"Has the royal hunt been held on schedule?" asked Lord Jon Arryn suddenly.
It was the second time. He had already asked the same question yesterday.
Petyr, head slightly bowed, let a flicker of mockery flash at the corner of his lips before it vanished."Yes. They have all departed. The noble ladies of the Crownlands arrived as arranged. You may rest easy."
Jon Arryn gave a slight nod."Petyr, remember this—never underestimate such gatherings. Without notice, they bind men's hearts."
Placing a hand over his chest, Petyr inclined his head with utmost deference."Thank you for your counsel, my lord. I shall take it to heart."
"The queen…"
Sensing Jon Arryn had fallen into thought, Petyr quietly held his tongue.
Only after a long while did the Hand speak again."I have managed affairs of the realm for many years and met all manner of men. Yet whenever I think of that young Baron Crabb, unease takes hold of me. It is absurd—he is but a youth. I cannot say why I feel this way."
Petyr's eyes flickered. He offered comfort:"You may be too weary, my lord. In such a state, anyone might feel unsettled."
But Jon Arryn ignored the reassurance, continuing instead:"Queen Cersei's willful nature is unpredictable. Such a character must never be allowed to hold the sword. She will one day act with shocking boldness. Trust an old man's judgment. My honor forbids me from slandering Her Grace without cause."
His frail hand trembled as he raised it; Petyr hurried forward and clasped it in both of his own.
"The people of the Crab Claw are beasts wearing human skins—bloodthirsty blades."
Jon Arryn was never one to exaggerate. At those words, Petyr felt a chill across the scar where Gawen Crabb's blade had once cut him.
"Petyr, we must find a way to take that blade from the queen's hand."
The meaning was clear: Jon Arryn wanted him to act against Baron Crabb—at the very least, to see him driven out of King's Landing.
Petyr felt a headache rising. He had little desire to deal with the young baron again so soon.
Through much reflection, Petyr had come to a sharper understanding of the game of thrones: noble houses built on military power, such as the Crabbs, would follow the rules only when it suited them. When pressed into disadvantage, they would abandon all pretense and wield naked violence instead.
Realizing this left Petyr with conflicting feelings.
Still, his expression betrayed nothing."My lord, in truth your plan is already sound—sending Baron Crabb against the Targaryen hatchlings. It is legitimate and beyond reproach."
Petyr was Jon Arryn's protégé, raised step by step into his present office. Few of the Hand's affairs were hidden from him.
Curling his lips in a subtle smile, he patted Jon Arryn's hand."Your mercy has already granted him a month's time. Should he refuse, he cannot remain in King's Landing, for His Grace King Robert would never…"
His gaze took on a tone of reverence."If he accepts, then he must leave all the same. The Targaryen younglings are across the Narrow Sea. My lord, you are a masterful player of this game. The board is already set—you need only await the report of victory."
The kingswood stretched beneath a clear blue sky, branches interlacing overhead.
The royal hunting party had arrived at their grounds without a drop of rain along the way.
Back in King's Landing, Gawen had already dispatched craftsmen conscripted for the hunt, ensuring the queen's pavilions were raised before her arrival. The floors inside were laid with planks, ready for her use.
That very morning, Petyr the carpet merchant had brought in his fine Myrish rugs, spreading them across the wooden floors.
Time had been too short for Gawen to do more, but he had spent the extra coin secured from Petyr Baelish where it mattered most—on Queen Cersei's comfort.
And so the queen, well pleased, would not quibble over how many gold dragons he had spent or saved.
As for the rest of the camp, the work continued as per custom, servants and laborers bustling with poles and canvas.
Within the queen's pavilion, only Cersei and Gawen were present.
The queen of the Seven Kingdoms was no lover of dust or country roads; she preferred the seclusion of the Red Keep. Thus, she was more than satisfied with Gawen's attentiveness.
Cersei wore a sheer gown of gauzy silk, slit high, her form revealed in tantalizing glimpses. Gawen had to avert his eyes, fixing them instead upon the swirling patterns of the Myrish carpet beneath his feet.
I mustn't break character, he thought. Half the pleasure for her is in the game.
Cersei swirled a goblet of summerwine, her gaze sliding sideways toward the baron. A faint smile curved her lips.
"Baron Crabb, has Highgarden replied?"
Raising his brown eyes to meet hers, Gawen answered,"Yes, Your Grace. Their envoy has only just arrived. Since my men were stationed on the perimeter, I had him taken elsewhere. None here will know of it."
Her fingers traced the rim of her cup before she took a sip."You did well. Stopping the puffed-up fish's envoy was the right move. Keep him out of sight—for now."
Gawen lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture."I only made the preparations out of habit. Truthfully, I would have preferred they prove unnecessary. My guess is the Lord of Highgarden was so overjoyed to hear of your envoy that he rushed to send one of his own."
After a pause, he added,"Our ravens hinted there was weighty business to discuss. Normally there would be an understanding—such as when I go under the guise of buying grain."
Thus he served both his queen and his lands, handling royal errands while securing food for his people.
Cersei's green eyes narrowed as she tilted her head."My little baron… have you uncovered something?"
Spreading his hands, Gawen replied,"A routine matter, yet touched with an irregularity. That suggests hidden currents we have not foreseen. Perhaps someone within Highgarden has no wish to see its lord and the queen grow… friendly?"
With a sharp crack, Cersei set down her cup, eyes glinting cold."Who? Who dares meddle in my affairs?"
Even if I knew, I couldn't tell her, Gawen thought grimly. If she sent me to Highgarden to put someone's head on a pike, what then? Working for Queen Cersei is no easy trade…
He almost missed Ser Jaime. At least the Kingslayer would sometimes step in when his sister's temper grew too heated. Lately, he had been strangely absent.
Pouring wine smoothly, Gawen said,"Any man in Highgarden could be suspect, Your Grace. No one certain as yet."
After filling her cup, he replaced the flagon."But when I arrive at Highgarden—if any seek to obstruct Your Grace—I will deal with them, one by one."
Reclining with languid grace, Cersei lifted her cup once more, lips curving into a smile."Then they had best beware. They do not yet know how sharp your blade truly is."
Raising the wine to her lips, she tipped back her chin, drank, and declared,"I agree."
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