Chapter 31

“You’ve put several septons and septas to death lately, all on charges of sedition, I know. You honestly believe them to have Sparrow sympathies? If so, on what basis, Ser Roger?” the thrice widow Queen Margaery Tyrell asked me while I fucked her harder than ever in my bed.

“Very much so. I have to pull up the remaining weeds of the Sparrow infestation, cut them out root and stem, my dear Queen. For the night is dark and full of terrors, but the fire burns them all away,” I quoted Melisandre for obvious reasons.

“You really are a devotee of R’hllor, the Lord of Light! Are you an actual Red Priest? Or just a zealous true believer? It explains a lot, in fact!” Margaery told me, “though I have enough troubles. A lot of the smallfolk, and even some of the nobles and knights call me the ‘Cursed Queen’ and the ‘Gold Widow’, because I’ve been widowed thrice by kings. Renly, Joffrey, and Tommen. Some of them have even called me ‘Harrenhal with a gash.’ Getting another husband might be well nigh impossible!”

“Not with the right septon or Red Priest or weirwood tree. You, me, and the marriage bed have an appointment, but with the clear understanding that I’m hardly the faithful sort. Then again, your first husband was a bugger, your second preferred torture to coupling, and your third was a sweet, pliable lad who shared your favors with me and your own brother, among others. Marriage by the book was never in the cards for you,” I proposed my own kind of marriage to Margaery Tyrell now.

“You just want me for my castle!” Margaery teased me as I smacked her sleek and luscious bottom.

“The castle is reason enough, but these buttocks are very fine motives. And the more I think about it, the more I want our child to be a lawful heir to our estates. Both of them. Face it, you’ve never had a husband who fully appreciated your womanly charms in the way that a man should. As in regularly coupling with you and breeding the unholy seven hells out of you!” I told the widow of three kings now that I slid back inside her sweet, tight cunny from behind.

“Any other reasons?” Margaery wondered as I humped her rather vigorously, much to her delight.

“To keep King Jamie from taking you to wife, just in case! Though this might provoke a conflict with him, you know. Are you prepared for that? The Kingslayer is not someone to take lightly, you know, not with all of House Lannister and its bannermen at his back. Not to mention now the bannermen of the Crownlands. Technically, as Lord of the Whispers, I’m one of his many bannermen myself. Bannermen who rebel against House Lannister don’t tend to end well, you know. Just ask House Reyne of Castamere!” I hummed the “Rains of Castamere” to make my point.

“I’d much rather be your wife than his. I’ve already married both of his sons. And we all know them to be sons, not just nephews, don’t we? Nobody’s fooled anymore as to their sire. It wasn’t Robert Baratheon, was it? Now that I’m free of my marriage to his bastards, I can privately admit them to be just that. I put up the pretense while wed to them because it was necessary. Marriage to the lawful King was far more useful than marriage to bastard usurpers born of incest, after all. I’m just glad that Myrcella is a girl, so none dare propose that I wed her, too,” Margaery reassured, and her tone made it clear that she was quite sincere.