The Faded Masquerade
The feast was a lie of wax and wine. We ate in the great hall of Dunbar Keep, the air thick with the scent of roasting boar and stale ale. I sat at the far end of the table, a sentinel of stone. My armor was polished to a mirror sheen. It reflected the dancing figures, the candlelight, the smiles of men who believed they were kings. I was the shield. I was the blade. I was the law. The Lord,...
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