Aeny. Jaehaerys' hands curled into fists. The rumors had not had all the tale but this was enough. She was the princess whispered of all the day long. Quiet Aenyris, whose world was that of songs, dreams and still thoughts. Aenyris who had blushed bright as he had handed her a crown of blue roses, whose songs could bring even a hardened knight to tears... Jaehaerys held her face in his mind and fought for control. Fire and blood...
"And who could be responsible, my lord?" he asked in a voice as soft as death. He turned cold indigo eyes on Tyrith. "Tell me of this unclean death. Tell me what befell my sweet cousin. Tell me whose head should be mounted on the pikes and whose entrails should be ripped out? Whose hands must be severed? The punishment for slaying a princess of the blood is elaborate, Lord Tyrith. I hope the Starks have not forgotten it."