Council Hall (Conclusion)
The discussion had come to a natural end—there was no more to be said about Lord Stannis.
Green had already achieved his initial aim. The rest now depended on Petyr's maneuvering.
This wasn't a matter of deep political intrigue; the timing—following the exposure of the hidden chamber in the Hand's study—was ideal. All that mattered was that the schemer remain hidden in the shadows.
Petyr, sharp as ever, needed no reminder to conceal himself. And Green remained concealed behind Petyr.
At this moment, both men were choosing to keep each other's secrets—a silent accord, the unspoken understanding shared by all true manipulators of power.
…
The "Royal Hunt," despite its name, was in essence a leisurely royal excursion organized by the Queen for the noblewomen of the Crownlands.
Being a royal event, it was categorized as a matter of state—thus the entire budget fell under the authority of the Master of Coin, Lord Petyr Baelish.
After examining the documents Petyr handed him and cross-checking them with the stewards' lists, Green's brows twitched faintly.
Two thousand gold dragons?
No—twenty thousand.
The nobles of the Crownlands certainly knew how to enjoy themselves.
The Queen's stewards had already been preparing for the Royal Hunt for three months, and all necessary supplies had long been procured.
No wonder, when Green had suddenly been tasked with overseeing the hunt and had encountered the stewards in Maegor's Hall, they showed no discontent—on the contrary, they'd been oddly friendly.
The profits had already been split. Only the exhausting work of organizing guards and logistics remained. They were more than happy to hand the burden off to someone else.
Green was jealous—jealous that his colleagues got to feast and leave the table without having to wash the dishes.
The noble Queen Cersei would never know, nor care, about such trifling details.
This was Her Majesty's trust—and Green could only devote himself fully to the Crown's affairs.
He wasn't one to dwell on missed opportunities.
…
Petyr spoke again: "To be honest, I was surprised you accepted responsibility for the Royal Hunt at this stage. The major purchases are long done, and what's left is the grunt work—guard duty, logistics. It's not the sort of task that earns much favor in Her Grace's eyes."
Green shrugged lightly. "A matter of duty."
Petyr spread his hands in a sincere gesture. "Baron Green, as I've said—we are friends. And I'm always happy to help a friend, so long as it's within my power."
Green's sharp memory noted that this was nearly word-for-word what Petyr had said during their late-night encounter.
Petyr continued, "Though I am the Master of Coin, to avoid drawing unwanted attention, I can only authorize an additional ten thousand dragons, my friend."
Green understood the implication—those extra dragons were a peace offering, Petyr's way of mending fences.
A budget increase for the Royal Hunt would not go unnoticed; such things were part of public record.
But as the official in charge, Green only needed to adjust a few numbers. With a little effort, not only would the Queen's hunt appear more lavish than ever, but he could even siphon off a fair amount for himself.
With careful management, he estimated he might be able to keep half.
In that moment, Green no longer envied his colleagues.
He placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head. "Klebs is grateful for Lord Petyr's generosity."
…
Outside the Council Hall, in the Red Keep.
Having taken his leave of Petyr, Green had only just stepped out when he spotted Jaime Lannister standing near the doors, face darkened with displeasure.
Since earning the infamous title of Kingslayer, Jaime's conviction had shattered. Though he maintained the appearance of calm, Green could sense a man steeped in quiet despair—one who lived only for Queen Cersei.
Family and power meant nothing to Jaime Lannister now. Cersei was all he had left.
Green didn't care to pass judgment. Based on past impressions, he simply categorized Ser Jaime as an emotionally volatile man, broken and bitter.
…
Pretending not to notice Jaime's foul mood, Green greeted him. "Ser Jaime, has Her Grace summoned me?"
Jaime handed him a golden pouch embroidered with a crowned stag. "Wildling, this is from Prince Joffrey. A reward."
Wildling? So he was calling him that again?
Green took the pouch, silently gauged its weight, and then passed it to Anguy, who stood loyally at his side. "Please give Prince Joffrey my thanks."
Jaime cast him a sidelong glance. His tone carried that distinct sharpness Green found so irritating.
"Come on. Princess Myrcella wants to see you."
Princess Myrcella?
Green followed as Jaime strode ahead, confused. "Ser Jaime, may I ask why Princess Myrcella wishes to see me?"
Another sideways look. "She heard the story of the mermaid."
The mermaid story?
Green remembered now—back in Whispering Town, he'd instructed Hershel the steward to have the legend of the mermaid spread to draw attention to Mermaid's Harbor.
Had the tale already reached the Red Keep?
Was it… going viral?
Hershel had done well. Green even found himself missing the man.
At the same time, Green finally understood why Jaime had been so oddly hostile toward him.
Wait… Myrcella was only eight or nine.
From Green's point of view, she was just a child. What wicked thoughts could he possibly have toward her?
He mentally reviewed his past behavior and found nothing inappropriate—nothing that could be misunderstood.
Still, the thought angered him. Was Jaime suspicious of everyone—or just him?
…
Maintaining a neutral expression, Green said, "So Princess Myrcella heard the story of the mermaid?"
Jaime gave a curt nod, face stiff as stone.
"The story of the beautiful maiden originates from Baron Klebs's Mermaid's Harbor…"
Green had a petty streak. After a pause, he added deliberately, "Ser Jaime, since she is a princess, and this is a private audience… should I bring flowers?"
The moment he said it, Jaime's face turned to stone.
Green stifled a chuckle.
Jaime's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. "Princess Myrcella is still a child. She wouldn't accept flowers from a stranger."
Green nodded solemnly. "Of course. As a princess of noble birth, even at her young age, she must be protected."
At last, Jaime's lips curved—just slightly.
Then Green added, "But I'm different. I'm one of her own."
Jaime came to a sudden stop.
Seeing this, Green glanced around and asked innocently, "Is something the matter, Ser Jaime?"
Jaime was fuming inside, but helpless. Come to think of it, Green really was innocent.
He could only blame Tyrion and his terrible advice. His brotherly love for Tyrion dropped a notch.
Jaime resumed walking. "You don't need to bring flowers."
Sensing his earlier words had sounded harsh, he cleared his throat and added, "Young baron… Princess Myrcella doesn't care for gifts."
Green shrugged. "I'll do as you say, Ser Jaime."
.
.
.
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