“Ten thousand of your children perished in my palm, Your Grace.
Whilst you snored, I would lick your sons off my face and fingers one by one, all pale sticky princes.
You claimed your rights, my lord, but in the darkness I would eat your heirs.”
– Cersei Lannister, thinking about Robert Baratheon, in A feast for Crows, by the inimitable George R.R. Martin.
A portrait, from here,