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THIRTY-TWO —— I'LL TELL YOU MY SINS, AND YOU CAN SHARPEN YOUR KNIFE
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110 AC, King's Landing.
Morrigan feels like something is burning into her skin, burrowing deep under into her bones and her very soul. The fabric of her being. She feels too hot, too aware as she dances with Gwayne and she wonders if this is just her imagination. If her mind is playing tricks on her.
She doesn't dare to look back to the royal family and their guests to see if it is.
Maybe she's afraid she's right— but more than all, she is afraid that she is wrong. That he doesn't spare her a second glance. That he doesn't care.
How would she know, after all?
She thought she'd known him before, and she'd been wrong. So wrong.
Instead, she tries to focus on Gwayne in front of her, but finds that the sight of him hurts.
Morrigan tries not to choke on the way her thoughts are closing up her throat and forces herself to keep the smile fixed on her face. Not his fault, not his fault, not his fault, she chants in her head. The smile feels like a grimace to her.
Some time during the dance, she lets her eyes drift to the small faction of Stormlanders— the faces she could draw blind— and finds Eric watching her with an unreadable sort of expression. Alden is staring at something behind her and the crowd of dancing guests, a slight sneer on his face as Rodrik is talking to him. Her sworn shield is leaned forward, a hard expression on his face, eyes fixed on her cousin.
Distantly, Morrigan thinks how odd it is to see that expression on his face directed at someone but her.
When the dance at last ends, Gwayne sends her an apologetic look. "Forgive me, my Lady but I see my sister making her way over to my family. I should greet her."
