Chapter 58: The Sovereign Feast
Rowan Mercer did not avert his gaze. He lifted his head from the silver platter, looking squarely into the dark cinema lens positioned twelve feet away at the end of the mahogany table. His expression was flat, devoid of theatrical malice, smug amusement, or performative rage. It was the unblinking, heavy stare of a stone monolith watching dead leaves blow across a frozen pavement.
On the massive ceramic-coated wall outside, his face loomed eighty feet wide across the swirling whiteout, projected in blinding clarity above the drifts of Blackwood Crest.
He picked up the heavy silver knife in his right hand and the four-tined fork in his left. The blade was razor-sharp, hand-ground high-carbon steel that sliced through the three-inch wagyu medallion with a
