Hook Alley. The white stone walls of Rose Mansion glowed with a warm golden halo beneath the westering sun.
Looking slightly weary, Willas slowly unfolded the secret letter from the north. The creases in the parchment seemed to retain a lingering chill from that northern land.
The writer was Leo Tyrell, a branch member of House Tyrell. His current position was the king's cupbearer, and he had followed Gryn I to the North.
Willas's brown eyes swept over Leo's elegant handwriting, and his brows drew together slightly.
"His Majesty King Gryn's gaze is as resolute as cold iron, yet not without gentleness. He listens to the pleas of every subject—"
Leo's handwriting was neat and graceful, carrying the refinement of the Citadel. Yet the contents were nothing but lengthy praise, comparing Gryn I's wisdom and benevolence to the sunlight of the Seven Kingdoms, and describing the honor of serving the king as though it were a blessing bestowed by the Gods themselves. Every phrase was carefully chosen, as ornate as a lyrical poem at a Highgarden banquet.
Leo also mentioned the snow in Winterfell and the warmth of northern girls—
When he reached the final line—"May the rose forever bask in the radiance of His Majesty King Gryn"—Willas laughed in irritation.
Just like last time, Leo's letter was nothing but—nonsense.
His chest rose and fell as Willas closed his eyes. He understood perfectly well that the real reason Leo clung so fiercely to the honor of being the king's cupbearer was not loyalty, but fear. No one in the Seven Kingdoms now dared entertain even the slightest thought of offending Gryn I.
Gryn was like a sword hanging over the heads of the Seven Kingdoms. Wherever its edge pointed, no one dared object.
Reason told Willas that he should do