Game Of Thrones Wine Goblet Novels & Stories

He then asks the waiter for a 1979 Château Grand-Marteau wine. The waiter brings the bottle back, smiling as he carefully opens it. “Excellent taste, sir.” After the waiter pours him a glass, Ethan swirls the wine and inhales before nodding. “Thank you.” The waiter places the bottle on the table with extra care, as if it’s some sort of national treasure. While we wait for our food, Ethan pours me a glass. “What’s the occasion?” I asked. “There doesn’t need to be an occasion for us to drink good wine.”

“Drink it. One shot. Finish it.” I glanced at the goblet. The liquid was unnervingly thick. I couldn’t smell it clearly through the heavy, spiced air now, for some reasons but the colour was too dark for ordinary wine. I didn’t trust it, yet, then I remembered the Betas. One wrong move, and he might kill them. He had shown me as much already, even if Alpha Knight was contradictory. I sighed inwardly, tightening my fingers around the stem of the glass. He watched me with the intensity of a predator. “What’s the matter? Afraid it’s too strong for you?” he taunted.

I said, matter-of-fact before moving to snatch a sweaty wine bottle from the cold glass display, ignoring the choking sounds behind me. “What did you expect Reynolds? What with your happy feet and all? I have a legacy to protect.” I hummed, swirling the flute of the red wine glass I had in my hand before taking a long swallow, feeling the cold swim down the inky depths of my insides. “Well i’m here aren’t i? I didn’t try to bolt for the exit when the hag was licking at my heels.” The green-eyed goblin pouted, the folds of her bow-shaped lips squeezing together deliciously bringing my wolf to attention before I tore my eyes away from the torment to focus on the pink-leaved bonsai tree cup by

he said as he slowly lifted his goblet to his lips, “and your father owes us a deal that he had broken.” “What do you m—“ His eyes grew wide as the goblet was only inches away from his lips. I saw the anger burned within his eyes to the point that it melted away its icy appearance— it turned fiery red. Lord Victor held the chalice tightly and it broke in his hand, pieces fell down the marble floors. The liquid sizzled in his touch. “Vervain,” he hissed.

ERIC’S POV The royal chef presents the goblet filled with wine. I gesture for him to leave and he bows his head before leaving. I look towards the goblet. It is a silver goblet adorned with different precious and rare stones. I pick the goblet up and take a sip of this wine of Eden. The moment the liquid touched my tongue I felt heavenly bliss. This is my favorite wine because its red color represents victory, my victory. It has always been said that red is the color of victory and that is the reason I like it.

She could hear the ring of his silver rings against the dark wood. Tap. Tap. Tap. Slow and steady, like a countdown she couldn’t stop. “Come in!” Immediately, the heavy doors creaked open. A maiden entered, her hair tied back in a messy bun, and her hands steady as she carried a wooden tray with three goblets sitting on it. They weren’t just cups—Kaerith recognised the design. They were carved from dark oak, they were the kind reserved for ceremonial wine. Another maiden followed. She stepped to Kaerith’s side and lifted the plate in front of her, taking away the food Kaerith hadn’t touched yet.

She had seen the gilded cage, and part of her hated how its comforts had left a faint, traitorous longing in her bones. The great hall was a cavern, its ceiling lost in darkness, lit by fire pits and torches that guttered in the drafts. Trophies hung on the walls—not tapestries, but the banners of fallen enemies, the massive antlers of mountain elk, and strange, intricate maps carved into wooden panels. At the head of the room, on a simple stone dais, stood a chair made of interlocking elk antlers. Lord Valerius did not sit in it. He stood before a great carved map of the Iron Pass, his fingers tracing lines only he could see.

The flash of her tongue licking a drop of sauce from her lip. Then the wine. Silver goblets. A gift from Valen. Imported, he’d said. Aged with rare elven herbs. I watched her lift the cup. I watched her throat work as she swallowed. Then, A pause. A blink. A tremor in her fingers. Subtle, almost imperceptible. Her lips parted. She mouthed: Don’t drink it. Then she collapsed. Not with screams. No flailing. Just... folded in on herself. Like a puppet with cut strings.

It made it all the more satisfying to see the fruits of my labor laid out in the cot before me. I raised the goblet slowly, the wine catching the faint glint of moonlight. “To the girl who was never yours,” I murmured, voice low. “And the woman who will never leave me.” I drank deeply, letting the fire in the wine mask the fire in my chest. I wanted to be lost to the feeling of its dulling balm again and swallowed until the goblet was hollow. Then, I gave her one final, lingering look before I allowed the curtains to fall back into place and shield me from view once again.

Yolanda says, handing me a cup. “Hmm…” I say. My fingers, adorned with rings of sapphire and ruby, delicately grasps the crystal goblet filled with deep, ruby-red grape wine. I bring the goblet to my lips and I take a slow, deliberate sip. The complex flavours of the wine—rich with notes of dark cherry, plum, and a hint of oak—unfurled on my palate. “Are you worried about her? You should have just picked her then.” Yolanda says but I don’t raise my eyes from the goblet.