A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

around Sansa’s throat.
    â€œYou have nothing to say?” asked Joffrey.
    â€œYour Grace, the poor child is shocked witless,” murmured Ser
Dontos.
    â€œSilence, fool.” Joffrey lifted his crossbow and pointed it at her face.
“You Starks are as unnatural as those wolves of yours. I’ve not forgotten how
your monster savaged me.”
    â€œThat was Arya’s wolf,” she said. “Lady never hurt you, but you killed her
anyway.”
    â€œNo, your father did,” Joff said, “but I killed your father. I wish I’d done
it myself. I killed a man last night who was bigger than your father. They came
to the gate shouting my name and calling for bread like I was some
baker,
but I taught them better. I shot the loudest one right through
the throat.”
    â€œAnd he died?” With the ugly iron head of the quarrel staring her in the
face, it was hard to think what else to say.
    â€œOf course he died, he had my quarrel in his throat. There was a woman
throwing rocks, I got her as well, but only in the arm.” Frowning, he lowered
the crossbow. “I’d shoot you too, but if I do Mother says they’d kill my uncle
Jaime. Instead you’ll just be punished and we’ll send word to your brother
about what will happen to you if he doesn’t yield. Dog, hit her.”
    â€œLet me beat her!” Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was
armed with a “morningstar” whose head was a melon.
My Florian.
She
could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all. He trotted his
broomstick around her,

shouting “Traitor, traitor” and whacking her over the head with the melon.
Sansa covered herself with her hands, staggering every time the fruit pounded
her, her hair sticky by the second blow. People were laughing. The melon flew
to pieces.
Laugh, Joffrey,
she prayed as the juice ran down her face
and the front of her blue silk gown.
Laugh and be
satisfied.
    Joffrey did not so much as snigger. “Boros. Meryn.”
    Ser Meryn Trant seized Dontos by the arm and flung him brusquely away. The
red-faced fool went sprawling, broomstick, melon, and all. Ser Boros seized
Sansa.
    â€œLeave her face,” Joffrey commanded. “I like her pretty.”
    Boros slammed a fist into Sansa’s belly, driving the air out of her. When she
doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one
hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat. As he laid the
flat of the blade across her thighs, she thought her legs might break from the
force of the blow. Sansa screamed. Tears welled in her eyes.
It will be
over soon.
She soon lost count of the blows.
    â€œEnough,” she heard the Hound rasp.
    â€œNo it isn’t,” the king replied. “Boros, make her naked.”
    Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa’s bodice and gave a hard
yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her
breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel. “Beat her
bloody,” Joffrey said, “we’ll see how her brother
fancies—”
    â€œWhat is the meaning of this?”
    The Imp’s voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly Sansa was free. She
stumbled to her knees, arms crossed over her chest, her breath ragged. “Is
this your notion of chivalry, Ser Boros?” Tyrion Lannister demanded angrily.
His pet sellsword stood with him, and one of his wildlings, the one with the
burned eye. “What sort of knight beats helpless maids?”
    â€œThe sort who serves his king, Imp.” Ser Boros raised his sword, and Ser
Meryn stepped up beside him, his blade scraping clear of its
scabbard.
    â€œCareful with those,” warned the dwarf’s sellsword. “You don’t want to get
blood all over those pretty white cloaks.”
    â€œSomeone give the girl something to cover herself with,” the Imp said. Sandor
Clegane unfastened his cloak and tossed it at her. Sansa clutched it against
her chest, fists bunched hard in the white wool. The coarse weave was scratchy
against her skin, but no velvet had ever felt so fine.
    â€œThis girl’s to be your queen,” the Imp told Joffrey. “Have you no regard
for her honor?”
    â€œI’m punishing her.”
    â€œFor what crime? She did not fight her brother’s battle.”
    â€œShe has the blood of a