The Golden Farce
The hall smelled of roasted pork and old wax. I stood by the hearth. My sword was sheathed. My hand hovered near the hilt. Lord Vane sat at the head of the table. He was a large man. His face was red with wine. He laughed too loud. “Look at him,” Vane said. He pointed a sausage at me. “The King’s Dog. Loyal. Blind.” I did not answer. I looked at my father. He sat in the corner. He was small. He...
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