The Three-Eyed Crow's posture did not change. Only those clear blue eyes, deep as lakes, shifted slightly as his gaze fell upon the devout red priestess. "He is not the savior, Melisandre. Your interpretation is wrong."
Melisandre lowered her outstretched arms, her gaze clashing with that of the Three-Eyed Crow. "False god, how dare you blaspheme the will of the true god?!"
An eerie hot wind suddenly swept through the room. Her blood-red silk gown billowed, stirring up dust and candle ash from the floor.
Her red eyes burned like flames, as though she wished to reduce the blasphemer in the wheelchair before her to ashes.
Just then—
A hand with distinct knuckles yet extraordinary strength landed upon her shoulder once more—
It was King Gryn.
He radiated an indescribable pressure. "Let him finish first."
Melisandre's body stiffened involuntarily. This was clearly the hand of a mortal, and she had walked the world of men for centuries—
Yet—
The red priestess sensed an unfamiliar, inhuman power. Before, she had tried to dismiss the unease in her heart as an illusion. But now, she had no choice but to face reality: the man before her was no mere mortal!
Therefore—
She had not been wrong. Gryn was the true Son of Flame!
The hem of her crimson gown slowly fell still. Melisandre's anger faded, replaced by surging fervor. "Your Grace Gryn Crabb, you are the savior! The Long Night is dark, danger lurks everywhere, and you are the true flame that burns away evil!"
"He is not."
The Three-Eyed Crow's voice no longer held the innocence of a child, leaving only the hoarseness of one weathered by countless years. As though stating an immutable fact, he said, "After the long summer—stars, blood—the prince foretold in the ancient books of Asshai shall