GOT: My Secret Lover is sansa-Chapter 94

Walder let out a wet, rattling cackle. His paranoia vanished entirely. He saw that the wine was safe and that the Northern ward was actually giving him the massive respect he craved.

Walder grabbed the silver chalice. "To House Frey!" he shouted loudly. He tipped his head back and took a greedy, deep gulp of the wine.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, completely satisfied. He slammed the cup on the table. "Lothar! Drink!"

Lothar stepped forward, his oily, fake smile returning to his plump face. He picked up the chalice and drank deeply. Then he passed it down the line.

One by one, Black Walder and the rest of the ambitious sons eagerly took their turns. They happily drank from the expensive silver cup, laughing and celebrating their massive victory over the North.

He watched Black Walder wipe his mouth and set the empty silver cup down on the wooden table.

Alaric felt completely fine. The wine was just wine to him. Before he even left his camp, he had checked the rules with the System. He had asked if drinking from the Chalice would have effects on him too??.

The System had given him a clear answer. Negative. He holds a Level 2 Sovereign Bond with the Roslin . which means his authority overrides the curse.

But it was even better than that. Because he and Roslin shared the Sovereign Bond, the system passives, and effectively shared blood through the magic, the Chalice recognized them as the exact same entity. The curse tied the Frey men to Roslin’s will. But since Alaric controlled the bond, he held the leash. He could command every single man who just drank from that cup, just as easily as Roslin could.

Walder smacked his lips, tasting the last of the sweet wine.

Walder smacked his lips. "Good," the old man croaked. "Now that the deal is done..."

Alaric’s polite smile faded.

"Open the gates," he said.

Silence fell over the hall.

The Great Hall went completely silent. Stevron, Lothar, and Black Walder stared at Alaric. They looked at each other, confused. Was this boy stupid? He was standing in the middle of their castle, surrounded by hundreds of armed Frey guards. He should be begging them for a safe crossing, not giving commands.

Walder’s face turned red with sudden anger. He gripped the armrests of his heavy chair. He opened his mouth to laugh, call Alaric a fool, and order his guards to arrest him.

But the words that came out of his mouth were completely different.

Walder sat up straight, turned his head toward his captain of the guard, and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

"Open the main gates. Drop the chains and let the Northern army inside. Right now."

The captain of the guard blinked, looking very confused, but he quickly bowed. "Yes, Lord Walder," he said, turning around to run outside and follow the order.

Walder froze. His eyes went wide.

What did I just say? He panicked. He tried to raise his hand to stop the captain. He tried to open his mouth and shout, "Stop! Close the gates! Draw your swords and kill this boy!"

But nothing happened.

His jaw locked shut like a steel trap. His tongue refused to move. The magic of the Blood-Oath Chalice was already wrapped completely around his nervous system. His brain screamed at his body to attack Alaric, but his muscles simply would not obey. A sharp, burning pain shot right through his chest just from having the thought of betraying the proxy.

Walder started to sweat. He gripped his chair so hard his knuckles turned white. He tried again to speak, to make any sound at all, but his throat was completely paralyzed.

Down the table, Stevron and Lothar were going through the exact same nightmare. Black Walder tried to reach for the dagger on his belt, but his arm felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His hand refused to touch the weapon. They were trapped inside their own bodies.

Alaric did not move. He just stood calmly in the middle of the hall, watching them struggle. The giant Blood Knights behind him stayed perfectly still.

Walder Frey stared up at Alaric. The arrogant, greedy smirk was completely gone from the old man’s face. Now, his eyes were wide open, filled with absolute confusion and pure, helpless fear.

Alaric watched the terror settle across their faces. He let out a slow breath.

That was too easy.

He had only played to their pride, their hunger to be treated like equals to the great houses — and they had reached for the chalice without hesitation.

"If it was this simple," he murmured, "something worse is coming."

He turned his back on the high table and walked right out of the Great Hall. He went out into the cold courtyard and stood by the massive wooden gates of the Twins.

Above him, the heavy iron chains rattled. The Frey soldiers pushed the giant wheels, and the thick wooden doors slowly pulled open.

Outside, the Northern army was waiting. When they saw the open gates, the captains shouted orders. The army started moving. Thousands of foot soldiers and riders marched right through the gates and began crossing the wide stone bridge. They brought their banners, their horses, and their weapons straight into the Frey stronghold.

Alaric stood by the wall, watching them pour in.

Soon, a small group rode through the gate. It was Roslin. She was riding a brown horse, flanked perfectly by his giant Blood Knights. She wore a deep, heavy cloak. The hood was pulled down far over her head, completely hiding her face.

She spotted Alaric standing by the gate. She immediately stopped her horse and climbed down. She did not say a word. She just walked over slowly and stood right beside him, keeping her face hidden in the shadows of her hood.

Behind her, the major Northern lords rode inside. Greatjon Umber, Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, and Ser Rodrik Cassel pulled their horses to a stop. They looked around in complete confusion. There was no fighting. There was no blood on the ground. The Frey soldiers were just standing down, holding their spears loosely and watching the Northerners take over their castle.