The Distant Affair
The feast hall of King Edward’s castle was a cavern of wax light and roasted boar, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and the heavy, metallic tang of the iron circlet Thomas Bradshaw clutched in his sweating palm. He stood at the edge of the dais, a forty-year-old captain of the guard whose uniform had gone soft at the elbows from twenty years of service, watching the courtiers drift...
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