"Seven Hells, the king is way too cruel!"
"Poor Jim spent every last dragon on his son's medicine and still owes a mountain of debt!"
Just as Ser Meryn Trant's sword was about to fall, shouts exploded from the crowd.
"A kid's sick—who wouldn't panic?"
"Even the king can't just murder people!"
Meryn Trant's face twisted. He raised his blade and bellowed at the mob, "Shut your mouths, you scum!"
"Don't you know assaulting the king is a death sentence? That's the law! Do you gutter rats even understand what law means?"
Ser Meryn felt like a true knight in that moment—completely forgetting why King's Landing had rioted the last time.
His arrogant display only made things worse.
"He called us scum!"
"Listen to that—the king's dog is barking!"
"They don't see us as people at all!"
"Kill him! Kill him!"
The shouting spread like wildfire. By the time Meryn Trant realized the danger, it was too late.
The crowd surged. Men pulled hammers, sickles, and clubs from nowhere. Women shoved their children behind them, eyes blazing.
Shit.
Cold sweat ran down Meryn's forehead. This felt exactly like last time.
He tried to explain, but the mob had already snapped.
The first stone smashed into his breastplate with a metallic clang.
Then came another. And another.
Rotten vegetables, spoiled eggs, even a broken shoe.
From every alley and doorway, a black tide of smallfolk poured in—fast, organized, like they'd been waiting.
"Protect the king!"
A Kingsguard roared. Four white cloaks immediately formed a tight ring around the royal carriage.
But this riot felt different.
Dozens of alleys emptied at once. The flood swallowed the dozen Gold Cloaks in seconds. Soldiers were dragged down, stripped of weapons and armor, screaming as they were pinned.
If Meryn had looked closer, he would have noticed most of the Gold Cloaks weren't badly hurt—just humiliated.
The king's escort was down to four Kingsguard.
"Fall back! Get behind the carriage!"
Ser Balon Swann shouted, fighting beside two brothers to shield one side of the coach. He'd already cursed Meryn Trant a thousand times in his head, but the vow came first.
Meryn Trant had been too slow. The tide swallowed him.
Five or six men slammed him to the cobblestones. A burly man raised a hammer.
"No!"
Margaery saw it and screamed.
The hammer fell.
Blood sprayed.
Ser Meryn Trant went still.
Joffrey saw it too. Meryn's eyes bulged in terror and regret as blood poured from his shattered helm. He stared at the king he'd sworn to protect.
In a way, he'd kept his oath.
Joffrey had no time to care. He'd pissed himself.
Warm piss ran down his legs, soaking the fine silk. Margaery shot him a disgusted glance before ducking a flying brick.
"The carriage is done for!"
Ser Balon Swann roared. His visor was gone, a bloody gash across his face.
"Your Grace! The wood's splitting—we have to get out!"
"Get out?"
Joffrey shrank deeper into the carriage, voice cracking with panic. "I'm not leaving! Those are fucking rioters out there!"
"Protect me, you useless bastards! When I get back to the Red Keep I'm killing every last one of these scum!"
The cowardly outburst made the Kingsguard grit their teeth, but vows were vows. One kicked the broken door open.
"Staying inside is more dangerous!"
"Your Grace, Queen Regent, Lady Tyrell—stay close!"
Joffrey was yanked out by the hair. Cersei followed right behind. Margaery came last—her skirt caught on the door and tore.
The street had turned into hell.
People everywhere. Twisted, furious faces. Clubs swinging. Stones and rotten food flying. The four Kingsguard barely held a shrinking circle.
"North!" Balon shouted. "Fewer people that way!"
They moved as one—Balon leading, the others flanking. Joffrey in the middle, Cersei gripping his arm like iron, Margaery at the rear.
A stone clipped the last Kingsguard's shoulder. He staggered. The circle broke for a heartbeat.
Cersei saw her opening. She let go of Joffrey and gave Margaery a hard, hidden shove.
Margaery was looking back. No time to react.
She stumbled straight into the side of the crowd.
"Ah!!!"
The Highgarden Rose vanished into the tide.
Joffrey turned just in time to see dirty hands grab her arms and drag her into a narrow alley, tearing at her pale blue dress.
"Margaery!"
Cersei seized his arm again, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
"Keep moving!"
The Queen Regent screamed in his ear, voice strangely thrilled. "She's lost! Move!"
Joffrey was hauled forward. One last glance showed Margaery disappearing into darkness, the crowd closing like a wave.
Just like that fool from House Stokeworth.
"This way! Hurry!"
Ser Balon charged into a clearer street.
For a moment they thought they'd escaped—until dozens of men blocked the far end.
Shing!
Balon drew first. The other two followed.
"Too many," one muttered.
Balon's voice was iron. "We swore an oath."
The mob pressed closer. Space vanished.
Joffrey could smell their sweat, see the hate in their eyes.
Cersei pulled him behind her and drew a small dagger. Her hand shook, but her eyes were feral.
"Touch my son and I'll gouge your eyes out!"
Inside she was screaming: That bastard better not actually do it!
The front man raised his club—
A deep horn blast rolled across the street like thunder from the earth itself. Everyone froze.
At the far end the crowd parted. Hooves clattered.
A white banner snapped in the wind, showing a massive black hand, fingers slightly spread.
The standard-bearer was a tall, scarred Dothraki warrior riding bareback on a black stallion, mane braided into dozens of thin braids.
He planted the flagpole without a word. Men in black uniforms stepped aside as a calm gray mare walked forward.
On its back sat a man in a simple dark-gray robe. Short black hair. Strong jaw. Pitch-black eyes that seemed to pull the light toward him.
Sunlight touched him. An invisible pressure rolled outward.
[Presence Lv. 3]
"V… Vi…"
Joffrey pointed, mouth working.
Cersei let out a shaky breath.
Corleone rode to the edge of the circle and stopped. His gaze swept the armed rioters, the bloodied Kingsguard, then settled on Joffrey and Cersei.
He spoke.
"Lower your weapons."
The voice wasn't loud, but every ear heard it clearly. No threat—just calm certainty. The snarling men glanced at each other and slowly dropped their clubs.
"Lord Corleone…"
"Lord Corleone!"
The crowd parted as he rode forward. He dismounted in front of Joffrey.
"Your Grace. Your Grace the Queen Regent."
"Corleone!!!"
Joffrey finally remembered the name. He threw himself forward, clutching Corleone's arm like a lifeline.
"Vito Corleone—that's it! Thank the gods you're here! You came to save me!"
"It's all right now. I'm here, Your Grace."
Corleone patted the boy's head, voice steady. Anyone watching would have thought he was the king's father.
Even Cersei felt something twist in her chest.
"Relax. With me here, no one touches you."
Corleone glanced at the snot and tears on his new robe and gently pushed Joffrey back.
Then he looked at the retreating crowd, voice turning cold.
"These men—I'll handle them. Assaulting the king is a serious crime. They will pay."
"Damn right!"
Joffrey lit up, pointing wildly. "Kill them! Kill every last one! I want all of King's Landing to see what happens when you attack the king!"
"Exactly."
Corleone nodded, completely serious. "This is a grave offense. They will be punished."
He turned to Iggo. "Take them all. Lock them in the cellar. I'll decide their fate once I've cleaned this up."
The Dothraki tossed coils of rope to his men. The "rioters" offered their wrists without a word. The whole thing felt eerily calm.
Joffrey's fear melted into pure relief.
Corleone was here. Everything was going to be fine.
Then he remembered.
He grabbed Corleone's collar, furious.
"Margaery… Lady Margaery is gone! They dragged her into an alley!"
"You… you should have gotten here sooner! If you'd come faster she wouldn't have been taken!"
"It's all your fault! This is all your fault!"