II

Meryn Trant took one last heavy step down the stairs deep in the bowels of the Red Keep, walked over to the thick wooden door guarded by two more members of the Kingsguard and knocked on it. "My King, Lord Petyr Baelish is here," he announced loudly. Petyr raised his eyebrows, looking at Trant with a silent question painted on his face. "With a present," the knight added, giving Baelish a dirty look.

"Let him in," a young voice answered from behind the door after a brief moment of silence. Trant grabbed the door handle and pulled the door open, then stood aside, letting Petyr and Ros slip inside before following them into the room with the other guard.

"Your Grace," Baelish bowed low to the golden-haired King sitting on a soft bench in the center of the spacious, richly decorated bedroom.

"Lord Baelish," Joffrey Baratheon nodded with a smile. "I see you have brought what I asked for?"

"Exactly, Your Grace," Petyr clasped his hands at the level of his waist and took a step forward. "Just like you asked. Someone well suited for your little… experiment."

An uneasy feeling filled Ros' stomach. Without turning around, Baelish clicked his fingers, and she felt Trant push her from behind. With a nervous exhale, she stepped forward as well, feeling her heart racing in her chest as Joffrey eyed her barely dressed body.

"I hope you like her, Your Grace," Baelish continued with an obsequious smile glued to his lips. "They say those with red hair are the best thing money can buy for these… activities."

"Uhh, yes, yes." Joffrey seemed to be too preoccupied with staring at Ros to pay enough attention to Petyr's words. He moved nervously on his seat, as if the dialogue was making him uncomfortable. "About that, Lord Baelish," he raised his voice and leaned back on the bench in a pose that seemed a bit too strained. "I do understand that… this… may bring some loss of income to your establishment, even if temporary. You will be paid twice the price we were discussing, to mitigate your losses." A forced smug smile appeared on his face.

Ros closed her eyes. A sticky, sickening feeling of primal fear was creeping up on her.

"You are too kind, Your Grace," Baelish bowed respectfully once again. "Though I assure you, that is unnecessary. I have decided she would be a present, actually, and I refuse to take money for presents from friends. And we are friends, aren't we, Your Grace? Besides, I am sure the Crown could find far better use for money in these troubled times."

Looking up at Petyr, Joffrey slowly stood up from his seat and ran a hand along the front of his tight-fitting golden costume with streaks of red in it. "I'd like to think we are, Lord Baelish," he nodded with a respectful smile. "And I appreciate your generosity. I assure you, your loyalty and this expensive present," he glanced at Ros again, "will not be forgotten. Still, if there is anything within my power to help your pleasure house deal with this inconvenience…"

Baelish smiled timidly, looking at Joffrey. "Believe me, Your Grace, in my establishment we accommodate all inclinations. We have learned to deal with inconveniences like these."

Ros took a small step back and quietly gasped when she bumped into the armor of Meryn Trant standing behind her.

"Very well," Joffrey nodded. "I will not waste your time any longer then, I am sure it is very valuable to you these days. You are sailing to the Eyrie tomorrow, I've heard?"

Petyr couldn't hold back a chuckle. "News and rumors of my journey travel so fast that others learn them before me, I have found recently." He glanced back at Ros. For a brief moment, the smile on his face changed to a cold look of disappointment as his eyes fixed on her. "Though if the weather holds, I set sail tomorrow, indeed."

"We may not see each other for a while, then," Joffrey said, and Baelish nodded affirmatively. "Congratulations on your arrangement with Lady Arryn. You are a fortunate man."

"Same as you, Your Grace," Petyr was quick to return the courtesy. "Your betrothed Lady Margaery is a rare beauty."

Joffrey chuckled shyly, looking down at the floor. "She is, indeed. I hope you have a safe journey, Lord Baelish."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Petyr bowed low once again before turning around and heading for the door. As he walked past Ros, the sheer look in his eyes when he looked at her one last time made the knot in her stomach twist tighter.

The heavy door shut with a thud behind the nobleman, and Ros closed her eyes for a couple seconds, inhaling deeply and trying to calm down. The only man who could save her from what was coming was gone now – not that he had been very eager to do so when he had the chance, of course. But, even in the light of the recent events, Petyr Baelish was still someone capable of compassion, Ros had been hoping. The people she was left with now had none of it.

Slowly, Joffrey approached her, his grayish eyes steadily fixed on her pale round face. Looking down at the floor, too scared to look him in the eye, Ros could swear she could feel the boy's cold stare on her skin as he stood in front of her. After a few seconds of tense silence, Joffrey reached for her chin with his hand, making Ros shudder and lift her head up. The orange flames of the chandeliers in the dimly lit room illuminated her face, bringing the fresh scratches on her cheek into Joffrey's view. The young King took a step back and looked at the knight standing behind the woman. "Ser Meryn," he said in a commanding voice, and a faint glimmer of hope shone in Ros' heart. Whatever torment awaited her, a part of her was glad that this animal would get his own share of the King's fury.

The realization of the same idea had to be painted on Trant's face behind her because Joffrey scoffed, observing him. "Do you see that baldaquin frame above my bed?" he asked instead. He walked back to the small table next to the seat he had been sitting on and grabbed a short rope from it, then threw it towards the second guard. "Tie her to it."

"What?" Ros protested weakly as Trant rudely grabbed her by the arm and pulled her in the direction of the bed. "Y-your Grace," she pleaded in panic, her heart pounding in her chest. "That is unnecessary!"

Joffrey remained silent, watching the two guards tie her hands together in front of her. Trant reached to the baldaquin hanging from the frame between two bedposts at the feet of the bed and pulled it aside, then yanked Ros' arms up. "I will do as you please, Your Grace," the red-haired woman continued, "but this is… Your Grace, please!" She wiggled between the two knights, and the rope that had been thrown over the frame slipped out of their hands.

Meryn Trant sighed and looked at Joffrey, as if seeking permission for something. The King nodded, and the next moment the guard's armored fist slammed hard into Ros' stomach right under her breasts, making her wheeze and double over in pain as the air was knocked out of her. Squirming and moaning, she almost slid down to the floor if it hadn't been for the second guard who held her. Ros closed her eyes, blinking tears of resentment and pain away as her arms were yanked up again. She sobbed, feeling dull pain from the blow spread across her abdomen, and leaned slightly on the bedside with her lower back to support herself. Up above, the rope was digging painfully into her wrists as the two guards were finishing the tight knot.

"Good," Joffrey commented with a nod of satisfaction, observing the result when the knights stepped away. "Very good. Although… Ser Meryn," the young King licked his lips, stopping the guards in their tracks as they headed for the door. "I want to see her legs," he said with a smug smile, and the girl shuddered, seeing Trant step closer to her again. "Undress her."

As the knight reached for the skirts of her tunic, Ros shut her eyes and hissed quietly, fear and disgust clearly painted on her face. The sound of ripping fabric filled the room, and soon what little was left of the piece of clothing fell to her feet. Trant reached down to pick it up and lay it on the side of the bed next to her hips, and Ros audibly exhaled, almost feeling the gaze of the men in the room on her skin.

"Now leave me," Joffrey commanded, making a shiver run down her spine. "And Ser Meryn, send those other oafs at the door away. I want you two to guard the door tonight. A-and I am not to be bothered," he added with a slight hint of nervousness in his voice. "By anyone."

Trant nodded, giving a sign to the other guard to leave.