He looked bored. The king touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across the rough stone as gently as if it were living flesh. Our wife is duty. Behind him, his bloodriders knelt on the sand beside the corpse of the wild stallion, stone knives in their hands.
Littlefinger smiled and handed the paper to Ned. You are the king, Ned reminded him. Both of them, said Robb. I could scarce believe it.
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