The Golden Oath
The Great Hall of King’s Keep smelled of roasted venison and stale ale, the air thick with the heat of three hundred bodies and the low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones. He stood before the dais, holding the golden chalice in both hands, its surface cold and smooth, a stark contrast to the feverish energy of the court. Elias was forty years old, a...
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