Free Web NovelChapter 81: The Vanished Queen
The bells were ringing again.
Lord Regent Kevan Lannister heard them as he crossed the yard beneath Maegor’s Holdfast, their solemn peals drifting through the chill morning air. The sound rolled over the Red Keep like distant thunder, echoing from tower to tower before spilling out across the city beyond the walls.
Bells.
There were always bells these days.
They rang for the dead and for the living, for weddings and funerals, for victories, defeats, prayers, warnings, and sins. King’s Landing had become a city of bells and rumors, and both seemed equally impossible to silence.
The Faith liked bells.
The thought did little to improve Kevan’s mood.
A light rain had fallen during the night. The stones beneath his boots gleamed dark and wet as he made his way toward the Tower of the Hand. The air smelled of damp earth, horse dung, and the distant tang of Blackwater Bay. Above, the sky hung low and grey, heavy with clouds.
Two gold cloaks snapped to attention when he entered.
"Any news?" Kevan asked before either man could offer a greeting.
The younger guard glanced uneasily at his companion before answering.
"No, my lord."
Of course not.
Had Queen Margaery been found, the city would already be roaring with the tale. Fishmongers would be shouting it in the markets, washerwomen gossiping over tubs, and half the court would be claiming they had known the truth all along.
Kevan climbed the winding stairs in silence.
Four days.
Four days since the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms had vanished.
Not escaped.
Not fled.
Vanished.
The Small Council chamber was already occupied when Kevan entered. The chamber smelled of old parchment, melted wax, and the damp stone that never quite dried beneath the Red Keep.
Kevan took his seat.
"Well?" demanded Mace Tyrell at once.
Kevan almost admired the simplicity of it.
"Nothing new," he said.
Mace slammed a thick hand upon the table.
"Nothing?"
The crack echoed through the chamber.
Lord Kevan Lannister had grown used to many unpleasant things since taking up the regency, but the tension in the room today refused to settle.
The disappearance of Queen Margaery Tyrell had thrown everything into chaos.
Reports from the city watch about hunger and rising crime, as well as petitions from septons demanding more protection, merchants grumbling about delayed shipments on the Blackwater.
Kevan sat at the head of the table, his face carefully composed. Across from him, Lord Mace Tyrell looked ready to burst. The large man’s face was flushed, his thick fingers drumming restlessly against the table.
"Has there been any word?" Grand Maester Pycelle asked, blinking awake from his doze.
"Any ransom? Any demand at all?"
Kevan shook his head.
"Nothing," he said quietly.
"The Queen was under guard in the Maidenvault. The door was locked. The windows are barred with iron. Two septas were in the room with her. And yet... she is gone."
A heavy silence fell.
Mace Tyrell slammed a meaty fist on the table.
"My daughter does not simply vanish!" he roared.
"She was under the Faith’s watch, their responsibility! They swore she would be safe in that tower!"
Ser Harys Swyft shifted uncomfortably.
"The High Sparrow claims it was unnatural," he muttered.
"He says something took her. The iron bars on the window... they were bent open. No man could have done that."
Kevan rubbed his temple.
The Faith was already spinning this into a religious crisis. Ravens had flown out across the realm. Accusations of heresy and conspiracy were spreading like wildfire.
Kevan kept his voice steady.
"We are investigating every possibility. The guards have been questioned. The septas as well. There was no sign of forced entry through the door. No rope. No struggle inside the chamber. Only the window... and those bent bars."
Mace Tyrell rose halfway from his chair, face purple with rage.
"Bent bars? Then explain it! My daughter, your queen was taken from under the Faith’s noses and you sit here speaking of sorcery? I will not sit idle while my blood is stolen by shadows and spells!"
Kevan met Mace’s eyes calmly.
"You will do exactly as the crown requires, Lord Tyrell. We cannot afford panic in the streets. King Tommen is already asking questions. He wishes to know where his queen has gone."
Mace’s jaw tightened. For a moment, something almost like guilt flickered behind his bluster, but it was gone too quickly to be certain.
Kevan continued.
"The Faith is searching the city. We have men watching the gates. If the Queen was taken, we will find those responsible. Until then, we must maintain order."
Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat.
"The Most Devout have begun inquiries of their own—"
"Their inquiries?" Mace barked. "Their inquiries?"
His face reddened visibly.
"The girl vanished from their custody."
No one disputed the point, because it was true. The Faith had demanded authority, demanded judgment.
The High Sparrow had insisted that Margaery Tyrell remain under the protection of the Seven until her innocence could be proven before the realm.
Now she was gone.
The humiliation could not have pleased him.
Kevan doubted the old man enjoyed humiliation any more than any other ruler.
"The High Septon maintains that the Crown may have played some role in her disappearance," Pycelle said carefully.
Silence settled over the chamber.
Mace stared at the old maester, then he laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh.
"The Crown?" he repeated. "The Crown abducted its own queen?"
Pycelle lowered his eyes.
The rest of the meeting dragged on in strained arguments, over watch rotations, over how much to tell the smallfolk, over whether to declare the queen officially missing.
Through it all, Kevan watched Mace Tyrell closely.
The man’s outrage was loud and convincing.
Perhaps too convincing.
Later, when the council had emptied and only fading candlelight remained, Kevan stood alone beside the great table. Outside the tall windows, the city sprawled beneath a dull grey sky.
King’s Landing was always hungry. Tonight it felt watchful as well.
A gold cloak entered and bowed.
"My lord Regent. Reports from the city gates. Small detachments from the Reach camps have begun departing under cover of routine rotation."
Kevan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
"Routine?"
"So they claim, my lord."
Of course they do.
Kevan dismissed the man with a wave.
He remained standing at the window long after the guard had left, staring out over King’s Landing.
A queen had vanished without trace from a locked tower.
The Faith was screaming sorcery.
Mace Tyrell was playing the part of the furious father perfectly.
And now Reach men were quietly moving.
Kevan Lannister rested a hand on the stone sill, his face grim. Whatever was happening, it was not random.
Someone was directing it.
The weight of the day pressed heavily on his shoulders. King Tommen would need to be told something, even if it was only a careful half-truth.
The boy had already asked after his queen twice that morning.
Kevan rose and made his way through the Red Keep’s corridors, two gold cloaks trailing a respectful distance behind him.
The air felt heavier than usual, thick with unspoken fears.
He found King Tommen in the royal gardens.
The boy sat on the edge of a marble fountain, small hand absently dropping crumbs into the water for the fish that darted beneath the surface.
His crown rested crookedly atop golden curls, slightly too large for his head. Two Kingsguard stood a short distance away, Ser Boros Blount and Ser Meryn Trant, their white cloaks bright against the greenery, hands resting near the hilts of their swords.
Even in the heart of the Red Keep, no one took chances anymore.
For a moment, Kevan saw only a child.
Not a king.
Never truly a king.
Just a lonely boy surrounded by wolves.
Tommen looked up as Kevan approached, his large blue eyes brightening for a brief instant before the weight of reality settled back over him.
"Uncle Kevan," he said softly.
Kevan managed a small, tired smile.
"Your Grace."
Tommen hesitated, fingers still hovering over the water. Then he asked the question Kevan had been dreading most.
"Have they found Margaery yet?"
There it was.
The boy’s voice was hopeful. Trusting. Full of the simple faith that adults could fix anything if they tried hard enough.
Kevan hated what he had to say next.
"No," he answered quietly. "Not yet."
The hope drained from Tommen’s face like water slipping through his fingers. He looked down at the fountain again, watching the fish swirl around the floating crumbs.
"Oh," he said, very small.
The silence that followed hurt more than tears ever could have.
"She’ll come back, won’t she?" Tommen asked after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kevan wished, not for the first time, that he possessed the certainty children believed adults carried. He did not. Not anymore.
"I hope so," he said. ƒгeewёbnovel.com
Tommen frowned. That was not an answer, and both of them knew it.
The boy tossed another crumb into the water.
"I miss her," he said simply.
Kevan sat down beside him on the cold marble edge of the fountain. He placed a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder, feeling how small and fragile it was beneath his palm.
"I know," he said.
"Everyone keeps telling me not to worry," Tommen continued, his voice growing even smaller.
"But they all look worried."
Gods help us, Kevan thought. Out of the mouths of children.
Beyond the garden walls, the bells of the Great Sept began to toll once more, not the measured call to prayer, but the restless, urgent clamor that had become all too familiar since the queen’s disappearance.
The sound drifted across King’s Landing like a warning.
Kevan listened to them and felt a chill he could not explain.
The Queen was gone.
The Faith was angry and rumors spread faster than ravens.
And somewhere beyond the walls of King’s Landing, unseen hands were moving pieces across the board.
For the first time since becoming Regent, Kevan Lannister found himself wondering whether order itself was beginning to slip beyond his grasp.
The thought followed him long after the bells had fallen silent.
