A Marriage of Swords
He dressed swiftly, in plain, dark clothes, and descended into the waking castle.
Leigh felt the prince's presence before she saw him. It was a change in the air pressure, a shift in the morning's soundtrack—the distant clang of the forge pausing, a maid's chatter cutting off. She finished a disarming maneuver that sent Petyr's sword spinning once more, then turned, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist.