"But we've prepared so much and brought these men all the way from Pentos! Lord Baelish put in so much effort!"
Things were getting more and more interesting. It seemed Littlefinger wasn't even trying to hide his involvement in this matter—Joffrey had simply never cared enough to wonder why any of it was being done.
"I've changed my mind, Ser. Don't you understand?" I tried to soften my tone, seeing that the man was genuinely disheartened—it seemed he had truly done his best to organize everything. "I think their performance would be too vulgar."
"I see." He sighed with resignation.
"What are you upset about? Don't be afraid to speak up."
"I'll have to pay them a penalty," muttered the master of ceremonies.
"How much?"
"Sixteen dragons, Your Majesty."
"My steward will bring you the money within the day."
"Thank you, Your Majesty." He smiled faintly, bowed low, and withdrew.
Perhaps now he'd think that I wasn't such a terrible person, since I'd offered to compensate him for his losses.
I went into my room, opened the safe, rummaged through the pouches, and selected a handful of gold coins.
People rarely give up the names they've grown used to. The dragon—a gold coin of the Targaryen dynasty—bore a three-headed dragon on one side and the profile of the reigning monarch on the other.
The Targaryen rule had ended seventeen years ago. Robert Baratheon had issued his own coins of the same weight, but with a crowned stag on one side and his profile on the other. Yet the name "dragon" had remained.
I thought the treasury should now begin minting new coins—with the sigil of the stag and lion, and Joffrey's own profile on the reverse.
It turned out, there were three different types of the same coin in circulation, not counting older Targaryen ones. My safe contained mostly those with Robert's face. I handed sixteen of them to Jacob, instructing him to deliver them to Ser Ashley.
They began to dress me. That was normal for Joffrey, but I still felt uncomfortable—it was something I'd have to get used to.
Ser Tallad stepped out into the hall.
Fortunately, I wasn't forced to try on the entire wardrobe. As it became clear, Joffrey—or rather, his mother—had already approved three different outfits for the day.
In the morning, they dressed me in a thin silk shirt, a light brown doublet embroidered with lions and stags, velvet trousers trimmed with golden braid along the seams, a rich belt, and soft fabric boots with low heels. A jeweled dagger sheath hung from my waist. I drew the dagger—it seemed to be made of excellent steel, with a faint wavy pattern. Perhaps that's what Valyrian steel looked like? I'd have to check. The blade was razor-sharp—I tested it lightly against a fingernail—but it was clearly meant more as a status symbol than as a weapon.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror and found myself surprisingly pleased. Even though the body wasn't mine and I still hadn't fully grown used to it, it was reassuring to know that I was—well—a handsome young man here.
A knock came at the door. First entered a man Joffrey only vaguely remembered. He came on my mother's behalf to inquire about my health, well-being, and mood, and to remind me of our breakfast together. I expressed my gratitude and said I would come shortly.
Next came another servant, accompanied by several soldiers in golden cloaks. Joffrey's memories supplied the answer—the City Watch.
The servant bowed and placed two large, heavy leather pouches on the table.
"Gifts before the wedding from the Hand of the King and the Queen Regent," he explained.
"How much is inside?"
"Lord Tywin and Queen Cersei have each sent five hundred coins."
Wow, Joffrey continues to be spoiled. A thousand dragons—a staggering sum. To put that into perspective: a commoner could live for a year on three dragons. A simple horse,no combat, cost about one, a decent suit of armor with a closed helm about four or five—and here I had a thousand. Most likely, this was meant for "personal expenses" and rewarding loyal servants or friends—though I doubted Joffrey had many of those.
At least now I understood where the king's money came from. I'd been wondering. Obviously, he withdrew it from his safe—but who replenished it? The treasurer, most likely…
In general, I doubted kings even understood the concept of a salary.
I had to put the coins away myself—the pouches were heavy, more like small sacks.
Finally, we stepped into the corridor. The two stewards were already dressed and followed close behind.
"Your Majesty," said the knight guarding the door. He removed his helmet and bowed.
His name was Ser Osmund Kettleblack— a tall, like Tallad, over six feet, a muscular man, with a hooked nose, heavy brows, and a coarse brown beard. He looked fierce.
"Ser Osmund," I inclined my head slightly, recalling that this man had once been—or would someday be?—Cersei's lover.
The knight greeted me and stood waiting for orders.
For a moment, I hesitated, realizing I didn't actually know where to go. Joffrey knew the castle quite well and certainly knew where breakfast would be served, but I had only a vague idea of how to get there. Clearing my throat, I came up with a solution:
"Robert, lead the way."