The Faded Shield
The heavy silver chalice sat in Sir Aldric’s palm, its weight a familiar anchor against the tremor in his fingers. He stood at the edge of the long table in the Great Hall of York, the air thick with the scent of roasted boar and spiced wine, while the noise of the feast swelled around him like a tide. His eyes drifted past the flickering tallow candles to the high window, where the pale moon...
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