A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

when she burned the Tower of the Hand. The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She’d stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining.
She is crying,
Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said.
    The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. A king has no secrets from his Kingsguard. Relations between Aerys and his queen had been strained during the last years of his reign. They slept apart and did their best to avoid each other during the waking hours. But whenever Aerys gave a man to the flames, Queen Rhaella would have a visitor in the night. The day he burned his mace-and-dagger Hand, Jaime and Jon Darry had stood at guard outside her bedchamber whilst the king took his pleasure. “You’re hurting me,” they had heard Rhaella cry through the oaken door. “You’re
hurting
me.” In some queer way, that had been worse than Lord Chelsted’s screaming. “We are sworn to protect her as well,” Jaime had finally been driven to say. “We are,” Darry allowed, “but not from him.”
    Jaime had only seen Rhaella once after that, the morning of the day she left for Dragonstone. The queen had been cloaked and hooded as she climbed inside the royal wheelhouse that would take her down Aegon’s High Hill to the waiting ship, but he heard her maids whispering after she was gone. They said the queen looked as if some beast had savaged her, clawing at her thighs and chewing on her breasts.
A crowned beast,
Jaime knew.
    By the end the Mad King had become so fearful that he would allow no blade in his presence, save for the swords his Kingsguard wore. His beard was matted and unwashed, his hair a silver-gold tangle that reached his waist, his fingernails cracked yellow claws nine inches long. Yet still the blades tormented him, the ones he could never escape, the blades of the Iron Throne. His arms and legs were always covered with scabs and half-healed cuts.
    Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat,
Jaime remembered, studying his sister’s smile.
Let him be the king of ashes.
“Your Grace,” he said, “might we have a private word?”
    â€œAs you wish. Tommen, it is past time you had your lesson for the day. Go with the Grand Maester.”
    â€œYes, Mother. We are learning about Baelor the Blessed.”
    Lady Merryweather took her leave as well, kissing the queen on both cheeks. “Shall I return for supper, Your Grace?”
    â€œI shall be very cross with you if you do not.”
    Jaime could not help but note the way the Myrish woman moved her hips as she walked.
Every step is a seduction.
When the door closed behind her, he cleared his throat and said, “First these Kettleblacks, then Qyburn, now her. It’s a queer menagerie you are keeping these days, sweet sister.”
    â€œI am growing very fond of Lady Taena. She amuses me.”
    â€œShe is one of Margaery Tyrell’s companions,” Jaime reminded her. “She’s informing on you to the little queen.”
    â€œOf course she is.” Cersei went to the sideboard to fill her cup anew. “Margaery was thrilled when I asked her leave to take Taena on as my companion. You should have heard her. ‘
She will be a sister to you, as she’s been to me. Of course you must have her! I have my cousins and my other ladies.’
Our little queen does not want me to be lonely.”
    â€œIf you know she is a spy, why take her on?”
    â€œMargaery is not half so clever as she thinks. She has no notion what a sweet serpent she has in that Myrish slut. I use Taena to feed the little queen what I want her to know. Some of it is even true.” Cersei’s eyes were bright with mischief. “And Taena tells me everything Maid Margaery is doing.”
    â€œDoes she? How much do you know about this woman?”
    â€œI know she is a mother, with a young son that she wants to rise high in this world. She will do whatever is required to see that he does. Mothers are all the same. Lady Merryweather may be a serpent, but she is far from stupid. She knows I can do more for her than Margaery,