Joffrey's Promise

A crossbow bolt hissed across the yard and struck the target with the same dull violence as before. There was hunger in the boy's eyes.

Joffrey wanted to kill. He liked being feared, because fear was the only respect he trusted.

Cersei's education had failed him. Perhaps it had failed because she was Cersei. Joffrey had inherited some of Jaime's softness, and under his mother's fierce expectations that softness had curdled into pressure.

A sealed jar could only take so much heat before it burst. The crude target split under the next bolt. Joffrey threw down his favorite crossbow as if it had insulted him.

Servants had learned to keep away when his temper rose. Only the Hound remained near him, along with the northern girl who kept returning no matter how often the court pushed her aside.

At the sight of Sansa, Joffrey saw Ned Stark standing on the platform, looking down on him with that quiet northern contempt.

"Damned northmen."

On other days, Sansa would have pretended not to hear insults against her family. Today, perhaps because of Ronan's words, she could not swallow it.

"Joffrey, you should apologize."

The king's face changed.

"You are very strange today, Sansa."

The smile he wore was not kindness. Sandor Clegane recognized it at once. It was the look before a bite.

Sansa, seeing only the smile, thought her change was working.

"I hope you will apologize to my father. I will forgive what happened if you admit it was a mistake."

Joffrey laughed.

"A mistake? You really are the stupidest woman I have ever seen. I wanted that traitor dead. I wanted you and your father hanged together. Do you understand that?"

The handsome young king screamed at a frightened girl because he had no courage to scream at the people who truly frightened him. Great King Joffrey could bully Sansa. He could bully the silent Hound.

That was the full measure of his strength. Sansa went still.

She had not known this was what she was to him. His betrothed. His future queen. A northern hostage he hated enough to call her a whore and a traitor in the same breath.

She did not understand what she had done to deserve such hate. Had her father opposing him been enough? Had everything her family suffered meant nothing? Tears spilled before she could stop them.

Joffrey laughed at that, too.

"What a useless thing."

He hated the sight because it reminded him of himself. Kings did not weep. Kings did not look weak. So Joffrey buried his own weakness under cruelty.

Then, all at once, he made his face gentle.

"Listen," he said, softening his voice as though kindness had been his idea all along. "A king must sometimes say harsh things. You should not make me angry if you dislike hearing them."

Sansa clung to that scrap of gentleness because she had nothing else. Ronan's advice had made her bold for one breath, and Joffrey's cruelty had nearly crushed that breath out of her. Now any hint of mercy looked precious.

"Fine. I will apologize."

Sansa looked up through tears. "Truly?"

"Of course. Great King Joffrey never lies."

The smile should have comforted her. Instead, it felt thin as paper. She could almost see the lie underneath, but her need to see her father was stronger than caution.

The Hound did not believe it for a moment.

The first half had been Joffrey's true self. The apology was the strange part. Sandor had served the boy too long to believe a sudden kindness had bloomed inside him.

If Joffrey took Sansa anywhere now, it would be to hurt her more deeply.

Joffrey enjoyed the courtiers' flatteries as they passed through the Red Keep. They made him feel like a king. At the same time, he despised them, because he knew their obedience vanished whenever his mother or grandfather entered the room.

He needed to do something they had not allowed. He needed to prove who truly ruled.

If his mother would not let him hang Eddard in the square, he would find another stage. If his grandfather thought him a child, he would show the realm a king's decision. Joffrey did not understand politics, but he understood spite.

...

The dungeon smelled of old water, rust, and fear. Joffrey disliked it, but forced himself onward. He kept glancing at Sansa, waiting for terror to bloom across her face. Nothing.

The lack of it offended him. He snatched the torch from the Hound and stopped at a turn in the passage. Darkness swallowed the corridor ahead at once.

"Joffrey?"

There it was. Fear.

"Go find your father," he said generously. "If you find him, I will release him."

Hope flashed across Sansa's face, and that pleased him almost as much as the fear. Then he walked back toward the iron door.

"If you cannot find him, you can stay down here with him. I will wait outside and apologize to Lord Eddard when you bring him to me."

He stepped through the door. Sandor lingered, staring at the girl in the darkness. Joffrey turned. "What are you waiting for? Do you want to keep her company?"

The Hound looked once more at Sansa, then left. The iron door slammed shut under Joffrey's laughter. Sansa's last hope vanished with the light.

x

x

x

If you're enjoying the story so far, consider supporting me on Patreon ❤️
You'll get weekly early access to chapters, along with some exclusive content:

https://www.patreon.com/cw/auroraclairevale