He forged a new sign for the yard, a three-headed dragon of black iron that he hung from a wooden post. Before she could summon the servants, however, Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. The girls were half-drunk and half-naked, laughing and snapping rolled-up cloaks at one another as a dozen other men urged them on. Not our Knight of Flowers.
Lord Tristifer Botley. Valyrian steel? That was my first thought as well. It was clever of you to see it. Nor on the day that followed.
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