The Wistful Throne
Cedric’s hand tightened around the stem of his goblet, the cold glass biting into his palm as he watched Lord Vane slice a wedge of roasted boar. The meat was dark and glistening, the fat rendering into a pool of grease that spread across the silver platter like a slow, oily tide. The great hall of Ashworth Castle was thick with the smell of roasting pork, stale wine, and the damp wool of forty...
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