Short chapter

It wasn’t a true noble gathering without rich foods and plenty of wine. After pointing an almost crying Ser Loras to the small sept inside the Red Keep where he would keep his vigil, attendants wearing Baratheon black and gold swarmed the throne room with a feast-worth of refreshments and bite-sized meals, all served in circular standing tables where the lords and ladies could gather around to mingle.

I made sure to pay the most attention to the Crownlords who stayed loyal to me. They would be my first line of defense should the need arise, or the closest by to stab me in the back. I drank with the Lord of Edgerton and the young and hale heir of House Buckwell of Antlers—who talked incessantly of women and hunting. I was half sure he mistook me for my supposed father.

Lord Rollingford bored me with his extensive knowledge of the different moths he collected, but I listened rapturously to Ser Elwood Harte’s war stories, from the Greyjoy Rebellion to the Battle of the Blackwater. I made sure to remember his name. He seemed a solid man to have by my side.

Lord Gyles Rosby spoke at length to me, though I couldn’t make out half of it through his coughing. He would be dying any day now, I was sure, and the matter of his disputed inheritance would fall unto me.

I met with Ser Balman Byrch and his wife the Lady Falyse Stokeworth, as well. The man was quiet and reserved, or rather, boring and unremarkable. Falyse, however... her every word dripped with venom, but it was a sting that spoke of empty pride and impotent anger. I’d meddled with her family’s inheritance to make Lollys, her sister, the heir to Stokeworth, so that Bronn had a pair of legs to squeeze a child into. By the looks she was giving me, I’d either have to kill her or fuck her into compliance. And, to be quite honest, I didn’t know which would be worse.

Falyse took a swig of her spiced wine, her fifth cup of the night, and put a hand up to her neck. “I do hope you have better luck in your wedding than your brother, Your Grace… or your father.”

With all the show I put up after Cersei’s death, it was no wonder people thought I loved her more than life. It was also highly amusing hearing them speak ill of her as if that would somehow bother me.

Margaery, who was hanging on my arm, was the one to reply, “We will make sure to invite you, Lady Falyse. Although, it will be a morning wedding, so you will forgive us for not serving alcohol so early in the day. I do still hope you make it through until the reception without any of your favorite… entertainment.”

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I cleared my throat before the woman could answer. “Ser Balman, Lady Falyse,” I said. “It has been remarkable talking with you tonight, though I am afraid I must speak with Lord Tyrell before I retire for the evening. Do know that I will remember our conversation fondly, my lady… word for word.”

I’d taken all her barbs with a quiet smile and a polite nod, which she must have taken for weakness. When I led Margaery toward her grandmother and father, Falyse Stokeworth had gone white as a sheet. Seemed I was starting to build a reputation.

Margaery was holding back her laughter when we approached the Tyrell table. I gave them a small bow. “My Lord Tyrell, Lady Olenna. I had hoped to speak with you tonight. I talked with the Most Devout today. As soon as they elect a new High Septon, we can go through with the wedding.”

“About time,” Olenna murmured.

“Grand news, Your Grace.” Mace gave me a wet smile from beneath his whiskers. “I have to admit, Your Grace. The whole night, I have been holding back tears. To have a daughter married to the king, and a son in the Kingsguard.” His cheeks had turned ruddy just speaking about it. “Could a father be more proud?”

“I envy you your children, my lord,” I told him. “Though I am sure Margaery and I will try our best to outshine you in that department.”

Olenna snorted. “Well you best get on with your practice, then, don’t you?”

Lord Mace groaned, “Mother, please.”

“Grandmother!” Margaery chided. She tugged me by the arm. “Come, my king. Should we walk the gardens? I hear the primroses are in bloom.”

I held back a bark of laughter. I envied Mace his mother, more than his children. If Cersei was half as entertaining, I might not have even killed her. I smiled and nodded to the two Tyrells. “Of course. My lord, my lady. Until the morrow.” When we were far enough away from anyone else, I leaned over and whispered, “Is walking on the gardens some kind of code for us to fuck in public, Margaery?”

Margaery clicked her tongue. “Don’t be so scandalous,” she said. She stopped just by the side door behind the throne, and turned me so we could look out the great hall, half hiding behind a column and the iron monstrosity I sat upon. “Just watch and wait for it.”

I gazed from end to end at the hall. “What am I looking for here exactly?”

“Hush now. Just be patient, Tommen. Believe me, you will not miss it when it happens.”

I didn’t have to wait long before the shrill scream of a woman filled the room, followed closely by another less girly one. A commotion had formed near where the Riverlanders who came to the capital were gathering; and then I saw it. Gatehouse Ami and the oldest Walda, the ones who had created the orgy rumors about me; their dresses were falling apart, as if the fabric had given out and chunks of silk and velvet started slipping to the ground.

I stared open-mouthed at the Frey girls, wearing only their smallclothes and running out of the hall like cheap whores without pay.

Margaery shot me an innocent smile and pulled me away. “Come, my love. Time we see about those flowers.”