The celebratory feast for the King's coronation was naturally held in the Queen Mother's Ballroom in Maegors Holdfast, which could accommodate a hundred people. This was also the location where Jon had previously rushed forward to swing the battering ram.
The Queen Mother's Ballroom could accommodate more than a hundred people; it could allow a hundred people to dance simultaneously.
The ballroom was filled with men and women conversing with one another, all dressed in splendid robes and gowns, speaking in hushed tones.
The floor beneath their feet was polished until it gleamed, even reflecting people's shadows, but the long skirts of the noble ladies and girls covered their ankles, so there was nothing much to see.
The vertical banners hung around the room had long since been changed.
The Flaming Stag Banner in the center was noticeably larger, and the banners of the other Families were arrayed around it. Closest to the Flaming Stag Banner were the Tyrell green-and-gold flower banner and Jon's black-and-white wolf banner.
The former represented an alliance, and the latter was a sign of favor.
As for House Florent, they were feeling rather uncomfortable, as one of those two spots should have belonged to them.
Maids and attendants around the room were like clouds drifting with the wind, summoned and dismissed, yet omnipresent.
The songs of the musicians and the sound of harps lingered in the ears of the assembled nobles.
However, all these people were merely supporting characters; the true protagonists had yet to appear. As the attendant at the door announced names loudly, Stannis, who had just been crowned, finally emerged.
"His Majesty, Stannis Baratheon I, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, enters!"
Everyone moved to the sides. Stannis entered the ballroom with Alerie holding his arm.
"His Grace, Mace Tyrell, Duke of Highgarden and Warden of the South, and Queen Selyse Baratheon enter!"
Mace followed closely behind, allowing the Queen to hold his arm. However, Mace's expression was not pleasant; his wife was far more attractive than Stannis's.
Alerie came from House Hightower, and House Hightower had married a Dragon King's daughter, Alerie's silver-gold hair being the best proof of this.
In other words, their House Tyrell now also flowed with Targaryen blood.
Finally, the attendant announced the last name worthy of proclamation: "His Grace, Jon Stark, lord of casterly rock and warden of the west, enters!—
"
Everyone looked toward the door, eager to see how this duke without a fiefdom would make his entrance.
Mace, who was walking ahead, curved his lips into a triumphant smirk. He had left a small problem for Jon; if handled poorly, it would become a laughingstock among the nobles. Mace might then be able to use this incident to show Stannis that this bastard was unworthy of his daughter.
The small problem Mace left was Rhea.
According to etiquette, she should have entered the hall holding Jon's arm, but Mace's order to her was to embarrass Jon by deliberately refusing to take his arm.
Rhea had been a Tyrell since the moment she was born. Although she usually only served as Margaery's companion and maid, she still believed herself superior to Jon.
Furthermore, Rhea was unwilling to lower herself for a bastard, so she carried out Mace's order resolutely.
Jon saw that she was like a statue, or perhaps a hedgehog that had fully flared its quills, radiating resistance from head to toe.
Rhea spoke in a cold and distant tone: "Let us go, Your Grace. I am not accustomed to holding the arm of someone whose origins are unclear. This does not conform to the etiquette of the Seven Kingdoms, and I am also feeling slightly unwell. I ask for your understanding."
Rhea's voice was calm and steady, yet it clearly reached the ears of those closest to them, such as Olenna and Margaery, who stood right behind the two.
The grandmother and granddaughter exchanged glances, both eager to see how Jon would resolve this embarrassing predicament. Would he reason with her? Plead? Or perhaps—leave in a huff? Any of these would give Mace an excuse to make trouble.
"Jon, what will you do?" Margaery couldn't help but wonder. If he couldn't respond effectively, Jon, who was already at the center of a political storm, might quickly rise and fall.
In just the time it took to breathe, Jon's position subtly began to draw focus, as the people inside started looking around because he, as one of only two dukes, had not immediately appeared.
Jon knew the time left for him was very limited. Mace was truly an established noble; manipulating people in such a setting was second nature to him.
Jon slightly turned his head to look at Rhea. She had a pleasant appearance and a head of well-maintained, thick brown hair, but her lips were tightly pressed, as if she were wearing a mask that warned others to keep away.
"Ridiculous," Jon scoffed inwardly. He had completely lost any desire to marry this Rhea.
Spending a lifetime with a woman who would only give him attitude was simply too great a price.
Moreover, it was a huge hidden danger. If she viewed marrying him as a sacrifice from the start, even if he poured out his heart to her later, he wouldn't be able to balance her self-perceived tragedy and grievance.
She might even betray him, perhaps doing so with a clear conscience.
Even without Highgarden's support, he was confident he could take the West. It would simply take longer and be more troublesome, requiring a few more battles.
If he had to become a duke only to endure the temper of a maid, he might as well return to the Wall sooner.
"Alright, I understand," Jon said. Olenna and Margaery heard him clearly. Both subconsciously slowed their breathing, wondering if Jon was giving up.
The next second, none of the anticipated reactions—reproach, pleading, or stalemate—occurred.
His movement was swift as lightning, yet it was not an attack. He bent his left arm, which descended like a steel gate, precisely and securely "clamping" Rhea's slender right arm, which she had tried to hide, between his arm and his side.
The action was clean and decisive, as if steadying a recruit about to fall on the battlefield, or securing a crucial military banner.
"!?"
The girl froze completely, her slightly panicked eyes filled with unbelievable confusion. She tried to struggle, but her meager strength was like an ant trying to shake a tree before him.
Jon could feel the stiffness and slight trembling of her arm, as well as the panic in her eyes.
"If you were to speak with the nobles who have fought alongside me, you would know that if you pray on the battlefield, the Gods won't save you, but Jon will. Since you are feeling unwell, you might as well lean closer to me; I will support you."
"You!"
Rhea was about to say something like 'let go of me,' but she was already being "escorted" into the bright and bustling hall.
She felt like a piece of cargo being "transported" into the ballroom, utterly helpless.
Once they were in public view, Rhea couldn't offer any fierce resistance. All she could do was stiffly maintain the posture, her face drained of color, only to flush crimson with shame and indignation.
Olenna's and Margaery's gazes shifted from expectant amusement to shock and astonishment.
"This young man—" Olenna smiled, and followed them, leaning on Margaery's arm.
She had expected Jon to try reasoning with Rhea, but instead, Jon had pulled her into his strongest Domain.
The method was simple, even a bit crude, but extremely effective.
Due to his Golden Finger, Jon could sense the emotional shifts of Olenna and Margaery behind him.
Yet, he remained straight-faced and composed, even finding time to nod to Martin and Sandor.
He could sense the girl beside him radiating shame, indignation, and despair that was almost palpable, but what did that have to do with him?
He had defended his dignity in the most direct way and crushed this farce. As for the girl's pitiful self-esteem?
It was already the Gods' mercy that a brainless person could walk away unscathed, especially since she hadn't actually lost anything.
Rhea seemed unwilling to yield. Since everyone was walking slowly, she quickly steadied her pace, took a deep breath, and tried hard to maintain her shaky arrogance, her voice sharp and deliberately lowered: "Your Grace, your strength is indeed great, but you currently claim to be lord of casterly rock. Can you command a single gold coin or one Soldier from Casterly Rock?
Do the smallfolk of the West know when they acquired a new warden of the west? I advise you to ask His Majesty the King to withdraw this ridiculous title. It won't be long before the iron throne reaches an agreement with Casterly Rock. Tywin only needs to pay a fine, and Lannister will still be the master of Casterly Rock."
Rhea's words made Jon regard her with a slight increase in respect. She was indeed the daughter of a noble official; her insight was decent.
Of course, it was also possible she had merely overheard it.
But it was still not enough to pique Jon's interest in responding to her.
"Shut up quickly. Your father is merely from a collateral branch. At best, you will marry an Earl, and your husband will have to dutifully salute me and call me 'Your Grace' when he sees me."
Jon's words clearly fell into her ears, making Rhea furious and anxious, her face cycling between pale and red.
Seeing that they were about to reach the table, Jon decided to deliver the final blow. He continued in a voice only they could hear: "If you had pleased me, I would have married you. You and my children would be dukes in the future. Margaery is already fifteen, and at the ducal level, she has no suitable marriage prospects left; at best, she will marry the son of some Earl. If both you and she have daughters in the future, her daughter would become your daughter's companion. Now, you have personally closed that door."
After speaking, Jon released Rhea's hand, which had gone slightly numb from being clamped, and took his seat at the foremost position reserved for him.
Rhea felt the lingering warmth on her hand, only snapping back to attention when Margaery prompted her.
In the end, she could only mutter angrily in her heart, "Who cares."
But by now, Jon had already dismissed her from his mind. Next, he would have to contend with Mace.
Since he had already used Rhea to cause trouble before even speaking, Jon guessed that Mace would likely enter the fray himself next, and he didn't know what tricks he might pull.
Furthermore, there was the queen of thorns, the House Tyrell's greatest mind. Jon knew that if he wanted to marry Margaery, he would have to be fully alert.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)