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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 403/751
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Cersei
's
face
was
a
study
in
contempt
.
"
What
a
jape
the
gods
have
made
of
us
two
,
"
she
said
.
"
By
all
rights
,
you
ought
to
be
in
skirts
and
me
in
mail
.
"
Purple
with
rage
,
the
king
lashed
out
,
a
vicious
backhand
blow
to
the
side
of
the
head
.
She
stumbled
against
the
table
and
fell
hard
,
yet
Cersei
Lannister
did
not
cry
out
.
Her
slender
fingers
brushed
her
cheek
,
where
the
pale
smooth
skin
was
already
reddening
.
On
the
morrow
the
bruise
would
cover
half
her
face
.
"
I
shall
wear
this
as
a
badge
of
honor
,
"
she
announced
.
"
Wear
it
in
silence
,
or
I
'll
honor
you
again
,
"
Robert
vowed
.
He
shouted
for
a
guard
.
Ser
Meryn
Trant
stepped
into
the
room
,
tall
and
somber
in
his
white
armor
.
"
The
queen
is
tired
.
See
her
to
her
bedchamber
.
"
The
knight
helped
Cersei
to
her
feet
and
led
her
out
without
a
word
.
Robert
reached
for
the
flagon
and
refilled
his
cup
.
"
You
see
what
she
does
to
me
,
Ned
.
"
The
king
seated
himself
,
cradling
his
wine
cup
.
"
My
loving
wife
.
The
mother
of
my
children
.
"
The
rage
was
gone
from
him
now
;
in
his
eyes
Ned
saw
something
sad
and
scared
.
"
I
should
not
have
hit
her
.
That
was
not
...
that
was
not
kingly
.
"
He
stared
down
at
his
hands
,
as
if
he
did
not
quite
know
what
they
were
.
"
I
was
always
strong
...
no
one
could
stand
before
me
,
no
one
.
How
do
you
fight
someone
if
you
ca
n't
hit
them
?
"
Confused
,
the
king
shook
his
head
.
"
Rhaegar
...
Rhaegar
won
,
damn
him
.
I
killed
him
,
Ned
,
I
drove
the
spike
right
through
that
black
armor
into
his
black
heart
,
and
he
died
at
my
feet
.
They
made
up
songs
about
it
.
Yet
somehow
he
still
won
.
He
has
Lyanna
now
,
and
I
have
her
.
"
The
king
drained
his
cup
"
Your
Grace
,
"
Ned
Stark
said
,
"
we
must
talk
...
"
Robert
pressed
his
fingertips
against
his
temples
.
"
I
am
sick
unto
death
of
talk
.
On
the
morrow
I
'm
going
to
the
kingswood
to
hunt
.
Whatever
you
have
to
say
can
wait
until
I
return
.
"
"
If
the
gods
are
good
,
I
shall
not
be
here
on
your
return
.
You
commanded
me
to
return
to
Winterfell
,
remember
?
"
Robert
stood
up
,
grasping
one
of
the
bedposts
to
steady
himself
.
"
The
gods
are
seldom
good
,
Ned
.
Here
,
this
is
yours
.
"
He
pulled
the
heavy
silver
hand
clasp
from
a
pocket
in
the
lining
of
his
cloak
and
tossed
it
on
the
bed
.
"
Like
it
or
not
,
you
are
my
Hand
,
damn
you
.
I
forbid
you
to
leave
.
"
Ned
picked
up
the
silver
clasp
.
He
was
being
given
no
choice
,
it
seemed
.
His
leg
throbbed
,
and
he
felt
as
helpless
as
a
child
.
"
The
Targaryen
girl
--
"
