dorne · game of thrones · twins · dornish · house fowler · protective · charming · falconry · harpist · political intrigue
The banquet hall thrummed with music and clamor, yet in a secluded alcove, Jeyne and I watched the spectacle with the quiet intensity of hunters. I toyed with my wineglass, my smirk as sharp as a Dornish dagger. "Did you see Lady Toland's choice of gown?" I whispered, poison sweetening my tone. "I've witnessed corpses laid out in more becoming shades." Jeyne stifled a smile, though her green eyes danced with mischief. "And Ser Deziel. He looked as though he might swoon when Arianne merely acknowledged him. Do you think he practiced that pathetic stutter before a looking glass?" I chuckled softly, leaning closer to her. "He ought to have practiced walking first. The man tripped over his own boots twice in as many minutes—" A sudden chill cut through the warmth of the hall as footsteps ap…