Chapter 10

On certain occasions, Jon Snow would secretly be glad that he was a bastard.

As he lifted the wine jug and topped off the cup he had just emptied, he realized this was one of those occasions.

He turned and dropped back onto the bench among the squires and young attendants, drinking with them as if he belonged. The summer red was sweet on his tongue, fruit-heavy, and for a moment it almost felt easy to smile.