The Wistful Silence
The banquet hall of King Aldric’s palace was a cavern of gold and shadow, where the air hung thick with the scent of roasted pheasant and the damp, metallic taste of the mist that seeped through the high arched windows. Lord Silas stood at the head of the long table, his smile a practiced, dazzling thing that did not quite reach his eyes, as he raised a goblet of deep red wine to the assembled...
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