She could have slapped him. Gyles Rosby made to kiss her hand, but only succeeded in coughing on her fingers instead. Mace had kissed her cheeks.
Pycelle had told her that she had not lost a son, but gained a daughter. Tyrion had made some poor jape, but the King had laughed, and so everyone else did as well.
...
Oberyn plied her with compliments and charm, which she bore with disdain. That whore Arianne came dressed so wantonly that most men could not avert their gaze, though at least her bastard cousins had some measure of propriety in comparison. Lord Randyll offered a stiff bow and even stiffer handshake.
All the while, Lord Tywin looked on silently. Her father's eyes were cold and threatening, watching carefully his daughter for any misbehaviour.
Jaime escorted her to the Small Hall, where a feast was being readied. "I blame you for all this," she whispered as they walked. "Let them be wed, you said. Margaery should be mourning Joffrey, not marrying her brother. She should be as sick with grief as I am. I do not believe she is a maid. Renly had a cock, didn't he? He was Robert's brother, he surely had a cock. If that disgusting old crone thinks that I will allow my son to-"
"You will be rid of Lady Olenna soon enough," Jaime broke in. "She returns to Highgarden on the morrow."
"So she says." Cersei knew better than to trust any Tyrell promise.
"She's leaving," Jaime insisted. "And half the Tyrell strength is going with her. Garlan has already left. In a few days, the only roses left will be Margaery, her ladies, and Lord Mace."
"And Ser Loras. Or have you forgotten your Sworn Brother?"
"Ser Loras is a knight of the Kingsguard."
"Ser Loras is so Tyrell he pisses rosewater. He should never have been given a white cloak."
"He would not have been my choice, I'll grant you. But no one troubled to consult me. Loras will do well enough, I think. Once a man dons that white cloak, it changes him."
"It certainly changed you, and not for the better."
Jaime smiled wanly, "I love you too, sweet sister."
He held the door for her, and walked her to the high table and her seat beside the King and her father. Margaery was on the other side of Tommen, in the seat of honour. When she came in arm-in-arm with her little King, she made a point of stopping to kiss Cersei's cheeks and throw her arms around her. "Your Grace," the girl said, bold as polished brass, "I feel as though I have a second mother now. I pray that we shall be very close, united by our love for your sweet son."
"I loved both my sons." Behind Margaery, Cersei could see Tommen quirk a single eyebrow at her choice of words.
"Joffrey is in my prayers as well. I loved him dearly, though I never had the chance to know him."
Liar, she thought. If you loved him even for an instant, you wouldn't be in such an unseemly rush to wed his brother. His crown is all you ever wanted. If she could have, she would have slapped the blushing bride right there upon the dais, in full view of the court.
Much like the ceremony, the wedding feast was quite modest. Only seven courses were served. Butterbumps and Moon Boy entertained the guests. Musicians entertained the guests, with only one singer who sang a few love-songs and retired. "What a disappointment," Lady Olenna loudly complained. "I was hoping to hear the Rains of Castamere."
Lord Tywin did not rise to the bait.
Whenever Cersei looked at the old crone, the face of Maggy the Frog floated to the surface, wrinkled and terrible and wise. All old women look alike, she tried to tell herself, that's all it is. And though in truth Olenna looked nothing like her, the sight of her nasty little smile was enough to put Cersei back in Maggy's tent again. She could still remember the smell of it, stuffed with queer eastern spices. The softness of her gums as she sucked the blood from Cersei's finger.
Queen you shall be, the old woman had promised, with her lips still wet and red and glistening, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear. Cersei glanced past Tommen to Margaery. She is pretty enough, she had to admit, but most of that is youth. Even peasant girls are pretty at a certain age, when they are still fresh and innocent and unspoiled, and most of them have the same brown hair and brown eyes as she does. Only a fool would ever claim her more beautiful than me.
The world was full of fools, however. Most of all herself, for being taken in by that miserable old hag, so many years ago.
Her mood was not improved when Mace Tyrell arose to lead the toasts, swaying slightly, smiling at his pretty little daughter, and in a booming voice said, "To the King and Queen!" The other sheep all baaaaaaaed along with him. "The King and Queen!" they all cried, smashing their cups together, "The King and Queen!" She had no choice but to drink along with them, and even the little King, who had yet to partake in any wine, was forced to have a cup or two.
Cersei drank several cups of wine, and pushed her food around a golden plate. Her stomach refused to settle. Jaime ate even less than her, and seldom deigned to occupy his seat on the dais. He is more nervous than I, Cersei realised as she watched him prowl the hall, twitching aside the tapestries with his good hand to assure himself that no one was hiding behind them. Only her father and Tommen seemed relaxed, though she noted that even his appetite seemed diminished.
My son is safe, Cersei told herself. No harm can come to him, not here, not now. Yet every time she looked at him, she saw Joffrey clutching his throat. And when the boy began to cough the Queen's heart seized for a moment, knocking over a serving girl in her haste to ensure he was safe, relaxing only when the fit passed and he sipped some water with a smile on his face.
"Only a little wine that went the wrong way," Margaery assured her. She kissed Tommen's fingers, taking his hand in her own. "See, you scared your mother half to death."
It was more than Cersei could bear to watch. I cannot let them see me cry, she thought, tears welling up in her eyes. She wandered past Meryn Trant and out into the back passage. Finally alone, she allowed herself a shuddering sob, and then another. A woman may weep, but not a queen.
"Your Grace?" said a voice behind her. "Do I intrude?"
It was a woman's voice, flavored with the accents of the east. For an instant she feared that Maggy the Frog was speaking to her from the grave. But it was only Lord Merryweather's wife.
"The Small Hall is so stuffy," Cersei heard herself say. "The smoke was making my eyes water."
"And mine, Your Grace." Lady Merryweather was as tall as the queen, but dark instead of fair, raven-haired and olive-skinned and younger by a decade. She offered the queen a pale blue handkerchief of silk and lace. "I have a son as well. I know that I shall weep rivers on the day he weds."
Cersei wiped her cheeks, furious that she had let her tears be seen. "My thanks," she said stiffly.
"Your Grace, I... " The Myrish woman lowered her voice. "There is something you must know. Your maid is bought and paid for. She tells Lady Margaery everything you do."
"Senelle?" Sudden fury twisted in the Queen's belly. Was there no one she could trust? "You are certain of this?"
"Have her followed. Margaery never meets with her directly. Her cousins are her ravens, they bring her messages."
"If this true, why tell me? You are one of Margaery's companions. Why betray her?"
Cersei had learned suspicions at her father's knee, and this could well be some kind of trap, meant to ensnare her or sow discord between lion and rose. "Longtable may be sworn to Highgarden, but I am of Myr, and my loyalty is to my husband and son. I want only what is best of them."
"I see." In the passage, Cersei could smell the woman, and under her perfumes she smelled ambition. She gave testimony at Tyrion's trial, Cersei suddenly recalled. She saw the Imp put the poison in Joff's cup and was not afraid to say so. Of course, she had been lying, but that didn't much bother Cersei. "I shall look into this," she promised. "And if what you say is true, you will be rewarded."
And if you've lied to me again, I'll have your tongue, and your lord husband's lands and gold as well.
"Your Grace is kind," Lady Merryweather smiled. "And beautiful."
When Cersei gathered the courage to enter the Small Hall again, she found Jaime observing the proceedings from the corner, eyes shifting relentlessly as Tommen addressed the Hall, giving a speech to the sheep. "It was only a small gulp of wine that went down the wrong way," Jaime whispered. "Though it startled me as well."
"My belly is such a knot I cannot eat," she growled at him. "The wine tastes of bile. This wedding was a mistake."
"This wedding was necessary. The boy is safe."
"Fool. No one who ever wears a crown is safe." She looked about the hall, at all the lords and ladies paying rapt attention. Lords Rowan and Tarly were sharing furtive glances as the King spoke.
Uncle Kevan sat brooding over his wine. The Redwyne boys, Horror and Slobber both, were sat next to Lancel. The Dornish whores continued to attract glances, even as the King demanded full attention. Grand Maester Pycelle looked half-asleep.
...
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