Chapter 152

The moon stood at its zenith, the river of stars like a dream.

Inside a lord’s pavilion of heavy canvas, Benita’s eyes had closed and her breathing grown deep and even. Domeric slipped carefully from her side, unwilling to disturb his personal guard’s rest. Naked, he rose from the bed, drew on a linen robe, and stepped out of the tent.

Not far away, Arya Stark sat cross-legged beneath an oak near the horse lines, sharpening her slender sword as though no one else existed. The girl seemed to need far less sleep than grown men. From the look of her, she had come seeking him deliberately—only to find him occupied with his guard, and so had waited politely outside the pavilion. A well-mannered little thing, in her way.