"I saw it coming a mile away," Cersei hissed the second Eddard's army marched out the gate.
"Eddard Stark—biggest hypocrite in the Seven Kingdoms. Looks like the perfect honorable lord on the outside, but inside he's rotten with schemes."
She planted herself right next to Joffrey and started pouring poison in his ear.
"Before he and his daughters set foot in the Red Keep, King's Landing was peaceful. The moment they arrived, everything went to hell. First Robert names him Hand, then we're suddenly drowning in letters calling us bastards. Now this—knowing we're outnumbered, he still insists on marching out anyway!"
"I'm telling you, he's either Stannis's spy, Renly's spy, or both at once!"
Joffrey gave a dry little laugh. "Should I send Ser Ilyn to cut his head off right now and put your mind at ease, Mother?"
Cersei flinched. "Joffrey! How can you even joke about something so awful?"
"I'm only saying you shouldn't trust him too much. I'm not telling you to execute your own father-in-law!"
Gods, how long is this going to last?
Joffrey sighed inwardly and kept his tone patient.
"Mother, you can relax. I rely on Lord Eddard a great deal, but no one could ever replace you in my heart."
He glanced around, saw only the Hound nearby, and lowered his voice.
"Besides… we're not actually sending an army out there."
Cersei's eyes widened. "Not actually? Then why make such a big show of it?"
Joffrey gave a vague shrug. Some things were safer if fewer people knew.
The Lannisters were the moral sewer of King's Landing. Eddard was the moral ceiling. Even if Renly's filthy rumors made for juicy gossip, neither nobles nor smallfolk would ever believe the famously upright Hand would lie about something like this.
So Eddard really had marched out. He really had headed north.
But his host was moving at a snail's pace along the coast, looping around the northern outskirts of the city—just enough to make it look like the main force had left. The real question was now back on Stannis.
Either he slowed the siege and landed the rest of his men to fight the "relief force," or he ignored it and attacked the supposedly empty capital.
Eddard had no intention of going far. He had scouts everywhere and could wheel around and ride back at a moment's notice.
Jaime had gotten his wish too—but his only job was to take the cavalry and ride circles around Duskendale, nipping at Stannis's besiegers and buying the town a few extra days.
It was all theater.
The Iron Throne would never abandon one of its own lords.
In reality, no one was riding to Duskendale's rescue.
Cersei couldn't see it. Grateful Lord Rykker couldn't see it either.
The only wild card was Melisandre on Dragonstone. Joffrey could only hope her fire visions weren't quite as ridiculous as the stories claimed—certainly not powerful enough to outmatch [Stargaze] and read their future moves.
Either way, all Joffrey could do now was play along with the trap.
If Duskendale fell, it fell. As long as it tied down half of Stannis's strength, it had done its job.
Stannis pretended to split his forces. They pretended to send help. Everything was about buying time until real reinforcements arrived.
It wasn't easy.
Because their enemies weren't only Stannis.
Tyrion's river-chain plan had completely collapsed. In just a week or two the stone towers on the north bank were barely half-finished. The south bank was even worse—the foundations had been torn down almost as fast as they went up.
Across the river the Stormlands lords had pitched open camps in plain sight. Drums thundered, cookfires burned every ten paces, and wagon after wagon of supplies rolled in alongside fresh columns of troops.
At least Varys once again proved why he was indispensable.
"Your Grace, Renly's army isn't there at all. It's just a handful of petty lords putting on a show. They sneak men out at night and march them back in during the day pretending to be reinforcements. Lord Estermont is quite clever, I must say."
Joffrey smiled and thanked him, but inside he felt a fresh spike of wariness. The Spider really could find out what you ate for breakfast three days ago.
Still, King's Landing had no troops to spare for a river crossing.
After the Red Cloaks were folded into the city garrison, Cersei felt naked every waking second. The Gold Cloaks had already been purged once by her. The few loyal ones Eddard had picked out and mixed with the new recruits were now gone with him.
What remained in the city were the dregs Janos Slynt had recruited plus the sellswords Cersei had hired in the last two weeks. Their loyalty was paper-thin. The second the wind shifted they would sell their employers without blinking.
Yet Eddard had calmly issued them weapons and put them on the walls for the next few days anyway.
Because their opponent was Stannis.
The Lord of Dragonstone might reward turncoats with fine words, then chop off the leaders' heads on the spot and give the rest a simple choice: lose a hand or take the black.
Joffrey had made sure every tavern and sept in the city heard that story. The High Septon himself had vouched for it. Even if Stannis wasn't that ruthless, the smallfolk now believed he was.
And every time Cersei hired one sellsword, Tyrion sent Bronn to buy another. The siblings were still playing their little games even now.
So the ever-useful Varys had reported it to Eddard, who had passed it to Joffrey.
With a rare moment of free time, Joffrey had the captain of the sellswords brought in for a personal chat.
The man was dressed rather splendidly—Lannister crimson plate over a white cloak embroidered with a direwolf.
When he pulled off his helm, Joffrey was momentarily speechless.
"A certain prince became king and grew very busy," Jaqen H'ghar said, running a hand through his half-red, half-white hair. "How kind of you to remember someone at last."
The last few days the Faceless Man had been glued to Arya. Syrio had complained loudly, and Eddard had nearly thrown him out—until Jaqen dropped three guards in the blink of an eye and offered his services instead. Arya had put in a good word. Eddard had asked Joffrey.
"He seems… mostly harmless. Bit odd in the head, but very skilled. You've sent away a lot of your own guards, Hand. Might as well keep him."
As long as Jaqen was only digging through Red Keep records, he was harmless enough. Throwing a small favor to a Faceless Man never hurt.
But that had been weeks ago. Joffrey hadn't had time to keep track of what the man was doing lately.
"How did you end up among the sellswords? And why are you dressed like… that?"
"The Hand sent someone," Jaqen answered with a wide grin. He rolled his shoulders. "Does it not look good? The colors match someone's hair quite nicely, no?"