The Pale Door
The wine was warm, thick as blood, and the noise in the King’s Hall was a physical weight that pressed against Aldric’s temples, a roar of lutes and shouting that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of his bones. He stood at the edge of the dais, his armor dull under the candlelight, watching the shifting masonry of the citadel walls that loomed beyond the high, arched windows, a structure that did...
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