Chapter 1
It was dark inside her bedroom. The ghost of a candle guttering was the only source of light in the caliginous twilight, aside from her wide eyes, too bright and afraid, too blue to be wise. And the moon hung in the sky, cloaked by fog and thick green smoke, and the stench of death was in the air.
It reeked of the follies of men.
Blood, sweat, tears, pain and fire. Hot, scalding fire licking up the hard rock of her tower bedroom. It singed the twining roses and fronds of ivy that lay prettily over her stone balcony. And beneath her covers, of thick cotton and pink silk, she shook, too terrified to swallow that hard lump at the back of her throat, too timid to even cry.
And as the fire licked its way up the castle walls, a figure came for her. She feared death, as most teenage girls do. She feared it more than mud and men, men who would seek to harm her, dirty her fair skin, mark it with bruises and bites, as though they wished to 'claim' her.
A hand laid rest on her quivering shoulder and she startled. She had barely heard the door open, the screams outside had muffled the squeaking of her rusty iron hinges. But she felt his hand, large and strong and calloused, too big, too healthy.
"Easy, little bird." He silenced her shaking, her gasps of relief. He gently pulled the covers from around her shoulders, revealed the thick curtain of red hair. It shone, stark and contrasted against the vile green smoke, almost poisonous. Her hair matched the fire outside, that burning hell that made him near piss his breeches. But he had to be brave.
For her, he thought vehemently.
When she glanced at him, through thick lashes dampened and sparkling with tears, she breathed out in relief. "Oh, Sandor." She almost wept, and reached for him.
He picked her up, as one would his bride. With her head against his muscled chest, and his large hands holding her tight, he comforted her the only way he knew how. "Quit your cheeping, little bird." He ordered, gruff as ever.
His voice was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard. More so than a singer, the sweetest thing since sugar and honey and lemon cakes. And she nodded, obeying his every command. "Please," she asked him, hiding her gaze from the dying men. "Take me away, Sandor."
Sandor walked with her, chin tilted high in defiance, eyes burning bright as the flames reflected in his eyes, grey like steel. "Aye, little bird."
She made as if to speak but he silenced her. "I'll take you far from here."