Jon Stark's voice was bored, but his face was impassive, and Ralph was not sure what to make of the man who managed to scream danger by simply lazily sitting on a wooden throne. He could, however, finally take a quick look around. On the King's left stood a maiden with a crown of her own that could only be Shireen Baratheon, albeit far prettier than he imagined a daughter of Stannis and Selyse Baratheon would be. But there was no mistake there; she had the bright-blue eyes and the coal-like hair of the line of Durrandon, and the larger ears of the Florents peaked from underneath her long hair. Only the supposed greyscale was missing, replaced by a silvery scar on her cheek that did not seem to mar her beauty. The rumours of the Northern Sorcerer-King magicks suddenly gained a lot more credence in Ralph's mind. On the right was a plump greying old man who could only be the Lord of White Harbour, Wyman Manderly, with the golden trident emblazoned on his pale blue velvet doublet. His position and the bronze pin on his breast suggested that this man was the Hand.