Of the important lords I had to meet today, Lord Rowan arrived first.

  A small party of riders had come ahead of the host to herald their lord’s approach to the city while I was away, and the castle had prepared appropriately. Now, I stood in the shadow of a large white canvas that had been set up in the main courtyard of the keep, with the members of House Tyrell already in the capital with me.

  As the king, I had no need to stand for ceremony to anyone, even important lords, but it was a courtesy that would go a long way for first impressions with them, and wasn’t that much of a bother to me.

  I had changed back into my kingly clothes after the tour of the alchemist’s guildhall—a rich black doublet and a golden half-cape draping over one shoulder. It was a simple affair compared to the other lords and ladies, as I wasn’t a big fan of my clothes being half-covered with imagery of stags or lions in gold and silver embroidery.

  However, being king meant I was a trend-setter, and I’d already noticed the change in style of the richer lords and knights who could afford whole new wardrobes like that.

  As politically astute as she was, Margaery had been the first one to start changing her own attire. Her dresses turned simpler, with a cleaner cut and less gaudy filigrees and golden-chasings. It was a seemingly unimportant move on its own, but it served to establish her own place of prominence in court as the queen-to-be.

  It was a good reminder that as nobles, politics affected every aspect of our lives, doubly so for me.

  Today was different, however. The Tyrell family wore all black, mourning the death of young Megga Tyrell, Margaery’s cousin and lady-in-waiting. Though I had no doubt that too was a political move, at least for Mace and Olenna. They didn’t seem too bothered by the girl’s death when I last spoke to them. Unlike Margaery, who blamed herself for it.

  Even as she smiled brightly here for the passing knights and servants, I could see that the smiles never reached her eyes. But she was the perfect little lady in this regard. She knew how to play her part.

  And I had mine to play, too. The men I’d meet today were at the top of the political ladder in the Reach. Matthis Rowan was only the first, as Redwyne ships had been sighted passing through the Gullet early yesterday, and the Rowan heralds had told us Tarly’s host was a half-day’s ride behind their own.

  I was snapped out of my thoughts when I noticed Olenna moving away from her spot. There was a table with refreshments behind us, and a servant was refilling her empty drink.

  Moving her way, I greeted, “My lady.”

  Olenna turned. “Your Grace.” She raised her goblet as if in toast. “Here for the iced milk as well? It’s terribly good for the bowels.”

  I chuckled. I severely doubted it was, but who was I to change an old medieval woman’s mind. “Not at the moment, thank you. I was wondering if you could assuage a doubt of mine.”

  She nodded as if to nudge me on, sipping on her cold drink all the while.

  “It was my understanding Lady Alerie was a Hightower by birth,” I said, “but I’ve yet to see any Oldtown banners snapping in the wind. Am I to expect the house that can field nearly three times as many men as any one of House Tyrell’s other vassals not to send any men for our cause?”

  After the War of the Five Kings, and many armies being spent on the field, House Hightower was perhaps one of the five most powerful houses in Westeros, accounting for the whole spectrum of political influence, wealth, and military might. Not only did they have sole rule over the second largest city in Westeros, a small fleet of their own, and a close relationship with the Faith and the Citadel, they were also the house currently married to their overlord, offering them another layer of protection and back up.

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  Olenna clicked her tongue irritably. “That old fool won’t come down off that tower of his, not even for his granddaughter’s wedding.” She waved a wizened hand in the air. “I know his men went back to Oldtown after the Blackwater, but he’s sent some three thousand men to Highgarden to serve as a reserve force with one of his sons.”

  “Hmm. That’s a shame. I had wished to speak with Lord Leyton, but perhaps next time, then,” I said. Not only were the Hightowers powerful, they were also deeply intertwined with the more mysterious arts, and picking Lord Hightower’s brain on it, even if subtly, would have been ideal now that I found myself neck deep in magic.

  The day went on normally from there. Along with a thousand mounted lances, of which some two hundred were knights, Lord Rowan brought his wife and three daughters with him, whom Margaery was quick to sweep away into the castle after proper introductions were made.

  Lord Mathis was polite and courteous when we briefly spoke, though he was far from being an arse-licker like Mace. He even seemed wary of me at first, which given the whole shadow-demon incident, I could understand.

  A reputation and a crown only went so far with prudent lords like him. I’d have a few days before and after the wedding before we left for Dragonstone to start good relations with these men.

  It was not two hours later when Lord Paxter Redwyne and his daughter Desmera disembarked at the docks from the great, three-masted Arbor Queen, at the head of a fleet of one hundred and fifty ships. They were to be added to the slowly growing Royal Fleet Tywin had been rebuilding. Our conversation when he arrived at the castle was even shorter than with Rowan, as I allowed him some time with his sons before we reconvened for the feast at night.

  Tarly came as the sun was setting. He had left his host camped in a field an hour’s ride out of the city. His army was nearly two thousand strong, consisting mostly of bowmen levies and men-at-arms, but also a significant force of petty lords and knights, some four-hundred of those.

  My interaction with him confirmed what I already knew of his personality. He was curt but not impolite, and I could see he would only respect me depending on my martial prowess. No doubt he had heard of the shadow-demon story the same as Lord Rowan, but it was clear he gave no credence to it.

  xxxx

  Despite the death of young Megga and the fires in the city hanging over the feast like a cloud of black smoke, humors had been high at the king’s table. I was able to keep the reacher lords well entertained as I feasted them, speaking mostly of their lands and shared histories as a way to try and connect to them. Normally, I would feast one of them a night, but since three had arrived on the same day, it would not do for me to pick one over the other.

  Tarly stewed where he sat, though he was quick to butt into conversations when it came to matters of state and war. Paxter was a sullen man too, but after a few glasses of his own wine he opened up to the point I would call him pleasant.

  The lord of the Arbor had brought and given me several caskets of the best vintages the Reach had to offer, and I didn’t waste any time in breaking it out for tonight.

  He wasn’t the only one either. The stout Mathis Rowan was an absolute riot after his fifth goblet, especially once the Tyrells retired.

  The night had grown late already, and people were slowly filing out of the great hall. As the laughter slowly died out from the latest of Rowan’s jokes, I addressed all three of them, “My lords, I hope you will agree to sit in during the meetings of my small council while you are in the city. Your wisdom would be of great use in planning out the next steps of my reign.”

  “It would be an honor, Your Grace,” Mathis Rowan said, red-cheeked and grinning as if he wasn’t a middle-aged man speaking with a child. On the other side of the table, Tarly and Redwyne said something on the same lines.

  Tywin nodded tightly beside me. While I knew he did not like having all these lords sworn to House Tyrell attending the council meetings, he had approved of the decision beforehand. We would be using mostly Reachmen in taking Dragonstone, and it would go a long way to at least give the impression of including them in the decision-making of the invasion. Besides, after this was done, I already planned on naming Tarly to my small council officially.

  The news came just as I called an official ending to the feast, with the last of the guest lords stumbling back to their rooms. A Lannister squire came running in from a side door and whispered something into Lord Tywin’s ear. I didn’t take it as anything serious, as he maintained a perfectly stoic face until we were the only ones left behind in the hall.

  “A successful night, wouldn't you agree, grandfather?” I asked, smiling. I had a bit of wine in me, too.

  “We shall have to see,” Lord Tywin said. He fixed me with a sobering look. “Kevan has just arrived in the keep, Your Grace. And he brings some guests.”