The Golden Song
The banquet hall of Aethelgard was a cathedral of gold, where the chandeliers burned with a light that seemed less like fire and more like trapped sunlight, illuminating the faces of the court in a wash of amber and shadow. King Alaric sat at the head of the long oak table, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the wood, his eyes fixed not on the roasted pheasant or the flowing wine,...
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