The royal carriage jolted along the rain-slick streets, wheels splashing through puddles and flinging mud.
Inside, deep crimson velvet cushioned the ride. The heavy scent of Cersei's perfume hung thick and cloying, but Margaery Tyrell's eyes glittered with quiet satisfaction.
Old woman, she thought. No match for a young rose like me. Even her taste in perfume has gone vulgar.
"Do we have to go, Mother?" Joffrey asked for the third time, shifting restlessly on the cushions. His new purple doublet, embroidered with the crowned stag, felt suddenly too tight.
"Last time those filthy peasants threw mud and stones at my carriage. They even hit Ser Meryn Trant in the head! There was blood everywhere."
"Oh, my sweet boy." Cersei patted his hand, voice honey-sweet. "That was when food was short and the smallfolk were starving. The war is over now. King's Landing has plenty to eat."
Margaery leaned in smoothly, wearing a simple blue gown and a single loose braid—carefully chosen to look kind and approachable. "I visited the orphanage last week. The streets really are cleaner. Children were playing in the open without fighting or stealing. One little girl even gave me a fresh wildflower. She said her father finally has steady work at the docks and can feed the whole family."
Cersei smiled wider, eyes never leaving her future daughter-in-law. "How very caring of you, Lady Margaery. I rarely venture into… less refined districts myself. Your grandmother must be so proud. The Tyrells have always been known for mingling with the common folk."
Margaery kept her smile bright, though her fingers tightened on her skirt. "Grandmother always says a rose blooms best when its roots are deep in the soil. A true queen must understand even the humblest of her subjects."
She emphasized true just enough to sting.
Cersei's emerald eyes flashed cold for half a second before the mask returned. This little bitch. Ever since she moved into the Red Keep she'd been trying to outshine everyone—especially the Queen Regent. Even Joffrey was eating out of her hand.
The boy king stared out the window, bored and fidgety. The carriage had passed the Street of Steel. The buildings grew poorer, though the streets were undeniably cleaner than he remembered. Still, the stink and the memories made his skin crawl.
That fellow… Vito something… didn't he say he'd clean up Flea Bottom? Or was it that he'd kill all the poor? Joffrey shook his head, brain already overloaded. "I still don't like it here. The smell is awful and the people are ugly. Why should a king have to look at this?"
"Because a real king never fears his people, my love," Cersei said quickly, before Margaery could speak. Her gaze stayed locked on the younger woman. "Fear is for the weak. You must let them see you. Let them know who rules King's Landing."
Margaery's smile never wavered, but her knuckles were white. Loras had been missing for days. The whole Red Keep whispered that the Knight of Flowers had run off with a squire. The Tyrells were a laughingstock, and she was forced to smile through every pitying look and veiled insult at court.
She was almost certain Cersei had arranged it.
"Speaking of the smallfolk," Margaery said, voice soft with just the right touch of sadness, "I've been thinking about my brother a lot lately. Loras always said a knight's duty is to protect the weak as well as fight on the battlefield. He would be so pleased to see how much Flea Bottom has changed."
She stared straight at Cersei.
The Queen Regent sighed and pulled Margaery into a motherly embrace. "Poor Loras. Such a fine knight. Such a handsome young man. To lose his head over… a moment of foolishness."
Margaery pressed her face into Cersei's shoulder, voice trembling. "I don't understand. Loras has always loved our family more than life itself. Why would he throw everything away like that?"
"Love does strange things to people, dear," Cersei murmured, stroking her hair. "It makes them forget duty, forget honor, forget who they are. Especially the young. They lose their heads so easily."
Margaery lifted her face, eyes shining with false tears. "You're right, Your Grace. I've heard you once felt the same way about Prince Rhaegar. Yet look how steady and wise you've become."
Cersei's smile froze for a heartbeat. This little cunt just called me old.
"Still," Cersei continued smoothly, "Loras's disappearance might actually be a blessing for you, Lady Margaery. A brother who runs off with a squire is… awkward for a future queen. People will sympathize with you."
The words were poison wrapped in silk.
Margaery kept her expression soft, but inside she was screaming. She took a slow breath. "You're right, of course. But I keep wondering why Loras made such a reckless choice… and why he chose the very day of his betrothal."
She was pushing hard now.
Cersei met her gaze, cold and unflinching. "Are you implying something, dear?"
"Of course not." Margaery touched Cersei's arm like a dutiful daughter-in-law. "I'm only thinking out loud. The Hand arranged such a perfect match. Why would Loras throw it away?"
The two women stared at each other, knives behind their smiles.
Finally Cersei looked away and turned to Joffrey. "See, Your Grace? Lady Margaery is so sensible. Even with this disgrace in her family, she remains strong and generous. A perfect example of what a queen should be."
Joffrey blinked, having understood none of it. "Huh? Oh. Yes. Margaery is very good."
Both women rolled their eyes at the same time.
The carriage slowed. Ser Meryn Trant's angry shout rang out ahead.
"Move, you filthy peasant!"
The carriage lurched to a stop. Joffrey pitched forward and cracked his forehead against the wall. Pain exploded behind his eyes. He yelped and scrambled backward, shaking.
Cersei calmly pulled back the curtain. "What's happening, Ser Meryn?"
"A peasant with no manners, Your Grace." Meryn Trant stood with sword drawn, breathing hard. "He ran straight into the road. I kicked him clear. I'm about to deal with him now."
Joffrey's panic flipped to rage in an instant. He shoved his head out the window.
A man lay in the street not ten feet from the carriage wheels, clutching his left leg and howling. Dark blood pooled beneath him.
That peasant almost hurt me!
"Kill him!" Joffrey screamed, voice cracking with fury. "He tried to assassinate the king! Kill him, Ser Meryn!"
Ser Meryn Trant grinned wide. He raised his sword and strode toward the writhing man.
"No, my lord!" An old woman burst from the crowd and threw herself over her son. "Please! He didn't mean it! His child is burning with fever—he only wanted medicine! Spare him!"
"Get off, you old bitch!" Meryn kicked her aside. The sword rose high. "Attacking the royal carriage is death!"
His face flushed with excitement. He'd been there the day Vito Corleone defended Jaime Lannister in the throne room. If Jaime could execute a Gold Cloak captain in the name of the king, then so could he. Maybe the White Book would one day call him "Ser Meryn the Just," right beside Ser Duncan the Tall.
The blade began to fall.