Gryn's Sharp Blade

The Hand of the King, Mace, and Princess Arianne wore expressions of utter astonishment, as though they could not believe what they had just heard.

Gryn leaned back in his chair, tilted his face upward, paused for a moment, and murmured, "Perhaps The Usurper would be a more fitting title."

Arianne Nymeros Martell's pupils suddenly constricted, as if pierced by something sharp, and an uncontrollable surge of excitement rose within her.

She could not help but call the name of the man before her. "Gryn Crabb..."

Brown eyes met black ones. After a long while, Gryn offered her a faint smile. "Do you like my proposal?"

Arianne's eyelids trembled slightly. She stared blankly at Gryn, then, after a brief silence, nodded instinctively.

"Very good."

Gryn turned his gaze to the other side. "Hand Mace?"

Gryn's call finally brought Hand Mace somewhat back to his senses. He slowly wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead before speaking. "Gryn, may I return and consider it?"

An unconscious note of respect had entered his voice. For some reason, this Gryn—both familiar and unfamiliar—filled him with an inexplicable fear.

"Of course."

Seeing Gryn agree, Hand Mace prepared to rise and leave. He intended to find Margaery at once and "share" the astonishing things he had heard in this room.

Yet Gryn raised a hand to stop him. "My Hand, please listen before you go. It may help you consider things more carefully."

Though Gryn's voice remained gentle, it carried an invisible sense of intimidation that made Hand Mace slowly sit back down.

Once Mace Tyrell had settled back into his seat, Gryn reached for the golden wine cup and said, "I believe that if we successfully welcome back the Targaryens, this immense glory will be enough to make our family names endure throughout