The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 28

Robb Stark

I sit next to my Uncle Edmure at the grand feast, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. His gaze cold, scanning the room. The hall is filled with the hum of uneasy conversation and the clinking of goblets, but no one dares touch their food. My Uncles eyes, sharp and unforgiving, dart from one guest to another. Leaning in close, I whisper, "You're making it obvious."

"We're surrounded by vipers, Robb," he replies in a low, venomous tone. "Every one of them a traitor and me the biggest pawn to use out of everyone by staging a wedding."

I give a subtle nod, trying to mask my anxiety. "As long as we stick to the plan, all will be well and we will get our vengeance."

Lord Bolton strides towards us, his face an unreadable mask. My heart pounds, but I keep my composure. "Don't you drink, Lord Bolton?" I ask, forcing casualness into my voice.

He shakes his head, his gaze piercing and cold. "Never do, Your Grace. It dulls the senses," he replies, his words laden with hidden meaning that he's not aware that I know of.

My uncle interjects, his voice dripping with disdain, "That's sort of the point."

Lord Bolton raises a brow at my Uncle Edmure and says "I would've expected you to sit next to your new bride tonight, Lord Tully,"

My uncle shrugs nonchalantly. "Felt the need to sit next to my dear nephew tonight," he responds, then turns his attention to Bolton. "Didn't you marry one of these Frey girls, Lord Bolton?"

"Aye," Bolton replies, his lips curling into a grimace. "Lord Walder let me choose any of his granddaughters and promised me her weight in silver as a dowry. So, I have a fat young bride."

With a tight, closed-lip smile, my uncle responds, "I hope she makes you very happy."

"Well, she's made me very rich," Bolton states bluntly, then glances at our untouched plates. "Are you both not hungry?"

I pick up my fork and absently push the food around my plate. "The food looks quite amiss today. The other men see it too; they aren't eating either."

Lord Bolton narrows his eyes, suspicion creeping into his expression. "Right..." he mutters, clearly contemplating. "I suppose we can alert the servants to make it more appetizing to your standards, Your Grace."

I respond with a sly smirk, "No, that would be inhumane. The servants worked hard to prepare this feast; there's no need."

Lord Bolton scans the room briefly before saying, "I don't believe I see the Queen, Your Grace."

Putting on a bright, fake smile, I reply, "Ah yes, she won't be joining us tonight. She's up in bed, actually."

"Really?" he questions, a note of curiosity in his voice.

"Yes, she's been feeling quite sick," I say, turning to my uncle.

Lord Bolton then says "I should send someone to check on her."

I shake my head at this "No need. Uncle, would you be so kind as to check on her?" My uncle nods and quickly exits the great hall, to go where he'll actually be escorting my mother to safety. Watching him leave, I then turn back to Lord Bolton, my smile fading as I meet his gaze. "She mentioned food poisoning. Seems quite common these days, or should I say tonight." I lift a piece of chicken with my fork, my eyebrow raised.

A flicker of realization crosses Lord Bolton's eyes, and before he can react, I draw my sword in a swift, practiced motion. I press the tip to his neck, my voice cold and steady. Around us, chaos erupts as my men takes my signal to attack, the hall filled with the clamor of steel and the cries of surprise and pain. I see Lord Walder Frey run away from the onslaught but I don't pay him any mind at the moment.