Watching Jacaerys sneak in on tiptoe, Lonzell sat cross-legged again and studied the boy's unnaturally stiff expression.
This child. Once again, Lonzell ignored the fact that he was actually less than seven years older than Jacaerys. He knew perfectly well why Jacaerys had come to see him so late at night. Though young, the boy saw things clearly. In him, Lonzell saw shades of Lynn from years ago.
What a pity. In a world where bloodline and law were equally important—and where bloodline often outweighed law—questionable parentage meant Jacaerys was bound to face attacks both open and hidden.
Yet the child bore no responsibility for this. The true culprit was his foolish, irresponsible mother, Princess Rhaenyra, whose mind had been clouded by lust. As a member of the royal family, heir to the Iron Throne, and the intended marriage partner of the Targaryen family's most important allies, the Velaryon family, she had been foolish enough to do such a thing—and had even left her children bearing such obvious marks of adultery. The prince's faction could hardly be blamed for having ample reason to attack the princess and her children.
"Little J, why are you still awake so late? Be careful, or you'll stop growing." Lonzell smiled and beckoned Jacaerys over to sit on the bed, ruffling his dark brown hair. Truthfully, Lonzell liked the boy very much. Clear-headed, sensible, brave, resilient, and polite—no one could dislike such a good child.
What a pity. Lonzell could only sigh inwardly.
"My lord." Jacaerys spoke in his capacity as a squire. "I have a question I would like to ask you."
That surprised Lonzell somewhat. In Westeros, close knights and squires effectively formed a relationship much like foster father and son—though the key was that they had to be "close." Some squires were