"Who said that? Show yourself!" I turned toward the voice
"I did, Your Grace," said a tall, stately knight seated at the farthest table.
"Who are you, ser?"
"Herald Orm of House Orm, in the service of Lords Hightower."
"Thank you, ser. I accept the name Wind of Change for my sword."
I liked the name — it stood as a symbol of all the changes that could sweep through Westeros. A sword, no matter how costly, was still just a thing. But this thing could mark the beginning of something new and right...
I took a few steps forward and swung the blade sharply. Never before had I held such a marvelous, perfectly balanced, razor-sharp weapon in my hands.
"Be careful, Your Majesty," warned Ser Addam Marbrand. "Valyrian steel is deadly sharp."
"It's magnificent." I swung it once more and, with some regret, sheathed the sword. Yes, it was truly a royal gift. I wondered how much it might be worth.
The light breakfast — which had somehow stretched for more than two hours — was finally over. The guests began to disperse. Some merely wished to stretch their legs or take a stroll, while many others were eager to relieve themselves.
I was escorted to the summer gazebo, where I met Margaery and her entourage. The girl looked dazzling — breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was thick and very long, the color of polished chestnut; her eyes, modest and dove-like; her skin, delicate and fair with a faint blush; her nose neat and graceful; and delightful breasts, which were very flatteringly emphasized by the bodice of the dress. Whether from a tight corset or by nature's own grace, her waist was slender, her hips pleasing, and that seductive butt.
The sun shone in her lovely eyes, and from their attentive, intelligent gaze, I could tell her head was in perfect order.
She was dressed with elegant restraint — a thin, pale-green dress with cutouts along the sleeves and a woven belt at her waist. Upon her chest rested a discreet yet undoubtedly costly necklace, and in her beautiful hair glimmered a small tiara. Her graceful hands and slender fingers were likely the envy of many ladies.
I looked at her and found I could not look away. She felt my gaze and blushed slightly.
"You are delightful," I leaning closer to whisper softly into her small, pink ear. I don't know if it's appropriate to say so, but the girl was simply beautiful, and I wanted to say many nice things to her.
"Thank you, my king," she smiled, somewhat incredulous, it seemed to me, and held my gaze.
We exchanged a few words, traded stories, and shared light jokes. Speaking with her came easily — as if I had known her for years. My unease melted away, replaced by curiosity and a growing fondness.
I mentioned, almost in passing, that it would be both useful and fascinating to learn the Valyrian tongue, and asked if she might wish to study it with me.
"Why not?" she replied, smiling with a peculiar expression I could not quite read.
After a while, I found the courage to lower my hand and take her cool palm. She seemed to enjoy the attention, though I sensed she still doubted my sincerity. That fool Joffrey — how could he have failed to value such a beautiful and intelligent girl?
At least she did not hate or fear me. The rest could be mended. I was already determined to make our relationship something better.
I asked about the gifts she had received. No one had slighted Margaery — her presents were no fewer, perhaps even grander, than mine. But there, the emphasis was on various jewelry, dresses, carpets, and songbirds. The Lannisters had gifted her a magnificent palanquin adorned with precious metals and ivory.
Even within that brief hour, I could see that Margaery was lively, charming, and full of spirit. I don't know, maybe it was simply my subconsciously longing to find some goodness in Westeros, but I already felt a deep affection for her.
When our date— if it could be called that — came to an end, two knights of the Kingsguard and Ser Tallad escorted me back to my private chambers to change.
The royal guards remained posted outside. I also did not permit Ser Tallad to enter.
Once the door closed, I turned to Jacob Liddon. He was older, and he seemed quite quick-witted. And who cares if he's probably telling Cersei or Tywin or both of them or someone else everything about me.
There's no time to pay attention to details like that right now—I simply don't have anyone else.
"Listen, Jacob. I want to give you an assignment."
"I'm listening."
"You must quickly find someone willing to serve as my personal cupbearer and food taster. Can you do that?"
"Um…" He hesitated, perhaps wishing to explain how such a thing wasn't so simple, but — remembering Joffrey's temper — merely nodded. "I'll do my best. When do you need him?"
"After the ceremony in the Great Sept."
"It's not so simple, Your Majesty," he ventured carefully. "The right person must have the proper standing, terms of service, loyalty—"
"Find him!" I interrupted. I liked his prudence, but I had no time for excuses.
"All right."
Jacob bowed and left.
I went to the privy, washed in the adjoining chamber, and then Rob began dressing me. All the while, I kept thinking.
The royal cupbearer — that was a post both honorable and crucial. I definitely needed such a man. Without one, my chances of survival were slim.
But that was for later. At the upcoming feast, I could manage without a cupbearer, difficult though it might be. Every dish at the royal table went through a multi-stage inspection anyway. First, the cook tasted it in the kitchen under the butler's watchful eye. Then the servants who carried it to the room beside the banquet hall tested it again. The final taster was the cupbearer, or the food taster, or whoever combined those duties.
And for some reason, Joffrey had never appointed one.
The main thing was not to drink from any untested glass. It is better to drink only from those that other guests at the table have already tasted from.
(End of Chapter)
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