A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

felt a deal more hopeful than he had at dawn.
Time, that’s all I truly need, time to piece it all together. Once the
chain is done . . .
He opened the door to his
solar.
    Cersei turned away from the window, her skirts swirling around her slender
hips. “How
dare
you ignore my summons!”
    â€œWho admitted you to my tower?”
    â€œ
Your
tower? This is my son’s royal castle.”
    â€œSo they tell me.” Tyrion was not amused. Crawn would be even less so; his
Moon Brothers had the guard today. “I was about to come to you, as it
happens.”
    â€œWere you?”
    He swung the door shut behind him. “You doubt me?”
    â€œAlways, and with good reason.”
    â€œI’m hurt.” Tyrion waddled to the sideboard for a cup of wine. He knew no
surer way to work up a thirst than talking with Cersei. “If I’ve given you
offense, I would know how.”
    â€œWhat a disgusting little worm you are. Myrcella is my only daughter.
Did you truly imagine that I would allow you to sell her like a bag of
oats?”
    Myrcella,
he thought.
Well, that egg has hatched. Let’s see what
color the chick is.
“Hardly a bag of oats. Myrcella is a princess. Some
would say this is what she was born for. Or did you plan to marry her to
Tommen?”
    Her hand lashed out, knocking the wine cup from his hand to spill on the floor.
“Brother or no, I should have your tongue out for that.
I
am
Joffrey’s regent, not you, and I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to
this Dornishman the way I was shipped to Robert Baratheon.”
    Tyrion shook wine off his fingers and sighed. “Why not? She’d be a deal safer
in Dorne than she is here.”
    â€œAre you utterly ignorant or simply perverse? You know as well as I that the
Martells have no cause to love us.”
    â€œThe Martells have every cause to hate us. Nonetheless, I expect them to
agree. Prince Doran’s grievance against House Lannister goes back only a
generation, but the Dornishmen have warred against Storm’s End and Highgarden
for a thousand years, and Renly has taken Dorne’s allegiance for granted.
Myrcella is nine, Trystane Martell eleven. I have proposed they wed when she
reaches her fourteenth year. Until such time, she would be an honored guest at
Sunspear, under Prince Doran’s protection.”
    â€œA hostage,” Cersei said, mouth tightening.
    â€œAn honored guest,” Tyrion insisted, “and I suspect Martell

will treat Myrcella more kindly than Joffrey has treated Sansa Stark. I had in
mind to send Ser Arys Oakheart with her. With a knight of the Kingsguard as her
sworn shield, no one is like to forget who or what she is.”
    â€œSmall good Ser Arys will do her if Doran Martell decides that my daughter’s
death would wash out his sister’s.”
    â€œMartell is too honorable to murder a nine-year-old girl, particularly one as
sweet and innocent as Myrcella. So long as he holds her he can be reasonably
certain that we’ll keep faith on our side, and the terms are too rich to
refuse. Myrcella is the least part of it. I’ve also offered him his sister’s
killer, a council seat, some castles on the
Marches . . .”
    â€œToo much.” Cersei paced away from him, restless as a lioness, skirts
swirling. “You’ve offered too much, and without my authority or
consent.”
    â€œThis is the Prince of Dorne we are speaking of. If I’d offered less, he’d
likely spit in my face.”
    â€œToo much!”
Cersei insisted, whirling back.
    â€œWhat would
you
have offered him, that hole between your legs?”
Tyrion said, his own anger flaring.
    This time he saw the slap coming. His head snapped around with a
crack.
“Sweet sweet sister,” he said, “I promise you, that was the
last time you will ever strike me.”
    His sister laughed. “Don’t threaten me, little man. Do you think Father’s
letter keeps you safe? A piece of paper. Eddard

Stark had a piece of paper too, for all the good it did him.”
    Eddard Stark did not have the City Watch,
Tyrion thought,
nor my
clansmen, nor the sellswords that Bronn has hired. I do.
Or so he hoped.
Trusting in Varys, in Ser Jacelyn Bywater, in Bronn. Lord Stark had probably
had his delusions as well.
    Yet he said nothing. A wise man did not pour wildfire on a brazier. Instead he
poured