The Golden Farce
My hand was already moving when I noticed the grease on the knife, a dark smear against the silver handle that I wiped away with the back of my thumb, the metal cold and slick beneath my skin. The hall smelled of roasted boar and stale ale, a thick, cloying perfume that hung in the air like a heavy curtain, and I watched the King’s cupbearer spill wine onto the tablecloth, the red stain...
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