Patchface capered in the Red Keep garden, his motley fool's garb flapping like a drunk sail. He sang in that cracked, singsong voice of his. "Under the sea, mermaids sip starfish soup, and the servants are all crabs, I know, I know, oh oh oh."
Shireen Baratheon watched him, blue eyes bright behind the veil that hid the worst of the greyscale scars on her cheek. She was small for her age, delicate, but she laughed when Patchface dropped to his knees and wheezed like an old bellows.
"Can't go on," he panted, clutching his chest. "Patchface is getting old, yes he is."
"Then rest," she said, reaching for the pitcher. "I'll pour you some tea."
Patchface scrambled up fast, waving his hands. "Seven hells, no, Princess. I don't have that kind of luck. Patchface was bought by your grandfather. Patchface stays right here with Princess Shireen, always."
He bowed low, looking more like a fat squirrel than a man. Shireen smiled shyly, one hand drifting toward the veil that covered half her face.
The sound of boots on stone cut through the garden. Stannis Baratheon stepped into view, tall and grim in his black-and-gold, a pair of armored guards behind him. Shireen straightened at once.
"Father," she said, voice small but eager. "Father... Your Grace."
Stannis looked at her, then at Patchface. His voice was flat iron. "Patchface. In a few days you'll go back to Dragonstone. Retire there. Grow old quietly."
Patchface bowed again, deeper. "As you command, Your Grace."
Shireen's face fell. Patchface was the only real friend she'd ever had. The only one who didn't flinch at her scars or whisper behind her back.
Stannis turned to his daughter. "From now on, you attend me as cupbearer. You'll learn how a realm is ruled."
Shireen swallowed hard and nodded. She didn't understand what that meant yet, but she would try. She always tried.
Varys appeared at her elbow a moment later, soft and smiling. "You must follow your father now, Princess."
She hurried after Stannis, clutching the hem of her dress so she wouldn't trip on the stairs. By the time they reached the Tower of the Hand, her legs burned and her head felt light. Someone pressed a teapot into her hands. She didn't even remember when.
The council was already seated. Stannis took the head of the table. Shireen stood behind him, trying to breathe steady.
"Jon Stark took the Iron Islands," Stannis said without preamble. "He'll come to King's Landing. Make him castellan of Dragonstone."
Davos leaned forward. "Your Grace, Lady Margaery is due any day now. Maybe send me instead. I'll ride to Casterly Rock with Melisandre, bring him back after the child is born. It shows the crown values him."
Stannis's eyes were cold blue stone. "This is the last time you speak well of that bastard in my presence. Understood?"
Davos sat back, jaw tight. Shireen's hands shook around the teapot. She poured for the fat old maester first, then the others, careful not to spill.
The talk turned to the Vale. Stannis wanted Robert Arryn brought to court. The boy would be raised under the king's eye. Yohn Royce of Runestone would be named Warden of the Vale in Lysa's place.
"Lysa Arryn never lifted a finger when her sister called for help," Stannis said. "She failed her duty. The Vale needs a man who remembers what loyalty means."
Oberyn Martell smiled thinly from his seat. "I'll teach the boy a thing or two about spears while he's here, if you like."
No one argued. The decision was made.
When the lords filed out, only Stannis and Shireen remained. She stood rigid, teapot still in her hands, heart hammering.
Stannis studied her. "Look at me."
She forced her eyes up. Her father's gaze didn't soften.
"Why did I send Davos and the red priestess to fetch Jon Stark instead of just ordering him?"
Shireen thought fast. "Because... because he's important?"
Stannis waited. The silence pressed on her like a hand on her throat.
"Because you don't want to give him a chance to refuse," she said at last.
Stannis gave a single nod. "Why appoint Yohn Royce Warden of the Vale?"
"Because he's loyal?"
"Because Lysa Arryn failed her duty as Lady of the Eyrie. People must do what their position demands, or everything breaks. If you ever sit this throne, you will punish the ones who don't. That is what makes a good ruler. Remember it."
Shireen nodded, throat tight. She didn't feel like a future queen. She felt like a scared little girl with scars on her face and a father who expected the world from her.
Stannis turned away. "Go. Rest. Tomorrow we begin again."
Shireen set the teapot down with shaking hands and left the room on unsteady legs. Outside, the corridors of the Red Keep felt colder than they had that morning.