hape of his manhood pressing through his horsehide trousers, below the heavy gold medallions of his belt. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels; somehow he thought not. Inside was a miniature painted in the vivid Myrish style, of a lovely young girl with doe's eyes and a cascade of soft brown hair. This is a cruel land, Lady Stark.
The girl was two years older, and Dareon swears she helped him through her window, but under her father's eye she named it rape, so here he is. Pull up, Grenn said. We will stake her to the earth, to be the mount of every passing man. It's done, she told him.
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