Balman Byrch stood frozen in place.
His eyes were wide, locked on Willis curled up on the floor. His lips trembled, but no sound came out.
Falyse?
His own wife had ordered the kidnapping?
"Say that again," he rasped, voice hoarse with disbelief.
Willis kept his head down, voice shaking. "It's true, Captain. Lady Falyse… she paid me. Fifty gold dragons a month if I cleared the streets when her men needed to move. That's why I—"
"Bullshit!"
Balman lunged forward and drove his boot into Willis's face, flipping the man onto his back.
"You lying piece of shit! Falyse would never do something like that. She's my wife. She's a daughter of House Stokeworth!"
Willis coughed blood and tried to speak. "Captain… I'm not lying… it's the truth…"
"Shut your fucking mouth!"
Balman dropped to his knees, grabbed Willis by the throat with both hands, and started squeezing. His face was twisted with rage, eyes bloodshot.
Willis's legs kicked weakly. He clawed at Balman's wrists, but the bigger man had the strength of fury behind him. Willis's face was already turning purple.
Rolje stepped in without a word, caught Balman's wrists, and pried his hands apart with steady, brutal force.
Balman snarled and tried to pull free. "Let go of me!"
Rolje didn't answer. He just held on, face expressionless, until Balman's arms were forced wide.
"Enough."
The calm voice came from the shadows behind the desk.
Balman went still.
He turned his head slowly.
Vito Corleone rose from his chair and stepped into the moonlight. Only his dark eyes were clear in the gloom.
Balman's voice cracked. "My lord… this traitor is lying about my wife. He's trying to—"
"He's not lying," Corleone said quietly.
He walked past Balman and stopped in front of Willis. The injured man lay gasping on the floor, blood running from his nose and mouth.
Corleone looked down at him. "How long have you served Balman?"
Willis swallowed hard. "Three… three years, my lord."
"Three years." Corleone nodded once. "How did he treat you?"
Willis's eyes filled with tears. "The captain… he treated me like a brother. Gave me double pay. Never shorted me…"
"Then why betray him?"
Willis started shaking. He couldn't meet Corleone's eyes.
Corleone drew the plain steel sword from his belt. Moonlight ran along the edge.
Balman's face went white. "My lord…"
Corleone didn't look at him. He kept his gaze on Willis.
"You're a smart man. You know when to talk and when to stay quiet. Shame you made the wrong choice."
Willis's eyes went wide with sudden understanding. "My lord! Please— I'll tell you everything! I swear—"
The sword flashed once.
Willis's voice cut off mid-sentence.
Balman stood motionless, staring.
Corleone wiped the blade clean with a white handkerchief, slow and deliberate. He dropped the cloth onto Willis's body, then turned to face Balman.
Moonlight finally lit his face. His expression was calm, almost gentle.
"Balman."
"My… my lord…"
Corleone stepped closer until they were barely two paces apart. Balman could see his own reflection in those dark eyes—shaken, terrified, lost.
Corleone's gaze dropped to the fine new deep-blue velvet coat Balman wore, the silver embroidery at the collar catching the light.
"Nice coat, ser."
Balman swallowed.
"Hope you get to keep wearing it."
The words hung in the air.
Balman understood exactly what Corleone was offering. A choice. One last chance.
He dropped to one knee, right fist pressed hard against his chest.
"My lord! Balman Byrch swears on the Seven—I will not betray your trust again. Never."
Corleone looked down at him for a long moment, then placed a hand on Balman's shoulder. The grip was firm and steady.
"Get up."
"Go home."
Balman rose. He didn't argue. He turned and walked straight to the door. At the threshold he paused and looked back.
Corleone stood by the window again, face half in shadow.
"Lord Corleone," Balman said, voice rough. "I won't let you down."
Then he was gone.
The office fell quiet.
Moonlight fell across Willis's body and the spreading pool of blood. The air smelled of iron and disinfectant.
Rolje moved to Corleone's side. "Why not just send men to Stokeworth and drag them in, my lord?"
Corleone watched the lights of Flea Bottom through the window. The Wheel of Order glowed in the distance. Farther away, the Red Keep rose like a pale island in the dark.
"Balman's a good man," Corleone said quietly. "Loyal. Hardworking. Grateful. Sometimes people just… lose their way for a while."
"He needs a chance to find it again."
Rolje frowned. "And Lady Falyse?"
"Let him handle his wife."
Rolje was silent for a moment, then nodded. He understood. Trust sometimes bought more loyalty than control.
"Still," Corleone added, "I want to know everything that happens at Stokeworth tonight. Have men watch from a distance. No one moves unless I say so."
"Yes, my lord."
Rolje turned to leave. At the door, Corleone spoke again.
"Clean this up. Find him a quiet place."
Rolje glanced at the body. "Understood."
He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Corleone stood alone at the window.
The streets of Flea Bottom were quiet under the moonlight. The lamps he had ordered lit every fifty paces glowed in long, orderly lines. From the Wheel of Order came the distant roar of gamblers.
He thought of Willis's final expression—fear, regret, the sudden understanding that fifty gold dragons had bought him nothing but a quick death.
Then a soft scraping sound came from behind him.
Hiss… hiss…
Like a snake tasting the air.
Corleone didn't turn around. A small, knowing smile touched his mouth.
"Come in."
The window creaked. A figure dropped lightly onto the floor.
Tyene Sand.
She wore dark, close-fitting clothes. Her hair was messy and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She brushed her hands together, then strolled over to Corleone like she owned the room.
"Your window's a bit high," she complained. "Took some effort to climb up here."
Corleone glanced at her. "You could have used the door."
Tyene waved a hand. "Old Dornish habit. Never use doors when you can use windows."
Corleone's mouth twitched. Princess of Dorne's bastard daughter or not, the Sand Snakes really were something else.
He pushed the thought aside. "How did it go?"
Tyene grinned, teeth flashing white. "Smooth as silk."
She dropped into the chair behind his desk, kicked her boots up on the edge, and made herself comfortable.
"We went to the Red Keep just like you said. Didn't even have to push. The Queen Regent came straight to us. Said she wanted to help rescue Nymeria. Said she wasn't on her father's side. Offered to keep us close—pretend we're her serving women—so we could look for Nymeria without raising suspicion."
Tyene's grin widened. "She even said she hates Tywin. That he never trusted her, never gave her real power. Sounded almost convincing."
Corleone listened without interrupting, dark eyes thoughtful.
Tyene continued. "We didn't act too eager. Played it careful, like you told us. She wants us to meet someone tomorrow—Ser Taubert Hetherspoon. Claims he's her man inside Tywin's guard. Says Tywin had his daughter killed years ago, so he hates the old lion and will help us."
Corleone's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes.
Taubert Hetherspoon. Cersei's spy?
He hadn't known that.
Cersei was spinning quite the story to win the Sand Snakes' trust.
"So you haven't met him yet?" Corleone asked.
Tyene shook her head. "Obara and Sarella are still in the Red Keep waiting. I slipped out to report."
She leaned forward, lowering her voice like she was sharing a juicy secret.
"The Queen Regent gave me a job."
Corleone raised an eyebrow. "What job?"
Tyene's eyes sparkled with mischief. "She wants me to spy on Queen Margaery. Says you and the Tyrell girl are fucking. Wants proof so she can catch you in the act."
Corleone was quiet for a moment.
Then the corner of his mouth curved upward.
So that was Cersei's play.
Margaery had been laying groundwork, and Cersei had taken the bait exactly as expected.
He looked at Tyene's excited face, mind already turning over the pieces.
Margaery.
Stokeworth.
Falyse.
Tyrion.
Tonight was going to be interesting at Stokeworth. He might as well make it even more interesting.
"Tyene."
She sat up straighter. "Yes?"
Corleone met her eyes, his own dark and unreadable.
"Go back to Cersei. Tell her you overheard something important tonight."
"Tell her that Queen Margaery is meeting me in private at Stokeworth. Tonight."
Tyene blinked. "Stokeworth? You're actually going there to meet the Tyrell girl?"
Corleone didn't answer.
He simply turned back to the window, watching the quiet streets of Flea Bottom under the moonlight. The smile on his face had deepened into something sharper.
Tyene scratched her head, thought about it for a second, then shrugged.
"Whatever. You're usually right about this stuff."
She hopped off the chair and headed for the window.
"I'll go tell her right now."
With a quick, graceful movement, she was gone into the night.
Corleone remained at the window, eyes on the distant glow of the Red Keep.
Cersei wanted to catch him with Margaery.
Fine.
Let her try.
He had other plans for Stokeworth tonight.