Free A Feast for Crows by George R.R. Martin Page A

at the back of the prince’s fingers. “No, good. That is good. There are no scratches, so . . .”
    The prince withdrew his hand. “Maester, could I trouble you for some milk of the poppy? A thimble cup will suffice.”
    “The poppy. Yes, to be sure.”
    “Now, I think,” Doran Martell urged gently, and Caleotte scurried to the stairs.
    Outside the sun had set. The light within the dome was the blue of dusk, and all the diamonds on the floor were dying. The prince sat in his high seat beneath the Martell spear, his face pale with pain. After a long silence he turned to Areo Hotah. “Captain,” he said, “how loyal are my guards?”
    “Loyal.” The captain did not know what else to say.
    “All of them? Or some?”
    “They are good men. Good
Dornishmen.
They will do as I command.” He thumped his longaxe on the floor. “I will bring the head of any man who would betray you.”
    “I want no heads. I want obedience.”
    “You have it.”
Serve. Obey. Protect. Simple vows for a simple man.
“How many men are needed?”
    “I will leave that for you to decide. It may be that a few good men will serve us better than a score. I want this done as quickly and as quietly as possible, with no blood spilled.”
    “Quick and quiet and bloodless, aye. What is your command?”
    “You will find my brother’s daughters, take them into custody, and confine them in the cells atop the Spear Tower.”
    “The Sand Snakes?” The captain’s throat was dry. “All . . . all eight, my prince? The little ones, also?”
    The prince considered. “Ellaria’s girls are too young to be a danger, but there are those who might seek to use them against me. It would be best to keep them safe in hand. Yes, the little ones as well . . . but first secure Tyene, Nymeria, and Obara.”
    “As my prince commands.” His heart was troubled.
My little princess will mislike this.
“What of Sarella? She is a woman grown, almost twenty.”
    “Unless she returns to Dorne, there’s naught I can do about Sarella save pray that she shows more sense than her sisters. Leave her to her . . . game. Gather up the others. I shall not sleep until I know that they are safe and under guard.”
    “It will be done.” The captain hesitated. “When this is known in the streets, the common folk will howl.”
    “All Dorne will howl,” said Doran Martell in a tired voice. “I only pray Lord Tywin hears them in King’s Landing, so he might know what a loyal friend he has in Sunspear.”

CERSEI
     
    S he dreamt she sat the Iron Throne, high above them all.
    The courtiers were brightly colored mice below. Great lords and proud ladies knelt before her. Bold young knights laid their swords at her feet and pleaded for her favors, and the queen smiled down at them. Until the dwarf appeared as if from nowhere, pointing at her and howling with laughter. The lords and ladies began to chuckle too, hiding their smiles behind their hands. Only then did the queen realize she was naked.
    Horrified, she tried to cover herself with her hands. The barbs and blades of the Iron Throne bit into her flesh as she crouched to hide her shame. Blood ran red down her legs, as steel teeth gnawed at her buttocks. When she tried to stand, her foot slipped through a gap in the twisted metal. The more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her, tearing chunks of flesh from her breasts and belly, slicing at her arms and legs until they were slick and red, glistening.
    And all the while her brother capered below, laughing.
    His merriment still echoed in her ears when she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and woke suddenly. For half a heartbeat the hand seemed part of the nightmare, and Cersei cried out, but it was only Senelle. The maid’s face was white and frightened.
    We are not alone,
the queen realized. Shadows loomed around her bed, tall shapes with chain mail glimmering beneath their cloaks. Armed men had no business here.
Where are my guards?
Her bedchamber was dark, but for