Gaspard Daurenx, Vaultkeeper for the Liege, had been at his post since sundown, but it wasn’t until the last of the drunken revellers had begun to make their way home that he’d started to feel nervous. The Feast of Rosemonde had now ended, and it would not be long before d’Angerville showed up. Daurenx shivered – whether due to his ageing bones feeling the cold or because it was nearly time, he could not know. He was not proud of what he was about to do, but these were desperate times. He sighed; at least the night was as dark as it could be. He felt it fitting that the heavens would not be illuminating his act of treason...
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