“My trade is not only in praying or fighting; it is also in deceit,” Cesare told her, words in the darkest register his voice could reach. He had to make her understand.
She tried to wrench free of the hold he had on her shoulders, but he would not relent. Sansa did not cry, though. She looked at him with fierce blue eyes. The eyes of a girl who could be a queen, hidden behind a thin layer of fear; the fear was too strong now, but perhaps she could break free. She was listening. “Tell me, then. What lies have you told me?”
“Not you, my lady, please listen to me.“ It was not safe to be discussing these things here, but he couldn’t care anymore, not now. "The King is not the gallant young prince you have thought him to be. I pray that you would listen to me—”
“I pray that you would return to your praying and leave me be, my lord. I have listened.” She gave a quick curtsy.