"Will the King attend?"
The moment Karl heard that a Small Council meeting had been formally convened, his first instinct was to ask that question.
It was a natural reaction.
During the time when Eddard Stark served as Hand of the King, such formal gatherings were actually quite rare. Even when meetings were held, they were often procedural—matters handled in the King's name rather than in his presence.
On many occasions, Ned Stark had simply sat upon the Iron Throne with Robert's authority, listening to petitions and resolving disputes in his stead.
But this time—
It felt different.
The tone of the summons was unusually strict. Attendance was mandatory, and invitations had been extended far beyond the usual council members.
This was no ordinary meeting.
Given that the Martial Games were about to begin and nobles from all across the Seven Kingdoms had gathered in King's Landing, the timing was far too deliberate to ignore.
If Robert did not attend, there would be little reason for such a grand assembly.
But if he did—
Then something important was about to happen.
Hearing Karl's question, Kesi immediately nodded.
"The Hand specifically instructed that His Grace will attend," he replied quickly.
"And this meeting is not limited to the Small Council. Many nobles currently in King's Landing have also been invited."
Karl smiled faintly.
"I see."
That confirmed his suspicion.
A gathering of this scale could only mean one thing—
A formal redistribution of power.
Or perhaps—
Rewards.
Spoils.
Titles.
Positions.
Yet at the same time, Karl felt a subtle sense of anticipation.
With so many interests intertwined, there was always the possibility of conflict.
And where there was conflict—
There was opportunity.
The news spread quickly.
From the Red Keep, word of the upcoming court session flowed into every street and alley of King's Landing.
Messengers hurried between noble residences.
Servants prepared formal attire.
Carriages lined the roads.
By the time dawn broke the next day—
Hundreds of nobles had already gathered outside the Red Keep.
Five hundred.
Perhaps more.
The Gold Cloaks stood guard at the gates, conducting strict inspections.
No one entered unchecked.
The risk of assassination or sabotage was simply too high.
Those who passed were guided into the Throne Room by attendants.
Karl stood quietly near an embrasure in the castle wall, watching the crowd below.
Beside him stood Jon Snow.
"Lord…" Jon began, confusion evident in his voice.
Although he had also received an invitation to attend the council, he didn't understand why.
This gathering seemed far beyond his station.
Karl raised a hand, signaling for silence.
Jon obeyed.
For a while, the two simply stood there, observing the flow of nobles entering the Red Keep.
Only when the crowd began to thin did Karl finally speak.
"You've been spending quite some time with Prince Oberyn, haven't you?"
His tone was casual.
Teasing.
Jon blinked, caught off guard.
"I… don't know why he insisted on keeping me with him," Jon admitted honestly.
"I intended to return earlier. I haven't even had the chance to see my father yet."
Karl chuckled softly.
From Jon's expression, it was clear—
He had suffered more than he had enjoyed.
Jon hesitated, then continued.
"His daughters… the Sand Snakes…"
He trailed off, visibly uncomfortable.
"They wouldn't leave me alone."
Karl raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"They… kept trying to get close to me. Even after I refused, they only became more persistent."
Jon's face turned slightly red.
"It even escalated into arguments between them."
"To avoid trouble, I had no choice but to follow Prince Oberyn and hide in a brothel."
Karl almost laughed.
"And did that help?"
"…No."
"They followed me there too."
Jon shuddered slightly.
"And the Prince… even suggested we… play games together."
Karl burst into laughter this time.
"You've had quite the adventure."
Jon, however, looked utterly miserable.
Karl patted his shoulder.
"Relax, I'm not blaming you."
Then his expression shifted.
"Tell me—what do you think of Prince Oberyn Martell?"
Jon frowned.
He thought carefully.
"He's… passionate. Unpredictable."
After a pause, he added—
"But I don't understand his intentions."
Karl nodded.
That was expected.
Even experienced politicians found Oberyn difficult to read.
Still—
Karl had his own thoughts.
At the banquet the previous night, he had encountered Arianne Martell.
A potential opening.
A dangerous one—
But perhaps worth exploring.
"Enough of that," Karl said, changing the subject.
"Let's talk about something more important."
Jon straightened immediately.
"Yes, Lord."
Karl turned and began walking toward the Throne Room.
"You've been observing the Gold Cloaks," he said.
"What do you think?"
Jon scratched his head.
"They seem… disciplined?"
Karl sighed.
"That's all?"
Then he spoke directly.
"Janos Slynt is dead."
"The position of Commander of the City Watch is vacant."
Jon froze.
Karl stopped and turned to face him.
"And I want you to take that position."
"Me?"
Jon's eyes widened.
"Yes, you."
Karl's voice was firm.
"You have merit. You have reputation. And most importantly—this is an opportunity."
Jon hesitated.
"But—"
"No."
Karl cut him off.
"Listen carefully."
He stepped closer.
"The City Watch answers to the Crown. But in practice, it falls under the jurisdiction of the Master of Laws."
"Which means—Renly Baratheon."
Jon nodded slowly.
He understood.
Karl's gaze sharpened.
"And tell me—why did the King choose your father as Hand… instead of relying on his own brother?"
Jon fell silent.
He had no answer.
Karl smiled faintly.
"Exactly."
Karl adjusted Jon's collar.
Straightened the sword at his waist.
Then placed a hand on his shoulder.
"When the time comes, I will present your merits."
"You will step forward."
"Kneel."
"And swear your loyalty."
"That's all you need to do."
Jon swallowed.
"…Understood."
The Throne Room was already filled.
Karl took his place among the Small Council.
Beside him stood Varys.
The scent of perfume clung heavily to the air.
Across from him stood Stannis Baratheon.
Rigid.
Cold.
Unyielding.
Their eyes met briefly.
Karl smiled.
Stannis snorted.
Nearby—
Renly Baratheon watched with interest.
"He resembles Robert in his youth," Renly murmured.
"More than that," he added. "Stronger. More impressive."
Stannis turned away in disgust.
"Enough of your flattery. He's a bastard."
Renly smirked.
"And yet, without men like him… where would we be?"
Silence followed.
Karl ignored them.
His gaze moved through the crowd.
He saw Jon—
Standing among the Stark children.
Arya speaking animatedly beside him.
Catelyn distant.
Sansa—
Watching him.
Blushing.
But Karl's attention shifted elsewhere.
To a dwarf.
Their eyes met.
Karl raised a finger.
A silent gesture.
The dwarf returned it.
A shared understanding.
Then—
The great doors opened.
The sound echoed through the hall.
Gold Cloaks stepped aside.
Their voices rang out.
"His Grace—King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name…"
The King had arrived.
And with him—
The game began.
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