The Distant Ghost
The feast was a slaughter. They ate until their jaws ached. The tables groaned under the weight of roasted boar and heavy loaves, the air thick with the smell of roasting fat and spilled wine. It was a celebration of the new King’s decree. A decree that would feed the starving. Or so they said. Cael sat at the end of the table. He was a Warden of the Crown. His tunic was stained with wine. His...
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