A Clash of Kings

My love for you shames me enough. “A sweet dream, Shae. Now put it aside, I beg you. It can never be.”

“Because of the queen? I’m not afraid of her either.”

“I am.”

“Then kill her and be done with it. It’s not as if there was any love between you.”

Tyrion sighed. “She’s my sister. The man who kills his own blood is cursed forever in the sight of gods and men. Moreover, whatever you and I may think of Cersei, my father and brother hold her dear. I can scheme with any man in the Seven Kingdoms, but the gods have not equipped me to face Jaime with swords in hand.”

“The Young Wolf and Lord Stannis have swords and they don’t scare you.”

How little you know, sweetling. “Against them I have all the power of House Lannister. Against Jaime or my father, I have no more than a twisted back and a pair of stunted legs.”

“You have me.” Shae kissed him, her arms sliding around his neck as she pressed her body to his.

The kiss aroused him, as her kisses always did, but this time Tyrion gently disentangled himself. “Not now. Sweetling, I have . . . well, call it the seed of a plan. I think I might be able to bring you into the castle kitchens.”

Shae’s face went still. “The kitchens?”

“Yes. If I act through Varys, no one will be the wiser.”

She giggled. “M’lord, I’d poison you. Every man who’s tasted my cooking has told me what a good whore I am.”

“The Red Keep has sufficient cooks. Butchers and bakers too. You’d need to pose as a scullion.”

“A pot girl,” she said, “in scratchy brown rough-spun. Is that how m’lord wants to see me?”

“M’lord wants to see you alive,” Tyrion said. “You can scarcely scour pots in silk and velvet.”

“Has m’lord grown tired of me?” She reached a hand under his tunic and found his cock. In two quick strokes she had it hard. “He still wants me.” She laughed. “Would you like to fuck your kitchen wench, m’lord? You can dust me with flour and suck gravy off my titties if you . . .”

“Stop it.” The way she was acting reminded him of Dancy, who had tried so hard to win her wager. He yanked her hand away to keep her from further mischief. “This is not the time for bed sport, Shae. Your life may be at stake.”

Her grin was gone. “If I’ve displeased m’lord, I never meant it, only . . . couldn’t you just give me more guards?”

Tyrion breathed a deep sigh. Remember how young she is , he told himself. He took her hand. “Your gems can be replaced, and new gowns can be sewn twice as lovely as the old. To me, you’re the most precious thing within these walls. The Red Keep is not safe either, but it’s a deal safer than here. I want you there.”

“In the kitchens.” Her voice was flat. “Scouring pots.”

“For a short while.”

“My father made me his kitchen wench,” she said, her mouth twisting. “That was why I ran off.”

“You told me you ran off because your father made you his whore,” he reminded her.

“That too. I didn’t like scouring his pots no more than I liked his cock in me.” She tossed her head. “Why can’t you keep me in your tower? Half the lords at court keep bed-warmers.”

“I was expressly forbidden to take you to court.”

“By your stupid father.” Shae pouted. “You’re old enough to keep all the whores you want. Does he take you for a beardless boy? What could he do, spank you?”

He slapped her. Not hard, but hard enough. “Damn you,” he said. “Damn you. Never mock me. Not you .”

For a moment Shae did not speak. The only sound was the cricket, chirping, chirping. “Beg pardon, m’lord,” she said at last, in a heavy wooden voice. “I never meant to be impudent.”