Harlan went rigid. First, he felt a slight numbness on his cheek-the sensation left by a blade grazing his skin, more terrifying than pain. Only then did he see a few strands of black hair drifting down from beside his ear, scattering across the shoulders of his deep purple velvet coat like feathers plucked from a dead crow.
But his shock lasted only a breath, for the whispers around him were already flooding into his ears from every direction.
"I thought Prince Daemon was already unmatched, but someone's even bolder than him-whose guard is this?"
"Whose son is he, anyway? He's got some nerve!"
"How can anyone be this brave?"
The gossip-hungry guests in the hall once again trotted out the remarks they had used that afternoon on the beach to discuss Joffrey Lonmouth. As they mocked Harlan's reckless ignorance, they were plainly comparing him-
To Joffrey Lonmouth, who had been so frightened on the harbor beach that afternoon that he had taken a nasty tumble, and who was now huddled in a corner beside Laenor.
Yet this fellow, who still refused to give up, was clearly bolder. At least, not knowing Aegon's identity, he was certainly "braver" than Joffrey.
To Harlan, who was feeling exceedingly pleased with himself and had no idea who the silver-haired boy before him was, the guests' whispers sounded like mockery aimed at the brat who had dared draw a blade on him.
After all, he was the son of the Former Sealord of Braavos, the prospective son-in-law of the lord of Driftmark. Even the king on the Iron Throne had to show him some respect-
Or so he believed.
Seeing not a trace of fear on the fellow's face, but instead another inexplicable hint of smugness, Aegon put away his dagger and rolled his