In the tower room at the heart of Maegor’s Holdfast, Sansa gave herself to the darkness.

She drew the curtains around her bed, slept, woke weeping, and slept again. When she could notsleep she lay under her blankets shivering with grief. Servants came and went, bringing meals, but thesight of food was more than she could bear. The dishes piled up on the table beneath her window,untouched and spoiling, until the servants took them away again.

Sometimes her sleep was leaden and dreamless, and she woke from it more tired than when she hadclosed her eyes. Yet those were the best times, for when she dreamed, she dreamed of Father. Wakingor sleeping, she saw him, saw the gold cloaks fling him down, saw Ser Ilyn striding forward,unsheathing Ice from the scabbard on his back, saw the moment … the moment when … she hadwanted to look away, she had wanted to, her legs had gone out from under her and she had fallen toher knees, yet somehow she could not turn her head, and all the people were screaming and shouting,and her prince had smiled at her, he’d smiled and she’d felt safe, but only for a heartbeat, until he saidthose words, and her father’s legs … that was what she remembered, his legs, the way they’d jerkedwhen Ser Ilyn … when the sword …Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flungherself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singerswould write songs of her grief. Her body would lie on the stones below, broken and innocent,shaming all those who had betrayed her. Sansa went so far as to cross the bedchamber and throw openthe shutters … but then her courage left her, and she ran back to her bed, sobbing.

The serving girls tried to talk to her when they brought her meals, but she never answered them.

Once Grand Maester Pycelle came with a box of flasks and bottles, to ask if she was ill. He felt herbrow, made her undress, and touched her all over while her bedmaid held her down. When he left hegave her a potion of honeywater and herbs and told her to drink a swallow every night. She drank itall right then and went back to sleep.

She dreamt of footsteps on the tower stair, an ominous scraping of leather on stone as a manclimbed slowly toward her bedchamber, step by step. All she could do was huddle behind her doorand listen, trembling, as he came closer and closer. It was Ser Ilyn Payne, she knew, coming for herwith Ice in his hand, coming to take her head. There was no place to run, no place to hide, no way tobar the door. Finally the footsteps stopped and she knew he was just outside, standing there silent withhis dead eyes and his long pocked face. That was when she realized she was naked. She croucheddown, trying to cover herself with her hands, as her door began to swing open, creaking, the point ofthe greatsword poking through …She woke murmuring, “Please, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please don’t,” but there was noone to hear.

When they finally came for her in truth, Sansa never heard their footsteps. It was Joffrey whoopened her door, not Ser Ilyn but the boy who had been her prince. She was in bed, curled up tight,her curtains drawn, and she could not have said if it was noon or midnight. The first thing she heardwas the slam of the door. Then her bed hangings were yanked back, and she threw up a hand againstthe sudden light and saw them standing over her.

“You will attend me in court this afternoon,” Joffrey said. “See that you bathe and dress as befitsmy betrothed.” Sandor Clegane stood at his shoulder in a plain brown doublet and green mantle, hisburned face hideous in the morning light. Behind them were two knights of the Kingsguard in longwhite satin cloaks.

urned face hideous in the morning light. Behind them were two knights of the Kingsguard in longwhite satin cloaks.

Sansa drew her blanket up to her chin to cover herself. “No,” she whimpered, “please … leave mebe.”

“If you won’t rise and dress yourself, my Hound will do it for you,” Joffrey said.

“I beg of you, my prince …”

“I’m king now. Dog, get her out of bed.”

Sandor Clegane scooped her up around the waist and lifted her off the featherbed as she struggledfeebly. Her blanket fell to the floor. Underneath she had only a thin bedgown to cover her nakedness.

“Do as you’re bid, child,” Clegane said. “Dress.” He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently.

Sansa backed away from them. “I did as the queen asked, I wrote the letters, I wrote what she toldme. You promised you’d be merciful. Please, let me go home. I won’t do any treason, I’ll be good, Iswear it, I don’t have traitor’s blood, I don’t. I only want to go home.” Remembering her courtesies,she lowered her head. “As it please you,” she finished weakly.

“It does not please me,” Joffrey said. “Mother says I’m still to marry you, so you’ll stay here, andyou’ll obey.”

“I don’t want to marry you,” Sansa wailed. “You chopped off my father’s head!”

“He was a traitor. I never promised to spare him, only that I’d be merciful, and I was. If he hadn’tbeen your father, I would have had him torn or flayed, but I gave him a clean death.”

Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson doubletpatterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wonderedhow she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms youfound after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. “I hate you,” she whispered.

King Joffrey’s face hardened. “My mother tells me that it isn’t fitting that a king should strike hiswife. Ser Meryn.”

The knight was on her before she could think, yanking back her hand as she tried to shield her faceand back-handing her across the ear with a gloved fist. Sansa did not remember falling, yet the nextshe knew she was sprawled on one knee amongst the rushes. Her head was ringing. Ser Meryn Trantstood over her, with blood on the knuckles of his white silk glove.

“Will you obey now, or shall I have him chastise you again?”

Sansa’s ear felt numb. She touched it, and her fingertips came away wet and red. “I … as … as youcommand, my lord.”

“Your Grace,” Joffrey corrected her. “I shall look for you in court.” He turned and left.

Ser Meryn and Ser Arys followed him out, but Sandor Clegane lingered long enough to yank herroughly to her feet. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

“What … what does he want? Please, tell me.”

“He wants you to smile and smell sweet and be his lady love,” the Hound rasped. “He wants tohear you recite all your pretty little words the way the septa taught you. He wants you to lovehim … and fear him.”

After he was gone, Sansa sank back onto the rushes, staring at the wall until two of her bedmaidscrept timidly into the chamber. “I will need hot water for my bath, please,” she told them, “andperfume, and some powder to hide this bruise.” The right side of her face was swollen and beginningto ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful.

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washedsince the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. Her maids sluicedthe blood off her face, scrubbed the dirt from her back, washed her hair and brushed it out until itsprang back in thick auburn curls. Sansa did not speak to them, except to give them commands; theywere Lannister servants, not her own, and she did not trust them. When the time came to dress, shechose the green silk gown that she had worn to the tourney. She recalled how gallant Joff had been toher that night at the feast. Perhaps it would make him remember as well, and treat her more gently.

She drank a glass of buttermilk and nibbled at some sweet biscuits as she waited, to settle herstomach. It was midday when Ser Meryn returned. He had donned his white armor; a shirt ofenameled scales chased with gold, a tall helm with a golden sunburst crest, greaves and gorget andgauntlet and boots of gleaming plate, a heavy wool cloak clasped with a golden lion. His visor hadbeen removed from his helm, to better show his dour face; pouchy bags under his eyes, a wide sourmouth, rusty hair spotted with grey. “My lady,” he said, bowing, as if he had not beaten her bloodyonly three hours past. “His Grace has instructed me to escort you to the throne room.”

“Did he instruct you to hit me if I refused to come?”

“Are you refusing to come, my lady?” The look he gave her was without expression. He did notso much as glance at the bruise he had left her.

He did not hate her, Sansa realized; neither did he love her. He felt nothing for her at all. She wasonly a … a thing to him. “No,” she said, rising. She wanted to rage, to hurt him as he’d hurt her, towarn him that when she was queen she would have him exiled if he ever dared strike her again … butshe remembered what the Hound had told her, so all she said was, “I shall do whatever His Gracecommands.”

“As I do,” he replied.

“Yes … but you are no true knight, Ser Meryn.”

Sandor Clegane would have laughed at that, Sansa knew. Other men might have cursed her, warnedher to keep silent, even begged for her forgiveness. Ser Meryn Trant did none of these. Ser MerynTrant simply did not care.

The balcony was deserted save for Sansa. She stood with her head bowed, fighting to hold back hertears, while below Joffrey sat on his Iron Throne and dispensed what it pleased him to call justice.

Nine cases out of ten seemed to bore him; those he allowed his council to handle, squirming restlesslywhile Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, or Queen Cersei resolved the matter. When he did chooseto make a ruling, though, not even his queen mother could sway him.

A thief was brought before him and he had Ser Ilyn chop his hand off, right there in court. Twoknights came to him with a dispute about some land, and he decreed that they should duel for it on themorrow. “To the death,” he added. A woman fell to her knees to plead for the hea............