Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century. Maybe he thought you were a grumkin. After them came the children. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation.
Corn, corn. He knew where they were bound. Oh, a whore and a featherbed and a flagon of wine, for a start. Your Grace, I never knew you to fear Rhaegar.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.