“Crowns.” Logen spat onto the straw, spit still pink from the cuts in his mouth. “Kings. The whole notion’s shit, and me the worst choice there could be.” “You ain’t saying no, though, eh?” Logen frowned up at him. “So some other bastard even worse’n Bethod can sit in that chair, make the North bleed some more? Maybe I can do some good with it.” “Maybe.” Dow looked straight back. “But some men aren’t made for doing good.”
