Petyr Baelish Novelas e Histórias

“If she had confronted me first about what brought her here, I wouldn't have wasted my time trying to help her.” The Prince stepped backwards and signaled the two men beside him. They approached Tyrion and landed a heavy hit on his face, causing him to stagger backwards. I hurried to my feet and rushed towards the prince, falling to my knees. “Pardon him! I'll take the blame….” he quaked me to the floor, and I almost slammed my head on the veranda. When I sat up, he was standing before Tyrion, hooking him by the collar. “You are my Beta, yet you patrol around to save this rotten thing without my orders. Do you know what it means to be my right-hand man?”

“It’s the tragic combination of arrogance and a punchable face.” Feena choked on her wine, coughing through a laugh. “You two are going to kill each other—or end up married.” I nearly inhaled my beans, coughing hard as I tapped at my chest. A pixie stepped forward with a glass of water, and I took it gratefully, offering a hoarse, “Thank you.” “Feena,” Baelorin warned, tone edged in that clipped, older-brother energy. She turned to him, one brow lifted. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing—not angry, but sending some sort of signal. Her lips parted, and she made a soft, “Oh,” like she’d just realized something that probably should’ve been obvious.

Gaston looked toward the entrance and said in a low voice, "Who is it?" A guard replied respectfully, "Sir, it is me." Gaston said coldly, "Come in." At once, his personal guard stepped inside, bringing someone with him. Gaston's gray eyes swept over the newcomer. "Who are you?" The one brought in was Petyr. He pressed a hand to his chest and bowed respectfully. "Sir, I am Petyr Gillen."

I purred. Her eyes lit up, "Caden you know just what makes me happy. I'll be quick," she says making her way toward the pack house and I couldn't help but smile. As I made my way out of the crowd to a quieter section near the edge of the ceremony grounds, my eyes caught what was unbelievable. I saw Tyrion, Alpha Bastian's son, on his knees behind a cluster of bushes. His head was bobbing rhythmically as he eagerly worked his mouth over the hard length of a boy from what looked like Firstfell pack.

"Do be careful, Mrs. Slate. We'll be vigilant in case you need us." "No need. I doubt she tries anything." "Still. You're our beta's mate, we need to take care of you," he says, placing his hand on the rifle hanging on the side of his right shoulder. "Thanks, Kev." "Beta Slate knows you're down here. He warns you not to get too close," he says as his eyes darken, giving me the sign that Tyler is mind-linking him, giving him orders to keep a closer eye on me.

No proof she'd ever been here. The decision crystallized with perfect clarity. He wasn't going to buy her. He was going to *take* her. And gods help anyone who got in his way. "Fifteen hundred gold," someone called out, and Kael recognized the voice this time. Lord Petyr Marsden, a noble from the western territories with known sympathies for the old bloodlines. A man who would absolutely use a Vale heir to destabilize the crown. Over Kael's dead body. "Fifteen hundred," Grayson confirmed. "Going once—"

I inquire, reaching for a fork, eager to begin the meal. "Well, Rhaenan is off handling pressing matters, and involving other Courtiers would only stir up suspicions. Malchor, left to his own devices, tends to be quite unpleasant, and Seraph... well, let's just say you wouldn't want to add fuel to that fire," Baelorin explains with a smirk. "And you're not unpleasant?" I raise an eyebrow. "I can play the role of a gentleman when necessary. It's all about balance," he retorts, his smirk widening. I shake my head, amused, and continue savoring the meal before me.

"The fleets are locked in battle. Some archers got ashore, but the Hound's cut them to pieces, Y'Grace. Your brother's raising his chain, I heard the signal. Some drunkards down to Flea Bottom are smashing doors and climbing through windows. Lord Bywater's sent the gold cloaks to deal with them. Baelor's Sept is jammed full, everyone praying." "And my son?" "The king went to Baelor's to get the High Septon's blessing. Now he's walking the walls with the Hand, telling the men to be brave, lifting their spirits as it were." Cersei beckoned to her page for another cup of wine, a golden vintage from the Arbor, fruity and rich. The queen was drinking heavily, but the wine only seemed to make her

After a few seconds he slams it open again. "What the hell dude.." Reece exclaims. "Happy birthday Morgana.. and um welcome to the pack I guess..." Aaron says and escapes one more time through the door. I turn around and look at Reece who offers me a warm smile. "It's Charles.." I say to him and his facial expression goes from happy to sad in a matter of seconds. "Well, tell him to scram.." He says moving towards me. 'Who the hell is Charles and why is he interrupting us?' My wolf asks from inside me but I just ignore her.

“And what of me? Am I just another chain he left for you to wear?” His gaze softened then, raw in a way she had never seen. “No. You’re the only thing that feels like freedom.” Her breath caught. For the first time, the Iron King looked breakable. But Bianca’s fire did not dim. She stepped close, so close she could feel the storm of his heart under his shirt. “Then prove it. Cut the chain. Show me you are not your father’s son.” Matteo’s silence was a knife between them. Then, without a word, he strode to the cabinet where a black leather ledger lay Cesare Romano’s final command book, the gospel of blood the family still bowed to.