The Pale Protocol
The feast ended not with a song, but with the silence of empty plates. Sir Julian sat at the head of the long oak table, his hands resting on the wood. The wood was cold. It had always been cold in this hall, even when the hearth roared and the firelight danced against the high stone walls. He looked at the goblets. They were empty. He looked at the chairs. They were empty. The servants had...
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