Depyotee



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    "The crown suits you, you know," said Ser Duncan over the cacophony, bringing Baelor back to himself. "Makes you look... you know. Kingly. Which I suppose makes sense, seeing as how you're the king now." A look of anguish crossed his face. "Oh, hells, I shouldn't be calling you 'you,' should I? It's 'Your Grace.' Please don't take—"

    Baelor resisted the urge to rest his hand against the lad's back, as one might soothe a skittish horse. "No offense was taken, ser."

    "Thank you," Ser Duncan said, then immediately amended, "thank Your Grace...ness. Seven fucks, I'm getting another drink." And he whirled away into the throng before Baelor could say a word.


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    21 Feb 2026

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