You sat at the table with your head bowed, trying not to flinch at the argument taking place beside you. Joffrey was yelling, though his anger was more like a fussy lion cub than any real rage. His uncle Tyrion, the dwarf, remained impassive. He'd always been so good at taking on Joffrey's tantrums, a trait you'd grown to envy.

You gently tugged on your betrothed's sleeve, already bracing for him to spit at you. "What?" he snapped, turning towards you. You could've sworn you saw Tyrion give you an encouraging thumbs-up.

"Joffrey, darling," you said softly. Usually you called him My King at his petulant insistence. "Perhaps we should retire to our chambers for the evening--"

"I'm not tired," he said through gritted teeth.