Chapter 280

Stone City Tower was a tower specially set up in Red Keep to lodge guests, but it has now been completely occupied by the Prime Minister, and the actual guests can only be driven to where the servants originally lived.

As for the servants, they could only choose other corners that really did not conform to guest etiquette; but the Red Keep is large enough, so they can always find a satisfactory place to stay.

But if they are dissatisfied, they had better go find trouble with Cersei, for a monarch as fiery and savage as she is rare these past few centuries, and she is definitely the first to dare set fire to buildings in the city with wildfire.

Her nature is born with an inexplicable foolish rashness—she likes to call it the bearing of a man, firmly believing that all men in history who achieved anything did so because they dared to whip out their penis before a crowd.

Near Stone City Tower, Jaime, with the help of a servant, took off his cloak.

Even if his defenses were good, the rain had no intention of truly letting him go; he felt his body filled with rainwater.

Damn it, he could have sent someone to summon the Prime Minister, but undoubtedly the Tyrells would consider this rude, or would send someone to reply on the pretext of rain to put him off. He lacked the energy to wrangle with the greedy Duke of Tyrell over these petty etiquette matters.

He felt he must have been cursed.

He held a high position, yet he increasingly felt dispirited and less free—what kind of logic is this?

The rain fell in sheets, hard to imagine this is the winter announced and confirmed by the Academy.

He had intended to shout for a servant to report, but amidst the rain he again heard strains of ensemble music coming from Stone City Tower, playing a cheerful summer tune. Hearing this, he felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

Perhaps the Duke of Tyrell is the king, and he is merely the diligent Hand of the King.

He did not wait for a report, following the music he went up the tower; two guards wearing rose insignia saw him, reached out to block him, and he shoved them aside without a word. They still lacked the courage to stop the lone Regent.

As he followed the sound into the hall of Stone City Tower, he saw only the Hand of the King, belly out, dancing with his daughter—that is, the current Queen—to the music.

As he stepped one foot into the hall, the dance and music almost instantly ceased; a gentle air began to settle, and the bleakness of the icy rain poured in with his arrival. He felt like a drenched lion that had inadvertently strayed into a flowery realm, exuding a tone utterly out of place with his surroundings.

"Your Highness the Regent?" the duke hesitated slightly, then approached with a smile, "I didn't expect you to grace us with your presence! Please, sit!" Having said that, he rebuked those behind him, "Why wasn't I notified?"

"I think this is my fault," Jaime said with a light smile, "Who let me get entranced by the music?"

"Your Highness the Regent," Queen Margaery lightly stepped before him, gave a slight bow, "Do you also like music?"

He liked it immensely; the sound of clashing arms and horses was the best music. "My father never forced me to learn anything but swordplay and music."

"No wonder people say you're a great warrior," the Queen said with a smile.

"The people you speak of may be overly polite, Your Majesty the Queen."

The Queen certainly possesses queenly qualities, no doubt, but having seen the king today, he did not intend to speak much with the Queen.

He did not simply sit down, but instead apologized individually to each southern noble lady or daughter who came forward to pay respects, then watched them leave.

"I am sorry, Duke. The kingdom is in turmoil; we must act swiftly…"

"Ah, but they're just a bunch of jumping clowns, irrelevant to the big picture. Let them hop about for two more days—what harm could it do?" After the unrelated men and women left, his expression lost the kindness he showed his daughter. It was obvious he was not pleased with Jaime disturbing his mood.

"Father," the Queen said, "the Regent braving the rain to come here surely isn't just to let the kingdom's rebels have an easy two days."

"Yeah, yeah, the Regent rescued you from the Sparrow's cell, and you can't wait to help him," the duke said, patting his belly indifferently.

"Two days is a long time, Father. When I was imprisoned, I didn't like counting time in days. But even so, I never imagined I'd be rescued this quickly—this is all thanks to the Regent." She looked earnestly at Jaime, as if not putting this credit on his head were his fault. "However, if we tolerate your 'jumping clowns' being active for two more days, I don't know how many extra people would suffer."

"You always make sense."

"Prime Minister, the Iron Throne has three urgent matters," he went straight to the point. "Originally there should have been four, but Stannis on Dragonstone is being tied down by Ser Loras, so he poses no temporary threat to King's Landing."

He felt he had completely changed. He actually had to flatter a young punk to win favor with his father.

The duke heard his words and couldn't help stroking his moustache and nodding.

Beside him, the Queen directed a maid to bring him a hot towel and hot wine, though he knew the Queen was also listening closely to his words. He took the towel, pressed it with one hand to his face, smelled a rare floral scent, and felt relaxed and warm.

This is a good start.

"The remaining three sides are the Riverlands west of King's Landing, the northern valleys, and the southeast Storm's End—frankly, Storm's End is the most important direction. That impostor and his mercenaries may not be much, but he claims to be the true dragon's son—a huge threat to the Iron Throne. If we tolerate his 'hopping' too long, more and more lords of divided loyalty will flock to him, and our situation will only worsen."

"I've heard the Golden Company numbers ten thousand," the Duke of Tyrell said hesitantly. "Although mercenaries aren't usually worth worrying about, if they hold a city it won't be so easy to take. Do they really have ten thousand?"

"The Golden Company's full strength is indeed ten thousand, but at most only three thousand have successfully crossed the sea, with others scattered on various islands." This is news from various quarters; he doubted the duke had been paying attention in the meeting, "If we keep waiting, we might end up facing the full ten thousand."

"Even if it's ten thousand, what then? I doubt that boy can command a thousand men. I've never heard of him commanding any battle, winning any great war or campaign—he's just a chick."

Maybe that's the case, but maybe it's another young wolf lord, another she-wolf. Damn him, while you are proven to be a sheer idiot, a useless sack.

"A chick can grow, too; moreover, if this chick lives long enough, when the news reaches Dorne, Prince Doran might recall that this impostor could be his own nephew."

"Oh, that does make sense. The Martells have always been trouble; if he seizes this opportunity…"

"If he seizes this opportunity he will surely retaliate wildly against the Iron Throne." The Queen cut off the duke's doubtful, hesitant words, "He hates the Lannisters just as they have always hated the Tyrells. If they succeed, you will not become Hand of the King, nor will you become the grandfather of the future king, and I will not be Queen; as for Loras, you had better prepare to discard this son—he has absolutely no patience to serve other kings, I guarantee, and when the king falls, he will not survive either."

Jaime couldn't help feeling relieved that the Queen herself was present.

"I know what you mean, reg… Regent," he patted his belly, "If you don't mind, shall we dine together? I've prepared blackwater bay swordfish—once caught, it doesn't live long, so it's fresh."

If all goes well, next will be the duke and his advisors conferring—this is the necessary procedure.

"Venison, wolf meat, or dragon meat are the freshest," he said, having no appetite for fish. "Excuse me, Prime Minister."

"I will see the Regent off," the Queen said.

The Queen's footsteps followed behind him, soft and quiet. He didn't know what to say.

Is having a queen like you on the Iron Throne a blessing to the nation? Damn it, he had just flattered her father, praised her brother, and now he's supposed to sing praises of this woman?

"Tommen will surely become a very good king, right?"

"He has that potential." He didn't know what a good king meant for whom. For the smallfolk, Robert was a good king, yet for the realm he was an outright disaster; as for Aerys, to the smallfolk he was also a good king, but to the nobility he was equally a disaster.

"He is very amiable," the Queen said lightly, but Jaime knew she was feigning nonchalance, "He will surely become a good king—if the Seven Kingdoms are at peace."

"Yet the realm is in rebellion on all fronts." Jaime stopped, looked at the Queen, and couldn't help adding. He felt he had never been alone with this Queen like this before.

"Yes, the realm is in rebellion on all fronts, so the Regent must devote himself all the more."

"The realm belongs to the Lannisters and the Tyrells, so the Prime Minister is likewise needed!"

"Absolutely correct, Your Highness the Regent."

Jaime continued down the stairs until he was almost out of the loft, after which they exchanged not a word.

"Your Majesty the Queen, please wait!" He had already seen the attendants waiting in the vestibule, shivering from the cold.

"Your Highness the Regent, if you have matters difficult to discuss with your father, you may freely send someone to seek me."

"How could this realm do without you!" Jaime heard his own lament, and for a moment he felt utterly weary.

He walked down the stairs, took the cloak the attendant had draped, and walked again into the cold rain curtain.