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Summary
In the month spent traveling north, Aerion had gotten sick half a thousand times. He could not help it—if a lamb knew it was to be slaughtered, he was certain it would be equally nauseated.
An imperfect comparison, of course, given that he was as far from a lamb as a living creature could be, but they all knew he would bleed just the same.
“Father, is it true that Aerion’s betrothed is half giant?”
Aerion had always known his family would grow weary of his misbehavior in time, but he never expected his punishment to be a rushed betrothal to the legitimized bastard of Lord Stark. He hated the cold, he hated his family for abandoning him, and he hated his future mate…
Less.