Justin Massey wiped away the peach juice running down his chin with the palm of his hand. The same hand he then used to push back the hair that had fallen down over one eye. Asha watched, amused and repulsed at the same time.
She had kissed away the juice running down Qarl's chin, that first time he ever ate a peach. That first time she had him in her bed. But Massey was not her Qarl, and she was no longer Balon's heir, but a prisoner.
His prisoner. The man calling himself a king who was not watching anything except the flame. Looking for his red god? Or his red priestess whose absence Justin Massey had often lamented? Careful, Justin, Asha thought, your king might suspect you lack faith in his own ability.
But the king was watching. Watching from the corner of his eyes. Watching his prisoner watching the knight with designs on her and her lands. Watching Massey devouring the peach. Messy, he thought. So very messy. Renly had wiped the peach juice from his chin with his hand too. The back of his hand, instead of the palm.
"Are you certain you would not like one, Your Grace? This is the last of them, the peaches and the fruits," Justin Massey spoke.
"A man should never refuse to taste a peach," Renly had said, at the parley. "He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. Remember what the Starks say. Winter is coming."
Winter had arrived, and life did turn out to be short for his little brother. He refused to think of that. But the sight of Justin Massey holding out a peach to him reminded him so much of Renly doing the same.
"No!" The word came out loud and harsh, amidst gritted teeth and clenched jaw. Justin Massey was unperturbed. He smiled and offered the peach to Asha Greyjoy instead. "What about you, my lady?"
She is wed. She is Ironborn. She will not fall for your frivolous smiles and your silly japes, Stannis scoffed.
But to his surprise, she accepted the peach from Massey. Accepted it with a smile. "Why, thank you, ser."
"Justin, I insist."
Like a lovesick puppy, Asha thought. But not lovesick like Tris. Not lovesick for her, but lovesick for titles and for her lands, and the prospect of ruling the Iron Islands through her. He was bound to be disappointed.
My mummer's farce of a husband will never allow it. My nuncle will never allow it.
I will never allow it.
But Massey was one of the very few who treated her well, and Asha was not about to jeopardize that, in the name of pride. She took a bite, and spotted the king watching her. She wondered what was on his mind.