The Faded River
The banquet hall of the Iron Court smelled of roasted boar and ozone. It was a scent that clung to the velvet drapes, heavy and cloying, masking the sharper, metallic tang of the air. Hundreds of candles burned in silver sconces, casting a light that was too bright, too steady, and therefore too false. The King sat at the head of the long oak table, his face a mask of polished bronze. He did...
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