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And here they were, at the Globe, surrounded by people. Lords and commons alike. The great Brandon, the next Earl Stark, looked nothing sort of lordy, not when he knelled in front of her, treating her like she was his queen.
She knew of his arranged marriage, she knew about everything. But she didn’t care, for know he was here, between her legs, worshiping her, here Brandon was no heir. Here, Brandon was hers.