The revelry was in full swing. At one table, one of Tyrell's men stabbed a guest from Dorne with a knife. The vigilant guards were on the scene in an instant, quelling the impending scandal and dragging the knights apart. One was sent to the maester to have his wound stitched, while the other was hauled off to the dungeon.
People began gathering in the empty center of the throne room, drifting into dance. Earlier, I'd been afraid that if I were required to perform some complicated court choreography, I would certainly ruin it.
But now, seeing the drunken antics and uncertain movements of many of the dancers, I breathed a sigh of relief. What they were doing resembled a familiar slow dance far more than the intricate figures of a waltz.
"My queen," I said as I stood and turned to Margaery. "Shall we dance?"
"With pleasure," the girl replied, extending her hand and accepting my offer.
We stepped into the center of the hall and spun together in a slow, graceful dance. Just in case, I let Margaery lead me, studying and memorizing the proper steps and their sequence.
Joffrey's body knew exactly what to do and when to do it—at least he had learned to do something beautifully in his life.
All I had to do was relax and let the muscle memory take over. In general, I'm fairly certain my clumsiness wasn't too noticeable.
"You're so beautiful that I feel out of place," I murmured jokingly, and the girl laughed brightly.
Even such a simple compliment made her laugh… Maybe she was looking for something to like in Joffrey? Or perhaps she was encouraging me?
Once I'd grown more confident, I took the initiative. I drew Margaery closer, and we slowly waltzed, seeing only each other. Of the whole vast world, only two people remained—and the fragile something that was beginning to grow between us.
I brushed her hair aside and kissed her. Yes, Margaery knew how to kiss. Beneath my hands, I felt her arousal building. Her face flushed, her breath quickened, and her chest rose in time with her pulse.
Joyful and excited, we returned to the table. It was a good thing the doublet hung low over my groin—otherwise, with these tight leggings, it would have been far too easy to end up in an ambiguous situation.
But it seemed someone had noticed how pleased the king was with his bride. Lady Olenna and Lord Tywin allowed themselves the faintest hint of a smile as I led the girl back.
We took our seats again. Playing idly with Margaery's hair, I caught my breath and glanced around the hall, wondering who had a hand in Joffrey's murder. In reality, it had never been fully clarified.
I had my own opinion on the matter. Joffrey behaved like a complete jerk and managed to make many enemies. It would be easier to list those who didn't want him dead.
But there were only a few real candidates—Petyr Baelish, nicknamed Littlefinger; Varys the Spider; Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper; and Lady Olenna, Margaery's grandmother.
These were the people who had both the opportunity and the intelligence to pull off something like this. It was also possible some of them had joined forces for such a noble cause.
The most popular theory was that the poison had been hidden in one of the stones of Sansa Stark's necklace. The girl herself had been used unknowingly—she simply brought the poison to the table, and Lady Olenna took it and then either poured it into the king's cup herself or handed it to her granddaughter.
I did not believe Margaery was involved. The young girl could not have behaved so naturally and happily. Perhaps I was deceiving myself, perhaps I simply did not want to think that Margaery herself had poured the poison—but, I repeat, I did not believe she was guilty.
Lady Olenna's involvement was also questionable. The fact is that the Tyrells had invested a great deal of effort, money, and time into arranging this marriage. For such a pragmatic family, a different sequence of events would have been far more advantageous—the wedding, Margaery's pregnancy, the birth of a child (preferably a boy), and then Joffrey's poisoning.
Well, poisoning Joffrey first and then marrying Margaery to Tommen was also less ideal. It would require time, luck, and the Lannisters' willingness.
So, after thinking it through, I set her aside as a likely culprit.
Oberyn Martell—cunning, calculating, and well-versed in poisons—would need more time to organize such a scheme. But he had arrived in King's Landing only a couple of days earlier; he was simply physically incapable of arranging everything so quickly.
That left Littlefinger and the Spider. And either of them could very well have done it.
Littlefinger, in fact, bragged to Sansa that he was the one responsible. But knowing his duplicity and vanity, it was just as likely a lie to earn Sansa's gratitude—after all, she hated Joffrey.
The same applied to Lady Olenna's remark to her granddaughter that she had carried out the poisoning—she could have been showing how dangerous she was. But if she had truly done it, she would be far better off hiding the fact than confessing.
That was how I saw things. Well, only time and my own insight could reveal the truth.
One bard replaced another. We saw a performance with a bear, fakirs with snakes, fire-eaters and pyromancers, jugglers with all manner of objects…
Beyond the tall windows, the sky had gone black—like Littlefinger's thoughts. Margaery, along with several ladies-in-waiting, rose to powder her nose.
I seized the moment, stood, approached Lord Tywin from behind, and leaned toward his ear.
"Grandfather, may I ask you something?"
"I'm listening," he replied, glancing at me just once before turning calmly back to the hall.
"Help us ensure so they don't undress us and drag us to the bedchambers."
"Are you embarrassed, Your Majesty?"
"No. I simply think it wouldn't reflect well on our authority."
"I'll see what can be done," this time he turning fully toward me and looking intently into my eyes.
I held his gaze, nodded, and returned to my seat. Well, let this serious man see that I was not drunk, that I could think clearly and behave adequate.