as the feast raged on and warmed the halls of winterfell , the young wolf found himself stealing glances down the table – the prince didn’t eat much , and he listened more than he spoke ; his youngest sister had already tried to bait him twice and failed both times , much to his amusement .
the king leaned toward him , wine still untouched in his grip . “ you seem less like a dragon ,” he said , his voice rich with amusement and underlying curiosity . “ and more like a cat in a wolf’s den , my prince . is the north not to your liking ? ”