles burned low, their flames trembling in the draft from the open windows. The air smelled of roasted goose, stale wine, and the sour sweat of men who had not bathed in days. They were the Kingsmen. They were the judges. They were the wolves in...
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