Tyrith smiled and bent to kiss Toria's brow. She was brave, and it was a wonder she hadn't let any tears fall yet; perhaps a sign of how worthy she was to be a queen... and subject to the dangers of the game. That was a bitter thought. "Your uncle can manage the realm for a few moments."
He looked at her closely, once again judging what she might have broken, bruised or dislocated. Nothing drastic, if the gods were kind. At least her wits were about her. It was more than he could say for her uncle.
Tyrith thought again of the ravens that had arrived lately, of the rumors circulating, and of the night of the riots. Three girls of Stark birth gone in a night, and now this... Toria was also a Lannister, but killing her would not affect who inherited Casterly, would not change the succession of a Stark throne...
"Sweetling, I must ask what happened," he said in a gentle voice. "It's best to say now, before you can forget any detail, however slight."