Sitting on the Iron Throne was more uncomfortable than expected, but the feeling of being a king was unparalleled. Returning to his chamber and settling into a soft, comfortable chair, Renly Baratheon let out a sigh of relief… tinged with a hint of regret. Aside from his crown, only two of the Seven Kingdoms currently recognized his claim. Compared to his brothers, he could only be considered “two-sevenths of a king.”

The Westerlands had been ravaged by the war between the Five Kings and had chosen neutrality. Dorne had yet to declare support for anyone, maintaining an ambiguous stance. As for the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands… though they had come to King’s Landing, it was not to meet him or swear allegiance, but with their armies in tow, intending to drive him from the throne.

King’s Landing currently had over 30,000 troops from the Stormlands and Riverlands, as well as 10,000 from the city watch and royal garrison. The number of defenders was roughly equal to, or even slightly greater than, the attackers. Still, Renly had chosen to retreat behind the city walls and refuse battle. Militarily, it was a sign of weakness, but Renly believed he knew his own strengths. In terms of command ability and combat experience, neither he nor his Riverland and Stormland forces could compare with the Northern coalition led by Robb Stark, fresh off a major victory in the Westerlands.

Let others call him a coward if they wished. In the end, it was the last man standing who laughed. History had too many tales of men who died or lost their thrones trying to prove their courage. Renly had no intention of joining them.

…

“The army led by Randyll Tarly will reach King’s Landing no later than the day after tomorrow. If the Northerners still refuse to retreat, we’ll strike from within and without, and crush them completely!” Loras Tyrell was full of confidence. “And if we manage to capture Robb Stark as well, this war could end early.”

“I don’t know much about warfare, but I doubt it’ll be that easy,” said Margaery, shaking her head. “I’ve been watching from the walls the past two days. The Northern camps are heavily fortified with deep trenches and high ramparts. Their scouts move in and out constantly, and they seem prepared for any eventuality. They just defeated Randyll Tarly in the West, their morale is high, but they haven’t grown arrogant. Many seasoned commanders lead them, and their strength in battle is formidable. Even with Randyll’s reinforcements, our numerical advantage is only about two-to-one. And we still need to guard against Stannis landing at Blackwater Bay at any time…”

“Lord Eddard Stark still refuses to yield?”

“If he meant to surrender, he would have done so already.” Margaery frowned. No matter what terms were offered, Eddard held firm. He refused to acknowledge Renly as king. Even she, for all her charm, could not sway a man so steadfast and unafraid of death. “Rather than waste time trying to persuade the unpersuadable, I’m more concerned about his health.”

Loras turned, confused. “It’s just a minor injury. Why hasn’t he healed yet?”

“Not only has he failed to recover, I’ve noticed something strange,” Margaery said uneasily. “Lord Eddard is exhibiting the same symptoms King Robert showed before he died—weakness, trouble relieving himself, and a foul odor that lingers even after bathing.”

“The same symptoms Robert had? That can’t be.” Loras looked incredulous. “Robert’s heart and lungs were pierced by a dagger. That was fatal. But Lord Eddard only fell from his horse when he was captured, and his leg was injured. That’s completely different!”

“A leg injury shouldn’t cause symptoms like internal organ failure. Wait…” Renly didn’t miss the implication in Margaery’s words. He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. “You’re saying someone is trying to kill Eddard, so I’ll lose the throne and the Seven Kingdoms won’t know peace?”

“There’s reason to suspect, but no evidence.”

“It was that old bastard Pycelle,” Renly said coldly, naming his suspect without hesitation. “He was the only one in the Red Keep with access to poison.”

Margaery offered a bitter smile. “Your Grace, you forget—Pycelle left the Red Keep after you entered King’s Landing.”

“This…” Renly paused, realizing she was right. After a moment of confusion, he muttered, “Have Varys investigate what Pycelle’s been up to lately. Who he’s met with.”

“Your Grace suspects Pycelle. I suspect your Master of Whisperers. You plan to replace the Small Council, do you not? Why not start with the Spider? That eunuch of unknown origin… who knows where his true loyalty lies?” Margaery shook her head. “Still, it’s all conjecture. With no proof, the safest course is to keep everyone under watch. I’ve already replaced the healers and guards attending Lord Eddard with people I brought from Highgarden. Let’s see if his condition improves.”

Loras grew uneasy. Anyone with sense knew the consequences if Eddard died in their custody. “If he can’t be cured, send him back to his son at once. No matter what, he cannot die in the Red Keep.”

“It’s not that simple. While he’s in our hands, his son won’t dare storm the city outright. But if we return that stubborn man to their camp…” Margaery gave her brother a sharp look. “Eddard Stark’s reputation in the North far exceeds the king’s. He’s one of the most respected commanders in the Seven Kingdoms. If he returns to Robb and takes command, father and son fighting together… we’ll be in deep trouble.”

“It’s wrong to keep him, and wrong to release him… What now?” Loras asked, irritated. Political schemes and strategic planning were still beyond the grasp of the young and handsome Rainbow Knight.

A gust of wind blew the curtains inward, setting the great colored chandelier in the middle of the room—a wedding gift from the chief logistics officer—into a slow spin. The colored light refracted through the crystal cast dreamlike glows across the room.

“Don’t panic. Time is on our side.” Margaery thought she saw something slip in through the window, but the light from the chandelier stung her eyes. When she blinked again, she saw nothing. “The Starks brought over 20,000 men… nearly half the North’s able-bodied population. With winter nearing and the final harvest upon them, the longer they linger in the South, the more likely they’ll lose their crops. Meanwhile, in the Riverlands…”

“Given time, the Reach can raise another 80,000 men,” Loras said confidently. “If two-to-one isn’t enough to beat these Northern savages, we’ll make it three-to-one. Or four-to-one!”

Winter is coming. When did even King’s Landing become so cold? Margaery rubbed her arm, feeling the chill, glanced out the window in puzzlement, then turned back. “Don’t just rely on overwhelming numbers. The Reach can indeed raise hundreds of thousands, but untrained peasants are no better than straw dummies before battle-hardened Northern soldiers. The threats don’t just come from the North. We also face potential enemies from Dragonstone, Dorne, and the Iron Islands. Until we know where everyone stands, we can’t afford to empty our coffers or expose our flanks.”

“Dorne doesn’t matter. We can hold the Prince’s Pass with a thousand men. They’ll never break out. The real problem is the pirates and mercenaries on the Narrow Sea. They’re getting bolder, even raiding the castles of my minor vassals. That’s shaken their confidence, and now everyone wants to return home to defend their lands… I can’t summon more troops to King’s Landing, and I have to send men to protect these smaller lords. Because of this, the Storm’s End fleet can’t leave port.”

“Let the fleet remain in the Stormlands. Even if they came, they couldn’t match the fleet of Dragonstone or Stannis’s forces. Also, Your Grace must not redeploy the garrison at Storm’s End. It’s your birthplace and the foundation of your rise. It holds great significance and must not be lost.” Margaery thought for a moment. “What’s most critical now is the attitude of the Iron Islands. We’ve always looked down on them, but if they’ll recognize your kingship and follow your commands, we could have them harass the North or attack Dragonstone. Or we could send them to confront the pirates of the Narrow Sea. And if they’re confirmed not to be enemies, the fleets stationed at the Arbor and the Shield Islands—currently there to defend against the Ironborn—could be redirected to Blackwater Bay. That would give us the upper hand on land and sea.”

“Excellent idea. I’ve ignored the Iron Islands for too long. That was a grave mistake. Let my dear queen handle this matter. I trust you. Whatever the Greyjoys ask for, as long as it’s not outrageous, agree to it.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Why is it so cold?” Renly blinked in confusion, hunching his shoulders as he stood. “It’s getting late. Go get some rest, dear.”

—

It was time to rest, yet it was hard to believe that the king and queen, newlyweds on what should have been their honeymoon, had never once shared a bed. There were two men and one woman in the room, and when night came, Margaery, the wife, was asked to retire elsewhere. Even if the man who stayed behind to serve the king was also a Tyrell… what would the servants in the Red Keep think?

Margaery’s confusion and unease grew day by day. But Renly had kept his promise. She was now a true queen. The Tyrells had become royal in-laws, gained influence at court, and established themselves in King’s Landing and the Red Keep. Houses who once looked down on the Tyrells were now polite and deferential.

Honestly, lack of intimacy was not the end of the world. She had little to complain about…

A gust of wind blew out several candles, leaving only the lamp inside the colored chandelier burning. Its spinning gradually slowed. Margaery thought she saw a dark figure flit by again, but when she looked up, she only saw Renly’s shadow on the floor. She looked around, confused, but found nothing unusual. Finally, she bowed and said, “Very well. Your Grace, please rest early.”

Renly could hear the frustration in her voice. He understood the importance of producing an heir in a political marriage. But he was only twenty-one, healthy and strong, and he couldn’t bring himself to lie with a woman—against his nature. Especially when his lover was right beside him.

Renly watched Margaery walk toward the door, his expression apologetic. The wind continued to stir through the open window, the candlelight flickered, and the colorful rays from the chandelier danced across the walls. Shadows moved with it… Then came a sudden whoosh of air. The rose of Highgarden turned her head sharply, eyes wide, and cried out, “Your Grace, behind you!”

“Stop!”

The sharp sound of Loras drawing his sword rang out. Renly looked at the Tyrell siblings as if they’d seen a ghost. He turned, puzzled… and saw a dark face, seemingly made of smoke, with features that vaguely resembled his brother, Stannis Baratheon.

In the next instant, he lost all consciousness.

(To be continued.)

***

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