"Smiled upon," Loras said, testing the words in his mouth.
He shook his head, no. "Possibly not," he said. "But no more than I am for being Ser Loras, Knight of Flowers, the sixteen year old git with the fancy horses. People don't like what they know can best them, my lady. They, and I mean we, tend to get jealous for no reason than our own egos are bruised."