Thwack!
The taut bowstring suddenly released, startling Margaery, who instinctively clutched her chest.
"No arrow,"
Seeing Margaery still looking terrified, Joffrey showed a strange smile, his eyes glinting with an odd excitement.
Of course, she knew he was dry-firing...
Moreover, she was not only the King's fiancée, but she also had House Tyrell, one of the Seven Kingdoms' great noble houses, behind her. She couldn't think of a reason why the King would harm her.
But... a pair of startled doe eyes lightly swept over Joffrey's face at that moment. She was doubting her own judgment, or rather, she had already begun to doubt it.
Her small face was slightly pale, her voice trembling slightly from the fright: "My King, you wished to see me."
Joffrey was pleased with Margaery's fear, his smile unwavering: "Tomorrow, I want to take you hunting..."
As he spoke, he... clicked, re-cocking the crossbow in his hand.
He glanced at the area below Margaery's lower abdomen: "I'm telling you in advance to ensure you have everything you need prepared."
Click, the Little Rose's brown eyes trembled as she watched Joffrey place a crossbow bolt into the groove.
Margaery stood respectfully before Joffrey, her fingers slightly flexed as she said: "You are very thoughtful, thank you for your considerate arrangements, King."
"Very good."
Joffrey seemingly casually placed the crossbow on his left knee, but as his lower leg twitched up and down, the arrow pointed at Margaery also moved up and down with it.
From her upper abdomen to her lower abdomen, Margaery felt an invisible sharpness sweeping over her body. Her face showed no emotion, but her heart was pounding, and a strong sense of fear surged within her.
There was no mistake, he was actually considering whether or not to kill her? Was he mad?
The arrow on the crossbow glinted coldly in the sunlight streaming through the narrow window. There was no time for surprise, nor time to ponder the reason. Margaery could only force herself to remain calm; she had to at least get through the immediate predicament.
Joffrey suddenly smiled, staring at his fiancée: "Miss Margaery, are you comfortable living in the Maidenvault?"
Margaery lowered her eyes slightly and replied softly: "Thank you for your concern, I like it very much there..."
She shyly raised her eyes to glance at Joffrey: "Since coming here, I have been happy every day. This is an experience I have never had before, King."
"Like... happy... experience..."
After muttering, Joffrey's handsome face twisted. He looked directly at Margaery: "Were you also happy every day when you lived in Renly's camp?"
Hearing Joffrey's dangerous questioning, the Little Rose of Highgarden secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Not very happy."
Her skirt swayed gently as Margaery moved closer to Joffrey, looking directly at him: "King, everyone knows that a military camp is not suitable for women."
When Margaery stopped two or three steps away, Joffrey stopped shaking his leg. He stared at her motionlessly, his voice chilling: "What about the traitor Renly's bed?"
Seeing Margaery's expression stiffen, Joffrey twitched his leg a few more times: "Was that place suitable for a woman?"
He paused, then curled his lips: "Hmm? Why don't you answer me?"
Margaery's moist eyes swept over the crossbow arrow pointed at her heart. Her face first showed hesitation, then she said with a hint of sadness: "King, I was fulfilling my duty as a wife."
Joffrey playfully scrutinized his fiancée, who was trying to conceal her sadness: "I'm very curious, what was your duty to the traitor Renly?"
Margaery exhaled softly, straightened her small waist, and said: "Any wife's duty to her husband is the same: to bear him children of their blood."
Joffrey's fingers caressed the crossbow's trigger: "Then why didn't you do it?"
Margaery's Rose-colored lips trembled: "I... I... discussing a deceased person's private matters... isn't very good..."
Joffrey's voice was filled with intense threat: "Are you telling me you're sympathizing with a traitor? Is it because his throat was slit by an assassin?"
"No."
Margaery shook her head firmly, then... hesitation reappeared on her face.
"Please forgive me, I don't quite understand the subtle language of the court yet. I don't know how to express it... Renly, he..."
Under Joffrey's gaze, she spoke with difficulty: "He... I think he seemed to have no interest in women..."
Upon hearing this, Joffrey's fingers left the crossbow's trigger. He said coldly: "Why would you think that?"
Seeing this, Margaery's lips curved almost imperceptibly. While maintaining a troubled expression, she moved closer: "Every time... I wanted to fulfill... my wifely duties... he... he always had a reason to leave the bed..."
"And many war councils..."
Walking up the steps below the Iron Throne, she gently sat down beside the boy "playing" the mature King: "During the day, he would praise me in front of everyone, but at night... he would ignore me... I really don't know how to... do it..."
She paused, her face flushed, and while repeatedly drawing small circles on the steps with her index finger, she said: "Only once... that night he was drunk and muddled... he suggested... suggested..."
She seemed to be recalling an unpleasant memory: "He wanted to go... to a place that was very painful... but couldn't get pregnant..."
The corners of her eyes reddened: "After I refused at the time... I wavered too. I felt I had failed my grandmother's teachings, but... I really... I also didn't dare to mention such things to my family..."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and whispered: "King, I should have confessed to you proactively..."
"No need."
Joffrey snorted disdainfully: "I know Renly was a pervert."
Margaery paused slightly, then she extended a hand with gratitude and placed it on Joffrey's arm: "Thank you for your kindness, My King."
"His death is punishment for his depravity."
Having said that, Joffrey picked up the crossbow, aimed roughly, and pulled the trigger.
With a whoosh, the crossbow bolt flew towards the Small Council's long table, finally embedding itself in the Hand of the King's chair's backrest.
"Oh... so far... your marksmanship is truly excellent..."
Joffrey looked triumphantly at his captivated fiancée for a moment: "Do you want to try?"
"Really?"
Margaery lightly touched the crossbow in Joffrey's hand with her finger. She opened her mouth and said: "But my father never allowed me to touch such things..."
Joffrey walked down the stairs, turned to face his fiancée, and with a proud tilt of his head, said: "You no longer belong to him."
Cocking the crossbow, loading the arrow, and raising it, a reserved smile appeared on his handsome face: "Come, try it."
At this moment, the elegant Joffrey... also filled Margaery with inner dread.
At the foot of the Iron Throne's steps, there was only the eager young girl and the boy encouraging her.
Margaery nervously rubbed her hands. She first looked at Joffrey, and only after he nodded did she solemnly extend her hands.
"Like this."
Joffrey stood behind, embracing Margaery, helping her adjust her posture, and the aiming direction... was still towards the Small Council's long table.
In Joffrey's embrace, Margaery's face flushed from nervousness and excitement. Only then did she realize... the arrow Joffrey had shot earlier was actually embedded in the Hand of the King's chair's backrest, which made her beautiful eyes tremble slightly.
At this moment, the target Joffrey was helping her aim at was the second seat at the Small Council's long table—the Master of Laws's chair.
They stood in silence, with only the sound of each other's breathing.
Margaery's finger reached for the trigger, and her red lips parted: "If I just pull it, the thing on the other end will die... right?"
Joffrey nodded excitedly. She then murmured: "This is your power, the power to punish, your responsibility."
Joffrey lowered his gaze and stared at Margaery's silky smooth brown hair for a moment: "Yes, my responsibility."
Margaery felt Joffrey's breathing become heavier. She looked at the target, smiling faintly: "Because... you are the King."
Joffrey's voice could not hide his immense pleasure: "Yes, I am the King."
No sooner had he spoken than, with a "whoosh," the arrow shot hit its target dead center.
The crossbow returned to Joffrey's hand. Margaery couldn't help but take a few steps forward to observe, and after seeing it clearly, she gasped in disbelief: "Gods!"
Looking at the Little Rose who looked as if she wanted to jump up and celebrate, Joffrey showed a satisfied smile.
After a pause, Margaery spun around, her green skirt swaying around her hips.
"King."
Margaery's voice still held excitement. She approached with a light run, then... wrapped her arms around Joffrey's neck.
Her small face was alluringly flushed: "Will you allow me... to be a hunter with you?"
Joffrey's chest slowly Rose and fell. He looked at the captivating Little Rose and nodded.
"Thank you for granting me..."
Rising on her tiptoes, Margaery lightly kissed Joffrey's cheek, saying gratefully: "The opportunity to truly fulfill my wifely duties, My King."
Joffrey's lips pursed: "You won't have to wait long."
Stepping back two paces, Margaery bowed respectfully: "I will eagerly await my first night, my dear King."
Dropping the crossbow, Joffrey slightly bent his right arm: "I can take you riding, or continue teaching you archery."
Margaery linked her arm through Joffrey's: "I am at your command, King."
Not long after they left, Sandor Clegane appeared in the Throne Room. He skillfully surveyed the area and quickly spotted the two chairs, each with an extra arrow.
He glanced at the scars left by frequent repairs recently, then reached out and pulled the arrow that was embedded in the chair's backrest.
Then, he silently departed.
Near the training grounds, Margaery was gazing sweetly at Joffrey, who was selecting horses nearby. After a pause, she whispered to her lady-in-waiting, Elora Tyrell: "Please go and find out where Queen Cersei was when King Joffrey went to change, or who he met."
Then, she looked at her other lady-in-waiting, Megga Tyrell, and instructed: "Please convey to Lady Olenna that I request a private meeting with her tonight."
...
Two days later.
Inside the Prime Ministers study in the Prime Ministers Tower, King's Landing's three dukes, Ser Kevan, and Lord Mathos Rowan stood around a long table covered with a map of Blackwater Bay, discussing naval defenses.
The day before yesterday, the Redwyne Fleet from the Riverlands, consisting of over 100 warships, had grandly arrived at the Blackwater River Dock.
[House Redwyne is the Queen of Thorns' birth family. They have always provided naval protection for the Riverlands, and their strength can rival the Royal Fleet or the Iron Fleet during Robert I's reign.]
Hand of the King Tywin met with Lord Mace that very day. The next day, the Hand of the King announced in the King's name: Lord Mace was appointed Master of Laws to the Small Council, the former Master of Laws, Ser Kevan, was appointed Master of Coin to the Small Council, and Lord Mathos (whose wife is Bethany Redwyne) was appointed Master of Ships to the Small Council.
Green extended his finger and roughly drew a circle above the map, musing: "The Dorne fleet could appear here at any moment, and they could also directly ambush the Royal Fleet."
After a period of silence, Lord Mathos finally looked up from the map: "Duke Green, have you received intelligence from Dorne?"
Green shook his head slightly: "I only saw the fires of hatred from the Dornishmen."
Then, he raised an eyebrow: "Lord Mathos, can the Royal Fleet handle a surprise attack from the Dorne fleet?"
Lord Mathos paused: "If unprepared, the best outcome is... not letting the Dorne fleet enter the Blackwater River."
Lord Mace suddenly said: "Perhaps, we can directly use a large iron chain to block the entrance from Blackwater Bay into the Blackwater River, just like in the last Battle of King's Landing."
Green nodded: "That would indeed protect the Blackwater River's docks."
Lord Mathos frowned: "In that case, merchant ships of even slightly larger tonnage would not be able to enter the Blackwater River."
Lord Mace stroked his beard: "As long as the war continues, we cannot avoid losses. If the cunning Dornishmen secretly enter the Blackwater River, our losses will only be even greater."
Hand of the King Tywin's authoritative voice rang out: "Prince Doran will not send troops."
Everyone looked over in unison. He continued: "The addition of the Redwyne Fleet is enough to secure Blackwater Bay."
Green glanced at the bewildered Lord Mace: "Hand of the King Tywin, did the Dornishmen respond so quickly?"
Hand of the King Tywin stood with his hands behind his back, staring at the map for a moment: "I will not give them an excuse to start a war."
Green was silent for a moment, then looked at the solemn Ser Kevan: "Forgive my presumption, have you set the trial date?"
Hand of the King Tywin's golden-green eyes flickered as he met Green's gaze for a moment: "Duke Green, I am the Hand of the Seven Kingdoms."
He swept his gaze over those present and added: "The war in the Seven Kingdoms must be quelled as quickly as possible. This is my duty."
Lord Mace furrowed his brow in thought: "Hand of the King Tywin, to quell their anger, the price will certainly not be small, and from what I know of the Dornishmen..."
Knock, knock, knock. At that moment, a knock on the door suddenly sounded.
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