“A scrap of silk?” William repeated, as Jaehaerys continued to talk. He didn’t understand, not at first, not until the king began to speak of Elia, and her dress, and that the children were never meant to touch it. But, they had. An intended consequence? Or was their poison a random twist of fate? Did the person who had done this to Elia care about the children at all? Was he happy they were affected? William felt himself clench in rage as questions he could not answer streamed through his mind, rushing like an unchecked river of fury.
At the accusations, William’s head shot up. “What would the citidel gain from this, Your Grace. Or the Queen? You are her son and Elia her sister. I.. cannot fathom she would hurt Elia.” His eyes moved from the fire to the King, to see the conviction on the man’s face. Jaehaerys had his reasons for the claims. William wasn’t certain he wanted to hear them. He could still feel Aeria beneath him, her flesh warm against his, her lips soft.
He could not think of her now. Not with his child so desperately ill. “What of High Garden? Selester has wealth and means, and the citidel behind him. Tyrith travels the seas and he would have the means to bring back such a thing. What makes you feel they are innocent?” He paused, “Your Grace, how strong is the dragon’s blood in Elia... compared to yourself or your cousin?” Or my daughter, my nephew, myself... William should have known the genealogies, but the Martells had never much interested him.