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Chapter 55: Ch The Dinner Of Daggers
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... a forest that felt too quiet to be safe. There was no birdsong here. Even the wind was fearful as three horses rode down the twisting path, hooves crunching over soggy leaves.
Luther rode the middle horse, cape flying over the saddle as he hunched forward like a man heading to his own funeral. Guards marched beside and behind him, one as quiet as stone.
Luther sighed loudly, hoping someone would answer. No one did.
"Tell me again," he slurred, "why we’re wasting good day ...
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