The Pale Echo
The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and stale incense, a thick, cloying perfume that clung to the velvet drapes. Julian sat at the edge of the long oak table, his tunic stiff with sweat, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the silver clasp at his throat. It was a heavy thing, cold against his skin, a constant reminder of the weight he carried. Around him, the courtiers laughed,...
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