A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

true. Do you think our little queen is pretty?”
    Ser Osney drew back, wary. “I suppose. For a girl. I’d sooner have a woman.”
    â€œWhy not both?” she whispered. “Pluck the little rose for me, and you will not find me to be ungrateful.”
    â€œThe little . . . Margaery, you mean?” Ser Osney’s ardor was wilting in his breeches. “She’s the king’s wife. Wasn’t there some Kingsguard who lost his head for bedding the king’s wife?”
    â€œAges ago.”
She was his king’s mistress, not his wife, and his head was the only thing he did not lose. Aegon dismembered him piece by piece, and made the woman watch.
Cersei did not want Osney dwelling on that ancient unpleasantness, however. “Tommen is not Aegon the Unworthy. Have no fear, he will do as I bid him. I mean for Margaery to lose her head, not you.”
    That gave him pause. “Her maidenhead, you mean?”
    â€œThat too. Assuming she has one still.” She traced his scars again. “Unless you think Margaery would prove unresponsive to your . . . charms?”
    Osney gave her a wounded look. “She likes me well enough. Them cousins of hers are always teasing with me about my nose. How big it is, and all. The last time Megga did that, Margaery told them to stop and said I had a lovely face.”
    â€œThere you are, then.”
    â€œThere I am,” the man agreed, in a doubtful tone, “but where am I going to be if she . . . if I . . . after we . . . ?”
    â€œ. . . do the deed?” Cersei gave him a barbed smile. “Lying with a queen is treason. Tommen would have no choice but to send you to the Wall.”
    â€œThe Wall?” he said with dismay.
    It was all she could do not to laugh.
No, best not. Men hate being laughed at.
“A black cloak would go well with your eyes, and that black hair of yours.”
    â€œNo one returns from the Wall.”
    â€œYou will. All you need to do is kill a boy.”
    â€œWhat boy?”
    â€œA bastard boy in league with Stannis. He’s young and green, and you’ll have a hundred men.”
    Kettleblack was afraid, she could smell it on him, but he was too proud to own up to that fear.
Men are all alike.
“I’ve killed more boys than I can count,” he insisted. “Once this boy is dead, I’d get my pardon from the king?”
    â€œThat, and a lordship.”
Unless Snow’s brothers hang you first.
“A queen must have a consort. One who knows no fear.”
    â€œLord Kettleblack?” A slow smile spread across his face, and his scars flamed red. “Aye, I like the sound o’ that. A lordly lord . . .”
    â€œ. . . and fit to bed a queen.”
    He frowned. “The Wall is cold.”
    â€œAnd I am warm.” Cersei put her arms about his neck. “Bed a girl and kill a boy and I am yours. Do you have the courage?”
    Osney thought a moment before he nodded. “I am your man.”
    â€œYou are, ser.” She kissed him, and let him have a little taste of tongue before she broke away. “Enough for now. The rest must wait. Will you dream of me tonight?”
    â€œAye.” His voice was hoarse.
    â€œAnd when you’re abed with our Maid Margaery?” she asked him, teasing. “When you’re in her, will you dream of me then?”
    â€œI will,” swore Osney Kettleblack.
    â€œGood.”
    After he was gone, Cersei summoned Jocelyn to brush her hair out whilst she slipped off her shoes and stretched like a cat.
I was made for this,
she told herself. It was the sheer elegance of it that pleased her most. Even Mace Tyrell would not dare defend his darling daughter if she was caught in the act with the likes of Osney Kettleblack, and neither Stannis Baratheon nor Jon Snow would have cause to wonder why Osney was being sent to the Wall. She would see to it that Ser Osmund was the one to discover his brother with the little queen; that way the loyalty of the other two Kettleblacks need not be impugned.
If Father could only see me now, he would not be so quick to speak of marrying me off again. A pity he’s so dead. Him and Robert, Jon Arryn, Ned Stark, Renly Baratheon, all dead. Only Tyrion remains, and not for long.
    That night the queen summoned Lady Merryweather to her bedchamber. “Will you take a cup of wine?” she asked her.
    â€œA small one.” The Myrish woman laughed. “A big