“Seagard is only a few nights away, and so is vengeance,” he thought, riding abreast Ser Emmon and Perriane.
Rhaegar Frey tossed his silky hair in the wind, which he had grown like his namesake. He glanced at his own face through the polished sword on his hands, picturing driving it through the eye of Ser Hosteen himself. When Rhaegar confided his fantasies to his aunt Perriane, she warned him instead of Hosteen’s ruthless streak in battle. Rhaegar did not need much reminding. Hosteen killed my father. For that, he will pay.
“We’ve been walking in the snow for hours, m’lord!” yelled a soldier at them, disturbing his dreams. “When are we to rest?”
“You’ll get your rest when you bring me Ser Hosteen’s head!” Rhaegar replied with equal spite. The soldiers were getting increasingly impatient to head back to the Twins. None of them cared for the sweet smell of blood, the thrill of conquest, the glory of the name – all they wanted was warm ale and a hearth.
It was down to him to uphold the name of House Frey. Emmon was heir to Lord Walder, Rhaegar knew, but too bloodthirsty and violent to rule. When one of his men’s ears numbed with frostbite, he chopped it off and devoured it to save supplies. Such men oft mistook ruthlessness with cruelty.
Rhaegar’s father and Emmon’s brother Ser Aenys would have been a good king, were he not murdered by Hosteen. With him dead, and if Emmon were to die, Rhaegar would be next in line to become Lord of the Trident. After Rhaegar slew his enemy at Seagard, Emmon had to follow. It would be for the good of the Riverlands.
When the sky darkened, they finally laid camp in the snow. Rhaegar waited until he was certain everyone was in their tents before he secretly entered Perraine’s. She was already waiting for him inside, legs spread apart, wearing nothing but the gold chain. Deep black hair tumbled over her shoulder, as sweeping eyelashes looked at him in anticipation.
Rhaegar quickly undressed to join her. The war was nearer, the cold was fearsome, and she never looked more beautiful. It ordinarily took him around five-and-ten thrusts to spill his seed in her, but he imagined today it would take only four. As Perriane took him in her mouth, it only took her few moments before Rhaegar told her to call him her king. Perriane withdrew for her lips to part into speech. “Not on my life.”
Before he knew it, Perriane had a blade in her hand, which she swiftly slashed against his parts. Rhaegar did not even get the chance to yell in agony; she clamped one firm palm on his mouth, while the other stabbed daggers at his gut. “You think you were fit to rule?” Perriane told him, while he failed to break free. “Emmon and I used your vengeance to take your army. And when Hosteen lays dead at my feet, Emmon will have no use for me as well.”
By then, Rhaegar was not listening, his eyes on Perriane’s hair. Even when matted with blood, it was the most beautiful thing he had seen.
*
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