She fell silent. I didn't rush her—the quiet felt natural, even fitting.
"Loras is who he is," Margaery finally continued. "But he loves me like a sister, protects me, and cares for me in every way. That time, he was simply enraged by such a suggestion. And he and Renly had a very big fight."
"And then?"
"And then my brother stopped guarding him, and Renly was killed."
"Come here," I murmured as I pulled her toward me. "I'm very sorry you had to go through that. But I'm glad that the first time it happened to you, it was with me."
"And now I'm glad too."
And our lips met again.
***
POV Tyrion
All the festivities leading up to and following the wedding promised to be tedious and dull. Still, there was one bright spot—they would provide an excellent excuse to get thoroughly drunk.
Now, in the morning, Tyrion quietly observed Sansa, the young woman who was considered his lawful wife. The girl looked delightful… and unapproachable. Or rather, approachable, but he, with a generosity so uncharacteristic of himself, still did not touch her, guarding her virginity and her feelings.
And more and more often he found himself wondering, with genuine bewilderment, what in all the hells he was doing?
Shae combed his wife's magnificent hair, and Sansa's light nightgown, glowing softly in the morning sun, outlined her young breasts, her pert nipples, and her slender waist with almost indecent clarity. He felt blood rush to his cock and thought with irritation that in all the wide world, only the sweet slut Shae was always ready to welcome him and serve him.
She's just a whore and nothing more, Tyrion reminded himself. Have you really become so stupid that you're starting to believe in her love?"
Although, in truth, it didn't matter. The important thing was that he felt good with Shae.
But why couldn't the gods make the disgust disappear from Sansa's eyes? Why was she so afraid of him—and why did she hate him so?
After draining his wine cup, Tyrion and his wife went to breakfast. His faithful squire, Podrick, accompanied them. Bronn was absent—likely still recovering from yesterday. According to Pod, he had gotten drunk, enjoyed a good brawl, and even managed to vomit on someone's boots.
How does he find time for everything? Tyrion wondered with a hint of envy.
They joined the cheerful crowd. Tyrion caught the glances of others and felt a familiar stab of displeasure. A dwarf and a beauty—that was all they saw. However, he didn't give a damn about their looks or thoughts. He was no longer a boy and had long since grown accustomed to his own body and to how others judged him.
At breakfast, Tyrion watched the young king closely—today, the spiteful fool had decided to behave graciously and magnanimously, hiding his true nature for the moment.
His nephew's tricks might fool many, but not him. Tyrion slowly swirled his wine and pondered lazily when Joffrey would tire of playing at benevolence.
The king caught his eye, nodded, and Tyrion grew slightly uneasy. Seven Hells—it seemed Joffrey was plotting another dirty trick or provocation. Just look at that little wickedly smile!
Still, Tyrion was always prepared for his dear nephew to pull some idiotic and very dangerous stunt at any moment.
He saluted with his raised cup and smiled ambiguously. Let the little pup snarl, knowing no one feared him.
"Sansa, you're not eating anything," Tyrion said to his wife.
"My stomach is a little upset," Ned Stark's daughter replied politely, her voice perfectly even and dispassionate.
Tyrion only nodded and clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. He had once tried to understand the girl—to place himself in her position, to repair at least a fraction of the damage the Lannisters had done to her.
Yes, that was how he had behaved in the first weeks of their marriage. He hadn't even touched her, giving her time to get used to him, deep down, naively hoping that she might notice his tact and delicacy. And appreciate it.
No, he hadn't expected passion or fiery declarations. But in the name of the Seven, did she not have a shred of understanding that he was trying to help her? Could she not see that he was restraining himself not only as a man, but also enduring ridiculous rumors and whispers spreading all across King's Landing?
His wife's behavior was beginning to infuriate him more and more each day. "Damn it," Tyrion grinned inwardly. Deep down, irritation simmered—surely the girl could behave a little differently. People said that Ned Stark's eldest daughter was very smart and observant. It seemed they had slightly overestimated her, since she failed to notice that between her and the entire hostile world—between her and the other malicious Lannisters—stood precisely her husband.
It was time to exchange gifts. Tyrion expected the worst. He had been cursing himself since early morning, condemning himself for his choice and his own impulsive decision. What had he been thinking, deciding to give Joffrey a book?! It was like giving a dog a saddle. Or a eunuch a whore. Where was your brain, dwarf? You must have lost it entirely!
In hindsight, he would have replayed everything, but now there was no turning back. He rubbed his nose and braced himself.
To his surprise, Joffrey had not yet tired of playing the role that suited him so poorly—and yet he was performing so well.
"Lives of Four Kings," the boy read aloud. "Tell me, what is the book about, Uncle?"
"The Grand Maester Kaeth has collected here the histories of four kings: Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good," Tyrion replied cautiously, expecting a ridiculous outburst at any moment.
"A beautiful book. I hear Kaeth himself did all the illustrations, and there are only four such books in all of Westeros?"
"That's right," Tyrion replied, discouraged.
"Have you read it?"
"Of course."
"A magnificent and beautiful gift, Uncle. When I have read it, we shall discuss these kings and their deeds," the king promised.
Tyrion gave him another appraising look and stepped aside. At that moment, his nephew made him wary.
The more he watched the king, the less he liked what he saw.
Joffrey had always been a vicious and aggressive little bastard. And he had also been as simple as a whore's motives. All his words and actions were easy to predict—his emotions written plainly on his face. Even a blind man could have read them.
But now something had changed.
And Tyrion was not at all pleased with this new nephew.