"I can only imagine how exciting it must be, how powerful you must feel to squeeze a trigger here...," she ghosted her hand over his on the lever of the crossbow, "and watch it die over there," and oh how she relished that imagining. Margaery Tyrell was a great beauty to behold, clever, kind to those suffering misfortunes, but as she grew closer and closer to Joffrey his own cruelty lit a spark in her. A craving for power, the desire to bring someone pain and suffering...to bring him pain. Margaery could only dream of her perversion, a hazy fantasy of Joffrey on his knees before her, she would be seated naked upon his bed. He'd be reaching up to touch her, begging for mercy only to have her sentence him to more punishment...
"Could you do it? Could you kill?" the feeling of the blonde's hand grasping her elbow tightly jolted her from her thoughts.
"Do you think I could your grace?" biting her lip she felt his breath catch in his chest, not only was it a mind game, cruelty aroused him. Of that she could be sure.
"I think you could, yes," swallowing thickly, he was bewitched by her intrigue in the less maidenly art of hunting.
"Would you like to watch me?"
Joffrey was left speechless. For the first time, he beheld a woman who wasn't a quivering, fearful, child who treated the fine weapons of war and the hunt like they were far too big and scary for them to use. There was confidence in Margaery's tone, in the way her fingers grasped the crossbow like it was an old friend. She was magnificent.
"This may be an improper inquiry your grace, but in the hunt would it be unfair of me to maim a beast before the kill?" choosing her words with care, "I would assume it would make if far less difficult to miss the finishing blow," leaning back into Joffrey she let the weight of the cross bow settle back into his arms.
"You would maim it?" he raised a thick brow, the corner of his lip curling into a bemused smirk.
"Perhaps shoot a leg, slow it down," the smirk turned into a grin. He broke away from Margaery to pace about the room, setting the crossbow down on the plush, golden colored ottoman they had been seated at.
"It wouldn't be very sportsman like, other members of the hunting party might say that sort of tactic makes a hunter a poor shot," he ran his tongue over his teeth, "I'd say it makes things more entertaining,"
"Oh I'm so very glad you think so your grace," Margaery giggled, "You know it is rather amusing, thinking of the image of a great golden lion...toying with it's meal," Joffrey looked to her, she had whet his hunger. The king's eyes met hers glimmering like emeralds in the sunlight that poured into the room "What is it your grace?" Joffrey was flushed, he ripped his eyes from hers and began looking around the room.
"Nothing, I think I should finish my preparations for the hunting trip," he paused, "If you should like to come with you may, damn what anyone else may say. I am the king, I can do whatever I desire and my bride shall also do as she pleases," Margaery clapped her hands together excitedly.
"Thank you, your grace. It shall be much more of an enjoyable excursion than strolling through the gardens with my grandmother,"
"If we are lucky perhaps you will get to have your first kill," he smiled wide, a sadistic toothy grin.
"Oh luck shan't have anything to do with it your grace," Margaery approached him with slow, deliberate steps. Wrapping her arm around his, holding it firmly, "I will have my first kill," she looked up at him, doe's eyes through thick lashes, "I'm sure of it," Joffrey couldn't take it any longer. Every word was a thorn in his chest provoking him, bringing a pang of arousal with each jab.
With a growl, Joffrey grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her hungrily, she gasped for air between kisses as one hand moved from her cheek to lodge itself deep in the carefully coiffed curls of her russet hair. He was as heavy handed as she expected, pulling at her hair hard, eliciting pained moans. His kisses drifted from her mouth to her neck, he sank his teeth in and she mewled.
"J-joffrey, your grace," she pushed her hands up against his chest, "C-careful, we can't be like this before our-" his breath was hot against her neck as he snickered and pulled away from her, pressing his lips to the back of his hand, looking off to the side.
"You're right my lady, you shouldn't be looking like you have been had before our wedding," was he admitting he was wrong? Margaery raised a brow, extremely unsure of what he was about to do, "But I will have you, you know. Unlike your late husband...I will have you," she felt her heart flutter. Little did the king know she would like to have him as well, perhaps in the same way. Mewling, begging...
"Of course your grace, as it is your right," Margaery smiled sweetly, her neck red where his lips once rested, cheeks flushed as well, "You will have all of me to devour, thorns and all," She gave a little curtsey as she turned to leave. As the doors closed behind her the gears turned in Joffrey's mind and her teasing words earlier finally clicked. Magaery Tyrell, the little rose, was just the meal to toy with. To sate a lion's appetite.
