The previous owner of the Valyrian Steel sword Lady Forlorn—Ser Lyn Corbray—had died at the hands of Ser Lena (Chapter 220), and she had distinguished herself greatly in the Battle of the Vale. Though young and small of stature, her fierce reputation was well known.
Ser Lena made no effort to conceal the sharpness in her eyes. Viscount Willas before her seemed like prey she had fixed her gaze upon, powerless to flee.
Viscount Willas's fingertips lightly tapped the armrest of his wheelchair. He knew very well why Ser Lena had come.
After a moment of silence, he forced an elegant yet strained smile. "Thank you for escorting me, Queensguard."
At that, the corner of Ser Lena's lips curved faintly as she stepped aside. "Come, Viscount. Do not keep the queen waiting."
Willas raised a hand to stop the captain of his guards from coming forward. Without another word, he signaled for the attendant behind him to push his wheelchair.
The night wind was faintly cool, and the stars and moon were obscured.
Blue Cloaks stood both before and behind them. Ser Lena rode at the very front of the procession, the crisp clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels rolling over cobble—
stone streets especially clear in the silent Hook Alley.
Inside the carriage, Viscount Willas withdrew his gaze, leaned back against his seat, and slowly lowered his eyelids.
The ones "escorting" him were Crabb's finest Crabb Clan Soldiers. Daenerys Targaryen could mobilize them at will?
Dragons would grow eventually. Had that man never considered Crabb's future?
Heh.
Willas had to admit—Gryn truly was skilled at constantly giving people "surprises."
He had thought—under the rule of two monarchs, House Tyrell would become ever more at ease. Yet he seemed to have deliberately overlooked the closeness between the king