Your Grace
Aza was shaky. Why had Joffrey summoned her tonight, so late? Perhaps he needed something. She was not going to make him a sandwich at 11:30. No siree. Not for the king, not for the hound, not for no one.
"Yes your grace?" She asked.
"Come sit with me. Tell me. Do you like crowns?
"Well"
"Excellent. I'll have one fitted for you." Aza was at a loss. Crown? That must mean...
"Oh my god." Joffrey smiled. Then went to his normal expression.
"Now that you're going to be queen, you can make me a sandwich." As she made it, she silently cursed her heritage. How it made people love her. She brought it to him.
"This isn't right. I should throw it at you." And he did. The tears came on. When She cried, The hardest hearts of steel turned to mush. Joffrey got up, sorrow in his eyes and touched her face.
"I'm so sorry. That was wrong of me. I apologize." He pulled her lips to his and kissed her. She laid her head on his chest. A smile crossed her lips. Joffrey Baratheon, King of the 7 kingdoms, heartless bastard and destroyed those who would not bend the knee, was her, Aza NighStark's, bitch.