A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Raynard. “It was him I summoned.”
    Septon Raynard assumed a regretful tone. “His High Holiness sent me in his stead, and bade me tell Your Grace that the Seven have sent him forth to battle wickedness.”
    â€œHow? By preaching chastity along the Street of Silk? Does he think praying over whores will turn them back to virgins?”
    â€œOur bodies were shaped by our Father and Mother so we might join male to female and beget trueborn children,” Raynard replied. “It is base and sinful for women to sell their holy parts for coin.”
    The pious sentiment would have been more convincing if the queen had not known that Septon Raynard had special friends in every brothel on the Street of Silk. No doubt he had decided that echoing the High Sparrow’s twitterings was preferable to scrubbing floors. “Do not presume to preach at me,” she told him. “The brothel keepers have been complaining, and rightly so.”
    â€œIf sinners speak, why should the righteous listen?”
    â€œThese sinners feed the royal coffers,” the queen said bluntly, “and their pennies help pay the wages of my gold cloaks and build galleys to defend our shores. There is trade to be considered as well. If King’s Landing had no brothels, the ships would go to Duskendale or Gulltown. His High Holiness promised me peace in my streets. Whoring helps to keep that peace. Common men deprived of whores are apt to turn to rape. Henceforth let His High Holiness do his praying in the sept where it belongs.”
    The queen had expected to hear from Lord Gyles as well, but instead Grand Maester Pycelle appeared, grey-faced and apologetic, to tell her that Rosby was too weak to leave his bed. “Sad to say, I fear Lord Gyles must join his noble forebears soon. May the Father judge him justly.”
    If Rosby dies, Mace Tyrell and the little queen will try and force Garth the Gross on me again.
“Lord Gyles has had that cough for
years,
and it never killed him before,” she complained. “He coughed through half of Robert’s reign and all of Joffrey’s. If he is dying now, it can only be because someone wants him dead.”
    Grand Maester Pycelle blinked in disbelief. “Your Grace? Wh-who would want Lord Gyles dead?”
    â€œHis heir, perhaps.”
Or the little queen.
“Some woman he once scorned.”
Margaery and Mace and the Queen of Thorns, why not? Gyles is in their way.
“An old enemy. A new one. You.”
    The old man blanched. “Y-your Grace japes. I . . . I have purged his lordship, bled him, treated him with poultices and infusions . . . the mists give him some relief and sweetsleep helps with the violence of his coughing, but he is bringing up bits of lung with the blood now, I fear.”
    â€œBe that as it may. You will return to Lord Gyles and inform him that he does not have my leave to die.”
    â€œIf it please Your Grace.” Pycelle bowed stiffly.
    There was more, and more, and more, each petitioner more boring than the last. And that evening, when the last of them had finally gone and she was eating a simple supper with her son, she told him, “Tommen, when you say your prayers before bed, tell the Mother and the Father that you are thankful you are still a child. Being king is hard work. I promise you, you will not like it. They peck at you like a murder of crows. Every one wants a piece of your flesh.”
    â€œYes, Mother,” said Tommen, in a sad tone. The little queen had told him of Ser Loras, she understood. Ser Osmund said the boy had wept.
He is young. By the time he is Joff’s age he will not recall what Loras looked like.
“I wouldn’t mind them pecking, though,” her son went on to say. “I should go to court with you every day, to listen. Margaery says—”
    â€œâ€”a deal too much,” Cersei snapped. “For half a groat I’d gladly have her tongue torn out.”
    â€œDon’t you say that,”
Tommen shouted suddenly, his round little face turning red. “You leave her tongue alone. Don’t you touch her. I’m the king, not you.”
    She stared at him, incredulous. “What did you say?”
    â€œI’m the king. I get to say who has their tongues torn out, not you. I won’t let you hurt Margaery. I
won’t
. I forbid it.”
    Cersei took him by the ear and dragged him squealing to the door, where she found Ser Boros Blount