His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently. I don't know what you did, he said, but I know you did it. Burned into the wood was a cluster of grapes.
He heard shouts, the clatter of spears, the whicker of horses, though nothing yet that spoke to him of fighting. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit. Robb took his hand. She would not even permit her knights to fight in the Hand's tourney.
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