Laughing, Hildy gave Jaime a brazen look. “Do you have a little wife, ser?”
No, I have a sister. “What color is my cloak?”
“White,” she said, “but your hand is solid gold. I like that in a man. And what is it you like in a woman, m’lord?”
“Innocence.”
“In a woman, I said. Not a daughter.”
He thought of Myrcella. I will need to tell her too. The Dornishmen might not like that. Doran Martell had betrothed her to his son in the belief that she was Robert’s blood. Knots and tangles, Jaime thought, wishing he could cut through all of it with one swift stroke of his sword.
no subject