Basker: Thank you so much for reviewing as much as you did! And honestly reading as much as you did as well. I hope you like this chapter too.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Of Witches and Queens
Letters. He had sent Theon and Grey Wind to go snooping - a rather daring endeavor, given that the letter that I had received indicated an inclination toward bodily harm on the part of Littlefinger and his cohorts. Although, I got the impression that Robb and his army didn't particularly find that inclination disturbing in the least. Across the hall, I could see Grey Wind's head tipped down, his massive shoulders rolling slowly as he loped around the outer circle of the great hall, snapping and snarling at guards as they flinched involuntarily under his attention.
My heart gave an involuntary squeeze as I caught sight of a red splash of liquid drenching his haunches, flecks coloring his maw and ears. Sansa met my eyes across the table, a series of calculations ticking out in those blue depths. Much like her mother, she seemed to be weighing everything, holding her tongue, leaning in to whisper in Royce's ear worriedly before pulling back.
"It seems-" Robb shuffled through the papers, brows rising a bit more as he caught a particularly intriguing section. "That you've been keeping company with some rather unsavory people, Lord Baelish."
Lysa's face had somehow curled back in a way that made her look very similar to an appalled bird, neck crunched up, shoulders nearly to her ears. "I beg your pardon?"
Theon was still standing by the door, his hand placed firmly on the hilt of his sword even though his lips were tipped up an unflappable amusement. "Treason, I believe, my lady."
A guttural squawk burst from her mouth, her eyes fluttering around the room with affronted bewilderment. The guards, their faces hidden by the white gleam of their helms, shifts, hands drifting unmistakably closer to their weapons. My mouth felt unbearably dry, the quiver of pure, unfettered fear starting to hammer at my ribcage. We were severely outnumbered - even if our army wasn't spread across the Vale in an attempt to block off reports to the bridges if things went terribly, terribly wrong.
"I think," Lord Baelish's voice rang out, and my stomach dropped even further. There was a slow sureness to his tone, a steadiness to his gaze that made me feel like a ship that had begun to take on water far before I had realized the hole. It unnerved me, the slitted set to his eye as he cast a cool gaze over Robb and I. The corner of his lip twitch upward, and beneath the table, I felt the muscles in Robb's thighs tighten. "I think that you're making rather large leaps." That cool gaze slid to the letters in my husband's hands with an almost pitying consideration. "I don't know where you got those, my boy-"
I heard the hiss of breath whistle from Robb's nose at the name, righteous anger bubbling in my own stomach at the disrespect. Robb had done more than anyone in the North or South when the Lannisters had begun to spiral out of control. He had gathered an army, and sold himself away to a marriage for a simple chance to step foot on Lannister grounds. He had weathered the storm of his family being ripped apart, dismantled, and tossed around the land like broken toys. The flippant way that Baelish threw that away made my insides brew, churning and heating into frothy rage.
I ground my teeth together, yanking my gaze away from Baelish. I couldn't look at him any longer. He had tipped me into doing something rash too many times already.
"But I don't keep physical correspondences," he drawled, and I felt the whole room creak as if the very beams and brick were moving under the weight of Robb's accusation and Littlefinger's denial. "Makes for… unfortunate misunderstandings."
Across the table, Catelyn's eyes finally darted up from her plate, her eyes hooded, shadowed with consideration as she took in her son's decidedly merry exterior. It was a poor mask that my husband wore - one that fooled no one. Robb Stark churned with his emotions. Every tiny flicker of rage or passion or disgust was so apparent on his features. Even when we had first come here, his dislike of both Baelish and his aunt was painfully apparent.
Now Catelyn took all of this in calm collection, documenting every shift of Robb's features with quiet grace. She was waiting, I realized. Waiting to see if her son would need her help. Until then, she withheld it, keeping any sway that she might have had over Littlefinger held close and secure. There was power in her connection with the man sitting beside her… but it was a cruel coin, two-sided and venomous on both. Her assistance would surely enrage Lysa - any persuasion that she might have had over Littlefinger would surely send her sister into a rage. And as for the former… I still wasn't entirely convinced that his love for Catelyn would override his need to keep control.
"Oh, I gathered as much," Robb drawled right back, leaning back in his chair with false ease. "Not many people who have something worth hiding keep their thoughts and instructions so readily available. No, this isn't from your chambers but from the messenger boy's gate in the second tower along the bridge - rather isolated area, don't you agree?" Baelish's face had frozen, his jaw tightening slightly as he took in the information. Robb's lips puckered in concentration. "It was rather a shame that the raven for the Bolton's keep was unavailable for the last two deliveries. Ran into a wall from what I've heard."
Robb's eyes had taken on the steely cast of a wolf slowly circling its prey, nipping at its hide as it herded it deeper into their own territory. For his part, Baelish looked like he fully understood the corner that he had been pushed into, his shoulders rising.
"I'm sorry for the misconception, but I think you over-estimate my reach." A stiff chuckle left Littlefinger, those eyes of his sharpening. He was like an eel, slippery and flexible, able to bend whichever way he chose. His brows twitched, furrowing into an expression of perplexed interest. "I don't keep confidence with Lords. I barely have a place in the Vale - merely a guest at Lady Lysa's discretion."
Lysa spluttered, blinking owlishly at him. "My love-"
He brought up a hand, caressing her cheek and effectively silencing her. "It is through her love that I have a home at all."
It was all very touching. If I hadn't see my brother's letter, I might have even been swayed.
Royce let out a cough, looking very uncomfortable. "My king… do you - is it from Lord Baelish definitely?"
Robb sighed, his face deceptively lax as he set down the letters. "Alas, they weren't signed and without any other writing, I can't be sure of the lettering." I felt my stomach drop, landing somewhere at my feet. Robb seemed unbothered by this devastating revelation, his mouth tipping down in only a sketch of a pout as he eyed the lettered in front of him in silent concentration.
"How dare you throw around such vulgar threats," Lysa seethed, her chin tipping up in righteous fury. I felt the dread that came with that smug tilt, her eyes dancing over us with rage and disappointment. Like we had all made fools of ourselves.
Petyr gave her arm a pat, tilting his head to the side. "Darling - give them a bit of grace. I'm sure that being a brand new king is filled with more treachery than trust."
Lysa let out a huffy little sigh, glancing around with a scowl.
Outside, the wind high above the valley of the Vale beat at the solid skeleton of the hall's walls. Just behind both Petyr and Lysa, I could see the raised brick of the Moon Door, it's ornate entrance closed but still ominous. I had always wondered why they made us dine here - this was supposed to be a room of judgment - trial, and punishment. Perhaps it was less ominous than it felt in the moment. Perhaps the Vale simply didn't have a room big enough anywhere else. Right now, it felt a lot like a threat.
Just in the corner, I caught a flash of startling green vines clawing their way through the mortar, unwinding like a rope slowly being pushed through. I felt my guts turn slowly, mashing together and tightening like pasta spun too much around a fork. I had felt the incessant motion of my plants but that had hardly been at the forefront of my mind. I had foolishly believed that they had remained miles below, withering with my emotions. To see them so blatantly-
Stop, I hissed out desperately, my muscles tensing with the depth of my command.
They stilled. But they didn't receded. My teeth ground together, my mouth feeling chalky. The conversation at the table suddenly felt like I was 5 steps away, somewhere between my plants and my husband.
"Did I tell you about the man that planned the attack on our party?" Robb was saying and my ears pricked at the sudden change of subject. From the light way that his voice broached it, there didn't seem to be a single misstep made. "Lord Trinner. He had some rather interesting conversations in his possession as well. Luckily, he wasn't as diligent as whoever sent over all those lovely plans to murder the Queen and - more than likely - me in the cross-hairs."
He drew out a stack of worn, blood-stained pieces of parchment, all clearly read over a million times. I felt sick at the recognition - the sudden image of the sad boy on his knees, his head filled with glory and righteous fury. That was probably his blood - spilled from the brutal interrogation that happened after.
"Now," Robb said slowly, holding two pieces up side by side, each from a different pile. The scrawl was tight, concise like a bookkeeper with very little pomp and frill. I imagined a man with too little time and too many thoughts and plans, sitting down at a desk by lamplight. "I'm not an expert, but those look very similar."
My teeth chomped through the top layer of my tongue as I halted an excited shimmy from my vines, more spilling from the crack in the wall.
Royce's eyes darted around the table with growing awareness, brows knitting as he watched the exchange with clear concentration. He was old enough to know the games of nobles. And I could only assume that he had been around Littlefinger long enough to understand that these games were very within his character. For his part, Baelish held the face of enthralled audience rather well. His lover, not so much.
She huffed and puffed, whispering venomously how much of a disgrace this was. "Your son, Catelyn," she seethed, glaring across at her sister whose eyes had stayed firmly on the pieces of paper. "Your son."
"Mighty similar." Theon chimed in from the doorway. He glanced back at the stony guards with raised brows. "Don't you think?"
They didn't respond.
"Again." I could hear the barely restrained rage in Baelish's voice. "I'm sorry for your misconceptions about my motives but those letters are not from me. I will aide you in searching out-"
"Petyr." Everything stilled. The soft, hypnotic lilt of Catelyn Stark's voice sliced through any other words that Baelish might have employed in his defense. Her eyes were imploring as she caught his gave, her head tipping forward so that she could have all his attention. For a moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of the children they had used to be. Petyr, smaller and craftier than other boys and Catelyn, soft and lovely and everything that a man would want in a companion. For a moment, I wondered how many times they had shared this look. How many times she had tried to pull him from the muck of his own bad decisions? "Petyr, please stop this."
Littlefinger's eyes softened as he stared at her, his whole body slackening as if he were being drawn in by the pull of entire planet. "Catelyn-" His eyes went a shade darker, gaining some gravity. "Catelyn, I didn't do this."
Neither looked away, a silent tug or war struggling between the two for such a long time that Lysa began to pull at Petyr's coat.
Finally, Catelyn's hand raised, palm up in silent request to which Robb fulfilled, leaning across the table to press the thick packet of papers in her hand. She didn't look away from Petyr until the last possible second, her eyes beseeching. He didn't budge an inch.
"We've been friends for a very long time, Petyr," she whispered, carefully laying out the letters on the table beside her plate.
"This is ludicrous," Lysa sniffed. "I've been friends with him - lovers - for just as long-"
"I could tell your writing blind," Catelyn continued on, completely ignoring her sister. "You were my best friend, Petyr. My only, lasting friend."My vines spasmed, reacting to the ache that had softened the red-heads voice to a rasp, her head dipping as she took a closer look at the curl of the words. A single finger traced a series of loops in a couple of oddly flowing sections of his writing. "You always did write directions differently. North and west - always with those swirling legs, those three marks struck through the loops… I had thought that maybe it was because of how badly you wanted to travel when we were younger."
Baelish's adam's apple bobbed, his eyes twitching around the space in clear distress. I should have known that Robb would have used his mother as the final nail in Littlefinger's coffin. I wondered when they had discussed it. Wondered if she had been unwilling. Perhaps before the war, her ways would have been different - gentler. Perhaps she would have been able to trust in the way that her quiet life in the north had allowed her. But then her husband's head had been cut off and hung from the tower walls.
Catelyn drew her hand away, her eyes slowly drifting to meet her old friend. "Why, Petyr?"
It was the strangest expression - his brows knitting as his throat constricted on a series of words that more than likely would have swayed a bit of the accusations thrown at him. I could see the confusion, the need to explain flit through his eyes dragonflies settling on tips of leaves. In Catelyn's face, all I saw was pity.
"Don't call him that," Lysa burst, her hands clawing into Baelish's arm, pressing the delicately embroidered material into a crumpled mess. His eyes flashed as he caught sight of the offending hand, finally able to tear his gaze away from Catelyn, his lips twitching down in clear distaste. "Even now, you're acting like he's yours. And he's not. I won him - he's mine. Finally, finally mine-"
"Lysa," Petyr tried to cut in, his patience obviously wavering.
But Lysa was already running down a path too steep to stop her. Wide, panicked eyes snapped to Robb and eye, that hand tightening further and further in Petyr's coat.
"And you - so what if you died?" Petyr drew in a sharp breath. "My Petyr would be a better king through and through. And I a better Queen." Her eyes snapped to me, a slow, sickly smile curving her lips up. I had the sinking suspicion that I wouldn't like what she was about to say. "No one wants a used-up little thing like you. How many of your brothers have run through you? You think everyone in Westeros haven't heard about the foul, vile things that your father does. How he rapes his own daughters and sells the illegitimate babes to the whore houses? Petyr knows. I can only imagine what the children get up to. Especially you and that brother of yours - what was his name? Cor-"
Vine lashed out, slipping across the tiled floor like hungry vipers. My anger was a living, breathing beast, the sound of my brother's name on her tongue enough to snap any sort of restraint I had. My brother was nothing like our father. Nothing. Someone down the table shrieked, the sound mingling with Lysa's own screech of terrors as vines coiled around her legs and arms, wrapping over and over again, lashing her to the silly high-backed throne she had placed at the head of this table to make Robb and I feel lesser. Her face turned a ghastly shade of reddish purple, a vein pulsing in her temple as her head went slamming back into the tall back of the chair, thick, pulsing with deep plum purple like a plague that had begun to fester.
Everyone had gone a deathly shade of white, the stark tone of the light filtering in from the glass panes all around the room, making some of them seem gray. Beside Lysa, Baelish choked out a gurgled scream, lurching to the side in his chair and almost colliding with where Catelyn stared, looking horrified at her sister's withering, gasping form. Across the table from me, Sansa and Royce had nearly come out of their chairs, the same expressions of terror etched on their faces.
"What the fuck-" one of the guards gasped, drawing his weapon unsteadily. Theon inched a bit closer to the door, his eyes guarded, face drawn taut with anxiety. He hadn't taken out his weapon, but his hand hovered, unsure, above his hilt.
"By the Seven, you fucking imbecile, put your weapon away," another guard hissed behind me. Someone else beside him had fallen to his knees and begun to pray softly.
Robb - I couldn't look at him. It was so clear who had caused this - especially since the effort had made it hard to breathe, my lunges puffing out breath after breath in frantic wheezes. I was sweating so much that I could feel the bones of my corset starting to slide against the damp skin of my ribs like water over rock. My hands clenched on top of the table; my whole body yanked toward the woman ensnared by vines like a string being drawn tight.
Stop, I pleaded with those traitorous things but it only made them tighten even more, Catelyn giving a cry of distress as a ribbon of blood began to pool under the green cords. I gritted out a whimper. Reign yourself in! Damn you! Stop!
But her words kept ringing - her insinuation that my brother had-
This was me holding myself back.
And it absolutely terrified me.
"Well-" My body tensed, the casual tone that Robb possessed at that moment enough of a shock that my vines stuttered, loosening enough to let Lysa gasp in a hacking breath. Her eyes bulged, veins apparent in her temple and neck. I didn't look away from her, but out of my peripheral, I saw his head tip to the side in slightly put-upon gesture. As if he had tried to avoid this outcome - as if he knew - "As you can see, you've upset my wife and - I won't lie - myself. I don't particularly enjoy the frankly asinine claims that you have made here, Lady Lysa. Not to your Queen." His voice lowered to the rolling rumble of thunder on the horizon and whatever Lysa saw in his eyes made all of the blood that had rushed to her face drain in a second. "Not to my wife."
No one breathed. Well, apart from me. I was still trying to wrestle control back from my own powers, trying to loosen the vines just a fraction more. It must have looked as if I was a second away from slaughtering her.
Robb's voice was soft, lilting as he cast a searing glance to his aunt. "I suggest you apologize." He considered. "And perhaps beg a bit for your Queen's good graces."
Lysa didn't need to be told twice.
"Ple - please-" Her words were raw, messy things. Spit flew from her mouth as she tried to force out the words, tears dribbling from her eyes as her hands spasmed in a way that only made my vines tighten like a predator that could sense the final fight of its prey. She let out a sharp cry, Catelyn lurching in her seat as if the pain in that scream physically hurt her as well. "It was - I did not think, your gr-grace. I apologize. Please - please just spare me. I have a babe-"
"You have a son that you've put at risk of being executed alongside both of you for your treachery to the crown." Robb's voice cut through the room like a lash. His voice was like the coldest wind, the most chilling waters. "I suggest that you ignore him as you have throughout this whole sordid affair."
Even deprived of air, Lysa still had the ability to look offended. Still, she gritted out one final plea. "Rumors and folly are what I spoke on before. I was wrong. Please."
"Acceptable." He debated, tipping his head back to glance over at Theon, who had settled back into a more relaxed stance, a false casualness about him. "What do you think?"
"I've gotten better apologies from dogs," he drawled, looking thoroughly bored by the whole ordeal. But the way that his eyes kept darting to me gave him away.
Robb gave a long sigh. "Yes; it wasn't very good, was it?"
I could breathe again. I drew in one long breath after another, taking in the crisp taste of the mountain on my tongue with the slowness of someone trying to learn something once more. It looked like he was debating but what he was really doing was allowing me enough time to gather myself. My heart warmed a bit, the urge to reach over and yank him to me so that I could kiss that devious mouth of his enough to make me want to weep.
Release her, I encouraged, letting them feel my own calm, hiding away my desperation and terror. They loosened, revealing the quickly swelling strips along her arms and throat, blood drying in their place. We're not angry anymore. Let go.
They slowly, almost lovingly caressed their way down her shoulders and arms, seeming to enjoy the way she quivered beneath their grasp. Languidly, they coiled at her feet, looping lazily around the chairs of both Baelish and Lysa.
The guards, I thought, tipping my chin to where they circled us at all sides. They're still a threat. Protect us?
Without question, as if they were listening and responding with actions they uncoiled, their roots dragging across the stone floor in a creeping crawl that made the people all around the room shake with fear. It was rather unsettling, I had to admit. Like a loosely wound loops of rope, they came to a halt in front of every single soldier around the hall, deceptively benign in their appearance. Grey Wind still stalked the perimeter, snapping at every guard who seemed tempted to draw their blade and start hacking at my plants.
"I would make the suggestion that none of you do anything rash," I called, finally able to find my voice. My eyes drifted around the room, making sure to pause on every guard. "Our business is with the lady of the Vale and her… companion. I know that your duty lays with this place and whoever is in command of it but I would ask you to look at your current surroundings and also the charges that your lady has been laid with: treachery to the Wolf of Winterfell, the warrior who usurped the tyranny of the Mad Queen and her offspring - all of which were born not from her husband but from her brother. The man who she has disgraced your house - the house that flies high as honor -" Royce straightened in his seat, their house motto rousing the sort of anger that not many had for their own creeds anymore. "Disgraced you all with the plot to catch our party - a party made of nursemaids and kitchen staff and very few left of the army that concurred the North. In the middle of my journey to my new home, a day or two after my wedding night, we were taken by surprise by fires and a band of ragged murderers. They butchered my people without a second thought - people that had volunteered to come with me. People who were no more trained with a weapon than I." My mind drifted to the fact that these vines had made very clear how deadly I was. I changed tactics. "These scum started at the rear where a small party of protection was but where mainly seamstresses and kitchen folk were. They had ladles and needles to protect themselves. Then they moved to a small carriage filled with the babes that had come with their mothers. None survived. Before you think to draw your sword, know that you will be drawing it in defense of women killers and baby murderers."
My words hung heavy, echoing off the high, vaulted ceilings of the great hall. I could see the gravity of them as they pressed into the guards around us. The Vale had some of the most loyal guards of all the houses, but I knew what kept them that way. More than loyalty to the Aryns, they were committed to the land, the oath that came with keeping the Moon Door, and those bridges standing.
"You only have letters-" Baelish suddenly hissed, jerking forward.
Robb nodded as if Littlefingers words had reminded him of something. "Ah, yes. The other evidence. Theon, would you…?"
The brunette man stepped forward with an easy smile, drawing a handkerchief from his coat and striding to place it beside Robb. My husband flicker it open, revealing stone the shade of ash, small sparks of midnight blue almost the same shade as the rest catching the light in odd intervals.
"This was collected from the equipment used to toss the explosives - an outercoating to whatever lay within." He dragged a finger through the rubble, holding it up to the light so that it caught the iridescent glow or the stone. "This is a rather rare stone that is found only in the Vale. I had thought I recognized it before but was unable to place it until your guards allowed us to spar in those caves just off of your court. Very odd coincidence. Since we're in the Vale and you are also here. With the letters, it seems almost…" He shrugged. "Unrefutable." He leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. "But I suppose it was a needed sacrifice since the army that you hired to attempt to slaughter us were poor beggars. They must have not had many supplies of their own."
A series of expressions flitted across Baelish's gaunt face - rage, fear, consideration- Finally, his head whipped around, settling on the one person who could possibly save him. "Catelyn, please. You can't let him do this-"
Her eyes slipped to her half-eaten place, her face devoid of emotion. "You've done this to yourself, Petyr. Both of you."
"You conniving-" Lysa screeched, her body lunging forward and as if on a knee-jerk reaction, Petyr pushed her back, stopping her from attacking her sister. All of her attention immediately shifted to him, narrowing. "You… you - Do you know what I've done for you? What I've given up for you? I have loved you-"
"Lysa-" Petyr started, keeping a steadying hand to her arms as she tried to squirm her way away from him. Her face twisted with betrayal.
"All to protect her - all you always do is try to protect her!" She screamed, tears starting to dribble free. "I've always loved you and all you think about is Catelyn! Catelyn, Catelyn, Catelyn! The girl who can do no wrong. The girl who left you, Petyr-"
He leaned in, trying to soothe her. But she was already so far gone, her hair flying wildly as she thrashed in his hold.
"What has she done for you?" she demanded, spittle flying from her mouth. "Has she loved you as I have? To the point where she would do everything for you? I killed someone for you, P-"
The slap resounded around the room, jolting everyone. I gulped back the putrid taste of revulsion on my tongue, taking in the reddened mess of Lysa's face as she reeled from the hit. Petyr was staring at his own hand like he was contemplating slapping her again, his fingers curling and uncurling in angry spasms. He didn't look sorry for it. He barely even looked surprised.
Catelyn's chair screeched, rubbing the brick beneath her raw as she stood up. Her eyes were unbearably cold as they peered down at both Petyr and Lysa. I wonder how much she had lost this time, how much this revelation had taken from her.
"Robb," she started and her voice was so soft that it seemed to drift on its own breeze. "I think this is all that needs to be seen."
My husband's face was unreadable as he took in his mother, watching as she bowed her head and left the room without looking back. He stared after her for only a moment longer before turning back to the pair.
"For your crimes against the crown," he started and his voice was unbearably soft, unerringly steady. The words - the meaning behind them - didn't seem to faze him in the least. "I sentence you both to be beheaded by sundown today." A sharp sob left Lysa, her whole body falling forward as she took in the news. Robb barely glanced at them, his gaze shifting to Lord Royce. "You've seen the evidence here, my Lord. Do you have any objections?"
I waited in tense silence, trying not to fidget too much as Royce's burning gaze moved from us to Lysa. With his agreement, the guards of the Vale would fall in line.
His eyes narrowed on Lysa. "Jon Arryn's death was always odd - a man with barely a single defect suddenly drops dead?" He shook his head. "Is that the man that you killed? All so you could have some brothel whore take his place?"
I flinched at the words, unable to quell the churning of my stomach at the careless term. Lysa remained crouched, her body nearly bent in half in her chair as her whole frame shook with another sob. Slowly, whimpering, she tipped her head up and beside her, Baelish tensed.
"If you - if you save me -" She hiccuped. "I'll - I'll tell you every-"
The disgust on Royce's face could have churned butter. He whipped away from her, his face stony as he met Robb's stare. "I support the charges that have been lain at their head."
Robb nodded, standing and holding out an arm for me to get up as well. I did so stiffly, clasping onto him tighter than I had thought I needed to. "Very well. Inform the Knights of the Vale, if you will. If there are any issues, my army will be ready to support you."
Royce stood as well, his eyes snapping warily to where my vines still rested. "There won't be." He said it with such confidence that even I was impressed. "The Knights are sworn to the Vale, not it's leader."
It seemed odd that they had such commitment to the honor of their leader but so little for the Northern realm. They had neither helped nor hurt Robb's rebellion, sitting on the border just as the Frey's had. What good was an honorable ruler who was forced to bend the knee for another? At least the Twins wasn't a place for hypocrisy. We rarely pledged ourselves to anything but our own bridges, and we never hid that fact.
A slim, cold smile graced Robb's lips, and I imagined he was thinking much the same. "Heartwarming." He gave a low, sharp whistle before Royce vould fully react, the great doors of the hall creaking open to admit two of Robb's own men. "Take them to the dungeons. I want the guards to stay with my army until sunset."
That made it rather obvious how little Robb trusted the Vale still.
"My grace, if you could-" Baelish started, his voice rising as he started to say something that was sure to peak Robb's interest.
Robb cut him off, looking bored. "Cut out his tongue." All of the color drained from Littlefinger's face; the order said so calmly that it made my blood go cold. "It's obviously a weapon, and we take weapons away from our prisoners, correct?"
"Yes, your grace," the two men who had entered agreed, yanking the spluttering Petyr to his feet.
Royce winced, lowering his voice. "We have to discuss some things, your grace."
For a moment, my husband was silent and I thought he would deny the request. I twitched a finger at my vines, trying and failing to shoo them back where they had come from. Instead, they withered around, dancing across the tile in a way that seemed taunting before slithering up the walls, wreathing the hall in ivy.
"Yes," he finally agreed, nodding slowly. "You're right, of course." He paused. "Give me a half hour to get my affairs in order and then I will meet you in the first bridge to the Vale."
And with that, he turned away, leading me firmly by the arm out of the room. I grimaced.
His breath was hot against the shell of my ear as he leaned a bit closer. "We have a lot to discuss, Willa."
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