In my dreams, I kill him every night,' Robert admitted. 'A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves'.

Aemon’s blind white eyes came open. “Egg?” he said, as the rain streamed down his cheeks. “Egg, I dreamed that I was old.

The Beauty raised her eyes, the only part of her that was truly beautiful.

I have always regarded historical fiction and fantasy as sisters under the skin, two genres separated at birth.

Historical fiction is not history. You're blending real events and actual historical personages with characters of your own creation.

All these kings would do a deal better if they would put down their swords and listen to their mothers.

You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.