Chapter 7

"Did you leave them the gold?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, Your Grace," Ser Balon whispered, casting a wary glance around us. He was looking to the walls as if every tapestry and corner hid a spying enemy, and I noticed his hand never strayed far from the pommel of his sword. "A coin each, as you said."

I shot him a tight nod and turned to take a left on the first corner, down the narrow servant stairs, past the doors to the Queen's Ballroom, and out onto the yard. Tommen had lived his entire life within the walls of the Holdfast, and his mind had mapped out every known path in and out of the castle within a castle. We passed by Ser Meryn Trant guarding the drawbridge without fanfare—the man cared not for another pair of guardsmen out on duty, and Ser Balon even looked reticent about approaching the knight after I questioned his fealty. Just the same, we were able to cross the outer yard of the Red Keep proper, and the gold cloaks didn't spare a glance as they waved us through the great bronze gates. They weren't paid to keep anyone inside, only out.

I could feel Ser Balon's tension grow next to me as, instead of following the main thoroughfare going out of the Red Keep straight to Cobbler's Square, where I told him we were venturing to, we took a sharp right turn on the first alley I saw, and followed it for several minutes until we were skirting the outer reaches of the ramshackle district of Flea Bottom. There were very few people on the streets we passed, and the sight of the two of us dressed in Lannister cloaks was enough to send most of them scurrying away.

Ser Balon placed an uneasy hand on my shoulder. "Your Grace," he hissed, urgency in his voice. "I must insist we turn away. You told me we were going out to the markets… to see and hear the people of your city."

It was just as well he had stopped me here, for I'd glimpsed exactly what I was looking for on an alcove by the side of a small warehouse ahead. "And so we are, ser." I shrugged off his hand and swiped an arm toward the mother and babe pair huddled under the alcove, gaunt and grimy as they slept. "These are the people of my city as well. My proud subjects. What do you think of them, Ser Balon Swann of the Kingsguard?"

"Your Grace?"

"Go on, tell me. What do you think?"

Ser Balon frowned, no doubt trying to puzzle out my question for any hidden meaning. "They are… poor, Your Grace," he answered finally. "I know not of the circumstances of her life, but most smallfolk live and die with little to their names. It's supposed to be worse here, in Flea Bottom."

I scoffed, turning my nose up at the pair. "The right answer was vermin, Ser Balon, scurrying little parasites that infest my city, living off the generosity of their betters without giving anything back in return." The Kingsguard knight stood stunned for a second, then decided to simply bow his head in submission instead of voicing his thoughts. "And since we're already here, there's no reason to let this side trip go to waste," I said, smirking at the knight's questioning look. "I think we might as well start the clean up right now. Ser Balon, take the babe and cut his throat. Silence the mother however you will, but make sure she lives to see her child getting a nice big red smile."

Ser Balon actually took a step back. He looked at me like a floundering fish, his mouth opening and closing yet unable to form words. "I…" he trailed off. "Your… Your Grace…"

I turned on him, my whole expression shifting to something ugly. "Did I stutter, Ser Balon? You said you were my man back at the Keep, didn't you?" He nodded pitifully back at me. "Then do as I say," I snarled, spittle and venom flying out of my mouth in equal parts. "Do as your king commands and cut that wretched, vermin spawn's throat."

With his brows drawn and his mouth agape, I watched as duty and honor warred in Ser Balon's face. In reality, I'd already believed his declaration of loyalty back at my rooms. His words then had been valiant and noble and all that, but it was his eyes that told the truth—a man was hard-pressed to lie with his eyes. This, however, was a test of character; a test to the strength of his vows. Which will win? I wondered. Those of the Kingsguard, to obey his king without question; or those of a knight, to protect all women and children?

Ser Balon's borrowed sword was halfway drawn when he seemed to come to a decision and let the sword slide back inside its scabbard. He glanced at the miserable sight of the mother and child one last time before falling onto his knees, head down in defeat.

"I… I can't, Your Grace," he said.

At once, I stopped the charade. "Good," I told him. I already employed a man willing to butcher babes in their mother's arms, and he was out there at that very moment gathering more butchers at my request. What I needed now were knights—true knights, symbols of chivalry and virtue that would grant my reign long-lasting legitimacy and acclaim. The Kingsguard was often seen as an extension of their king, and I would not have my name sullied by association with baby killers and the like.

I walked up to the kneeling man and put a comforting hand on his armored shoulder. "Stand up, Ser Balon Swann. Your vows were tested, and your will as a true knight affirmed. Rise now as a proper member of my Kingsguard."

The simple command broke through Ser Balon's confused look and he shot to his feet. I could see the thousand questions running through the knight's head, so I raised a hand to stop any incoming queries. "Come," I ordered, turning on the ball of my feet. "You can reflect on this later, ser. For now, we have somewhere else to go that will test your vows." The mother on the alcove had woken from her slumber during our brief argument, and I flicked a silver coin in her direction when I walked past the warehouse.

Ser Balon hastened to catch up. "Where… where are we going, Your Grace?" he asked.

I went on the tip of my toes and threw an arm around him, smiling all the while. "We're going to a brothel, of course."