It had been meant to be a pleasant evening. Westermen nobles filled the hall with laughter, music, and conversation, while banners of lion hung from the stone walls. Victaria Clegane had spent most of the feast doing what she always did—keeping to herself, lingering at the edges of the gathering where she might be overlooked.

That had become more difficult when a young knight approached her. He was polite, earnest, and far too comfortable in her company. For nearly half an hour he spoke with her. Victaria found herself answering despite herself. For a brief, dangerous moment, she almost forgot who she was. Almost forgot whose sister she was.

Then her eyes drifted across the hall again, searching unconsciously for a giant shadow she feared even when absent.

"Ser..." she began softly.

Her fingers tightened around her goblet.

"You seem kind, and... do not take it the wrong way..."

Victaria forced a small smile, though it never reached her eyes.

"But you should not be speaking with me."

Her gaze flicked around the hall once more.

"Please. For your own sake."

The words hurt more than she expected. For one fleeting moment she had imagined what it might be like to simply leave with someone like him—to be safe, ordinary, forgotten.

Instead she lowered her eyes.

"There are some people in this world who bring misfortune merely by being near them. I think I may be one of them."