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    Summary

    Jena curtsied as she had been taught. “My prince.”

    Baelor looked at her for a long moment, as if he were trying to decide what to do with her. He was a prince, yes, but he was also a boy. His posture was practiced. His expression was careful. There was a guardedness in him that even a child could sense.

    “You may rise,” he said, and his voice was steady.
     
    Jena stood. “Your eyes are different.”

    There was a sharp intake of breath behind her. An adult’s panic.

    Baelor blinked once. Then, to Jena’s surprise, his mouth twitched, as if he were holding back a smile.

    Language:
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