GOT: My Secret Lover is sansa-Chapter 93

Alaric rode into the courtyard. Frey soldiers stood everywhere. They held their spears tight. None of them looked at Alaric. They all stared at the five Blood Knights.

Alaric got off his horse. A Frey squire ran forward to take the reins, but the boy’s hands were shaking.

Stevron Frey stood by the main door. He gave a stiff bow. "Ward Alaric. Follow me. My father is waiting."

He raised an Eyebrow...? Changed so fast from commander Alaric to Ward Alaric?

Alaric though did not mind and followed him inside. The five knights walked right behind him.

The Great Hall of the Twins was crowded. Long wooden tables filled the room. Scores of Frey sons, grandsons, and captains sat drinking sour wine. When Alaric walked in, the room went completely quiet. The only sound was the heavy thud of the Blood Knights’ boots on the stone floor.

At the far end of the hall, Lord Walder Frey sat in a high-backed, dark wooden chair. He looked like an old, bald bird.

Alaric stopped a few feet away from the high table. The five knights spread out behind him, standing like statues of red steel.

Walder leaned forward. He squinted his eyes. "So. You are the Thorne boy."

"I am," Alaric said. He kept his voice calm and respectful. "Thank you for the invitation, Lord Walder."

Walder let out a dry, rattling laugh. "You have a polite tongue for a boy leading an army of savages. And you brought your... pets." He pointed a bony finger at the knights. "Big men. But my walls are bigger."

"Your walls are very strong, my lord," Alaric agreed easily. "That is why I am here to talk. We need to cross the river. We do not have time to build boats or find another way."

Walder liked that answer. He liked people begging. He smiled, showing his missing teeth.

"The bridge is mine," Walder said. "If you want to use it, you have to pay the toll."

"Tell me your terms," Alaric said.

Walder tapped his fingers on the table. "First, Robb Stark will marry one of my daughters. she will be his Lady of Winterfell. Second, you will marry one of my girls too. Third, my grandsons will go to Winterfell as squires. And my men will ride with you, but my son Stevron will command them."

Alaric stood quiet for a moment. He acted like he was thinking very hard about the demands. He frowned slightly, looking down at the floor, before looking back up.

"Those are heavy terms, Lord Walder," Alaric said slowly. "But... they are fair. We need your bridge and your swords. I accept your terms."

The Frey men in the hall looked at each other. They looked surprised. They were expecting him to deny some terms or negotiate not agree instantly.

Walder stopped smiling. His eyes narrowed. He looked at Alaric with deep suspicion.

"You accept?" Walder croaked. "Just like that? You are a ward. You don’t have the Stark name. How can you promise Robb Stark to one of my girls? What happens when I open my gates, you march your men across, and then the Stark boy sits in Winterfell and says no?"

Alaric looked right into Walder’s eyes. He did not blink.

"Because Robb Stark is a boy sitting in the snow," Alaric said. His voice was loud and clear enough for the whole hall to hear. "I am the one holding the sword. I am the one leading twenty thousand men to save his father’s life. If I send a raven telling him that this marriage is the price to keep Lord Eddard’s head on his shoulders, he will pay it. The Northern lords will make sure he does. They follow me now."

Walder stared at him. He looked at the confident young man, and then at the massive, deadly knights standing behind him. He saw the truth in it. Alaric had the real power.

Walder let out another dry laugh. "You are a bold one, Thorne. I will give you that." He slammed his bony hand on the table. "Bring the wine! Let us drink to our new alliance!"

A servant hurried forward with a jug of dark wine and plain wooden cups.

Alaric raised his hand to stop him.

"Wait," Alaric said. He reached inside his heavy cloak and pulled out the Blood-Oath Chalice. It was a heavy, intricately carved silver goblet. He set it firmly on the wooden table. The silver caught the light of the torches, looking incredibly expensive and elegant.

Walder Frey stopped talking. His greedy eyes locked right onto the shiny metal.

"What is that?" Walder asked, leaning forward in his high-backed chair.

"A tradition," Alaric said smoothly. He looked around the Great Hall at the Frey men. "The Great Houses always look down on you. The Starks and the Tullys demand your bridge, but they treat you like servants. I am different. I am tying my strength to your blood. A pact this big should not be sealed with cheap wood."

Alaric pushed the silver goblet forward. Before he even walked into the hall, the cup was already infused with a drop of Roslin Frey’s blood. The rules of the item were simple: anyone who willingly drank from it would become biologically bound to her will.

"We drink from the same cup," Alaric said, keeping his voice respectful. "To show that House Frey and the North are finally equals."

Walder’s wrinkly face stretched into a wide smile. He loved hearing that he was equal to the Great Houses. He gestured for his servant to fill the silver cup with wine.

Once it was full to the brim, Alaric picked it up. He looked right at Walder, raised the cup in a toast, and took a long drink. He swallowed easily and set the cup back down on the wood.

"Your turn, Lord Walder," Alaric said. "To the marriage."

Walder reached out with his bony hand, but then he stopped. He was an old, paranoid man who had survived a long time by being suspicious of everything. He pulled his hand back and looked at his oldest son.

"Stevron," Walder croaked. "You are my heir. You should seal the bond with our new ally first. Drink."

Stevron swallowed hard. He looked at Alaric, and then he nervously glanced at the giant Blood Knights standing in the corners. He did not want to argue with his father. He stepped up, picked up the heavy silver goblet, and took a sip.

The Great Hall went dead quiet. Everyone watched Stevron.

Stevron lowered the cup and licked his lips. He waited a few seconds, blinking. Then, a look of relief washed over his face. He felt completely fine. He did not feel any paralyzing agony or fatal internal hemorrhaging. He did not know that the curse only triggered if he had a thought of harming or betraying the proxy.

"It is very good wine, Father," Stevron said. He handed the cup back.

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