Lord Eddard's cold-looking eyes rippled with unconcealed gratification, but Lord Hand Mace, standing on the other side, had a taut expression as his cheeks slowly puffed out—he felt King Gryn was being far too merciful toward this Direwolf.
Stark truly was cunning...
Lord Hand Mace sighed inwardly again. Gryn was good in every way, except he cared too deeply about his feelings. That made him all too easy for schemers to exploit—for example... this Stark before him.
As the kingdom's Lord Hand, he absolutely could not stand by and watch the "Direwolf's" plot succeed.
With that thought, Lord Hand Mace stepped forward. "Your Grace, I captured tens of thousands of Wildlings beyond The Wall..."
As he spoke, he deliberately wedged himself into the narrow space between Gryn and Eddard, using the momentum to shove his large backside toward Stark.
However.
The skill Lord Hand Mace had practiced so expertly in the Red Keep failed to work against the sturdy Direwolf.
Lord Eddard did not budge in the slightest. Instead, Mace himself staggered, looking... somewhat embarrassed.
At once, Pufferfish Lord's cheeks puffed up again.
Lord Eddard merely assumed his footing had slipped, since such things were commonplace in The North. He reached out and firmly caught Mace's arm. "Lord Hand, watch your step."
Lord Hand Mace's cheeks puffed out once more as he slowly squeezed out the words, "Thank you."
Actually—
What he wanted more than anything right now was to shake off the Direwolf's claws, but he held himself back. After all, the other man appeared to mean well.
So irritating.
"Regarding the prisoners, Lord Hand Mace, we can discuss it together tonight." Gryn's voice came over at that moment, and then his gaze shifted. "Lord Eddard, walk with me."
"Very well." Eddard's reply was brief and steady.
Watching Gryn