"And then, of course, the feast?" I recalled something from the canon.
But damn it, how I wanted to invite the boy to the table and talk normally — like one person to another, not like a king to a servant. I simply didn't know how to behave that way.
"Oh, yes," he allowed himself a slight smile. "As you know, seventy-seven different dishes, a variety of drinks, and entertainment await you. And it will all continue until late at night — until the guests escort you to the marriage bed." He blushed.
"Speaking of entertainment…" I yawned, pretending indifference. "Who's in charge of it?"
Such trifles as remembering the name of the master of ceremonies shouldn't concern me — at least, that's how Joffrey would've thought.
"Ser Ashley Groyl, Your Majesty," Tallad replied. Even in his condition, he realized the king was dissatisfied with something and now sought to be useful.
Joffrey knew that name well. At least, in recent days — as his memory suggested — he had spoken with the man on several occasions. It seemed this was exactly the person I needed.
"Jacob, go and invite him. I want to speak with him."
"Of course, Your Highness," the boy nodded and left the room.
We remained — Robert, Tallad, and I — and all three of us felt awkward. The steward stared at the floor; Ser Tallad seemed lost in thought; and I, frankly, had no idea what to say. What do kings even do in such moments?
I didn't know yet, of course, but one thing was clear: subordinates should not suffer from nonsense and idleness. It was always better to keep them busy — less time to think, fewer problems. But how exactly to keep them busy?
"How is my bride?" I asked thoughtfully.
"I think she is well, my lord," the well-trained steward instantly joined the conversation.
I wondered — if I started talking utter nonsense, would he also listen attentively, feigning utmost interest?
"Here's what, Robert — go see her. Ask how she slept, how she feels. Give her my best wishes and congratulate her on this beautiful day."
"Yes, Your Majesty," he nodded and slipped out silently. Only the door closed softly behind him. For a moment, the imposing figure of a knight flashed in the doorway — fat Boros had already been replaced by someone else.
Frankly, I had no idea whether it was customary here to send servants to inquire about someone's health first thing in the morning. But it seemed a sensible gesture, and Robert hadn't looked particularly surprised — so let's assume it was acceptable.
I deliberately ignored Tallad. The thought that I no longer wanted this man in my retinue was growing stronger by the minute. There was something duplicitous about him — something I didn't trust.
"What are your orders, Your Majesty?" Ser Tallad asked, trying to strike up a conversation.
"None."
We fell silent again.
Jacob Liddon returned first, reporting that Ser Ashley would arrive soon. I thanked him for his service — and for the first time saw surprise flash across his face. Apparently, Joffrey wasn't known for politeness.
"How are things at home?" I asked, already realizing that Joffrey would never pose such a question — but I didn't care. It was better to know more about the people around me than just their names or the house in which they were born.
The boy's eyes widened slightly, but he began to speak — timidly at first — about his family. I listened carefully, trying to remember.
The Liddons, it turned out, were an ancient and noble house, loyal vassals of the Lannisters for many centuries. Their current lord was Lewis Liddon, and their seat was a castle called Deep Hole. Their sigil — a white badger on a green and brown field — flickered before my mind's eye as the boy spoke.
Robert soon returned and reported that Lady Tyrell was taking a bath. But my words and congratulations had been conveyed to her, and she had replied that she was very pleased by such attention and looked forward to seeing me after breakfast.
I scratched my knee — a gesture that betrayed my skepticism. That response was, most likely, mere politeness. I doubted Margaery felt any real affection for Joffrey. From the start, this had been a political marriage. And besides, Joff had behaved as though determined to make everyone dislike him.
Still, I really wanted to see Margaery in person — to assess her appearance and intelligence — and perhaps try to build some kind of relationship. Who knows, maybe I'd even like her?
There was a knock at the door. After granting permission, Ser Ashley Groyl entered — a ruddy-cheeked, well-fed man with a polite smile and dressed in fine, festive clothes.
"Good morning, Your Majesty."
"Good morning, Ser Ashley. How did you sleep?"
"Wonderfully," he said, shifting his puzzled gaze from me to the stewards. "How can I be of service?"
"Tell me again about the evening feast. There's something I need to clarify."
Ser Ashley began describing the order in which the dishes would be served, the seven minstrels who would perform one after another, the snake charmers, fire jugglers, and various trained animals.
I listened and nodded patiently until he reached the most important part.
"And then, Your Majesty, as we agreed, you will give the signal, and I will bring out the dwarves for their act about the Kings of Westeros."
"You know…" I leaned back slightly. "I've changed my mind."
"I'm sorry?" He blinked, falling silent, confusion written across his face.
"I don't need that act at my wedding ceremony."