Chapter 19 - Chapter 19

Joffrey woke up in the dingy brothel room, the thin morning light cutting through the shutters, casting long shadows on the filthy floor. Ros was curled up beside him, her body warm and pliant, her red hair splayed out messily across the pillow. Joffrey stared at the ceiling, mind churning with the events of the previous day. He'd tried so damn hard to be better than the original Joffrey—more calculated, less sadistic. He played the perfect prince, charmed where the old Joffrey would've sneered, manipulated where the boy king would've lashed out.

He knew he wasn't innocent, not by a long shot. He'd taken advantage of Sansa's innocence, toyed with her like a cat with a mouse, but they were engaged, weren't they? Bound by duty, the same as any noble in this world. He'd given her the fairy tale prince she'd always dreamed of, but with a twist—a bit of edge, a darkness that made her shiver under his touch. Yet the moment something went wrong, Sansa was quick to believe the worst. That look in her eyes, the doubt—like he was still that vicious little tyrant—stung more than he'd ever admit.

Joffrey ran a hand over Ros's chest, fingers curling around her breast, squeezing lazily as he lost himself in thought. She stirred, shifting against him, her breath warm on his neck. But his mind was elsewhere, caught up in the politics of the court. Littlefinger was already weaving his schemes, that slippery bastard. Joffrey knew he'd have to deal with him eventually—preferably with a knife to the throat. But none of that mattered right now. Not compared to the nagging thought that kept him up: Sansa's doubt.

She didn't love him. Maybe she liked him, enjoyed the danger and the way he made her feel, but love? No, that wasn't it. He'd played the prince perfectly, done everything to keep her hooked, but the moment a whisper of scandal touched his name, she'd turned on him. It was a reminder of how fragile loyalty was, how easily people were swayed. His title was worthless if it didn't come with real power, real fear, and he needed something more to keep people in line. He needed loyalty that couldn't be bought or broken.

Joffrey's thoughts drifted to the key players around him. Cersei would fall in line as soon as Jaime and Lancel were removed from her bed; she'd have no one else to turn to but him. Myrcella was a gamble. She hated the old Joffrey, and the only thing keeping her compliant now was her twisted fascination with Cersei and the allure of their taboo family secrets. That connection would only hold for so long.

Barristan Selmy was too old and too honorable to be of much use beyond his sword. The Hound, Sandor Clegane, was a different story—too sharp, too jaded to be taken in by Joffrey's princely airs. Sandor had a way of sniffing out bullshit, and his loyalty wasn't something that could be bought with titles or gold. The Mountain, though—Gregor was a weapon, a monster reserved for a special kind of chaos when the time was right with Dorne.

Ros shifted under his touch, her body reacting instinctively as Joffrey's hand roamed down to her waist, then lower. She let out a sleepy moan, her eyes fluttering open as he began to move inside her, slow and deliberate. She arched against him, her body welcoming the familiar intrusion. Joffrey barely registered her response; his mind was still lost in the web of power plays and fragile alliances he was trying to hold together.

"You've got a lot on your mind, Your Grace," Ros murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but carrying a playful edge. She rocked her hips, meeting his slow thrusts as she let her fingers trace his chest. "Anything I can help you with?"

Joffrey grunted, not bothering to answer, his thoughts still tangled with Sansa's accusing eyes and the bullshit politics that surrounded him. He leaned down, capturing one of Ros's nipples between his teeth, biting harder than necessary. She gasped, arching up, her nails digging into his back, but she didn't complain. She knew her place, knew exactly what Joffrey needed—something to bite down on, someone to take his anger out on without question.

"Loyalty," Joffrey muttered against her skin, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the feeling, using Ros like the outlet she was. "Real fucking loyalty, not this fake shit people give to crowns and titles." His thrusts grew more forceful, driven by a mix of anger and frustration. Ros moaned beneath him, her body shuddering with each hard snap of his hips, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Whatever you need, Your Grace," Ros panted, her voice laced with a mix of seduction and submission. She matched his pace, letting her body mold to his, her moans echoing softly in the small, dark room. Joffrey didn't slow, didn't let up until he was right on the edge, his release hitting him in a sudden, blinding rush. He buried his face in her chest, groaning against her skin as he spilled inside her, feeling her tighten around him as she came seconds later, her cries soft and breathless.

Joffrey pulled back, still panting, his mind already shifting gears as he considered his next move. He needed someone he could mold, someone who would be grateful for whatever scraps of power he tossed their way—someone who would work tirelessly for him, without question. And he knew exactly who that person was.

Joffrey stood abruptly, dragging Ros with him, his cock still buried inside her. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as he lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through the brothel. "You're full of surprises, Your Grace," Ros teased, her voice breathy as he bounced her on his cock, her moans mingling with soft giggles. She loved the way he manhandled her, loved the raw strength and dominance he showed when he was angry.

Joffrey didn't respond. He moved with purpose, navigating the twisting corridors with Ros still riding him, her hips rolling as she tried to keep pace. He reached Tyrion's room and shoved the door open, not bothering to knock. Tyrion was lounging on a cushioned chair, a girl between his legs, her head bobbing as she worked him over. He looked up, his expression shifting from pleasure to annoyance at the intrusion.

"Joffrey," Tyrion sighed, clearly irritated. "You have impeccable timing, as always. What the hell do you want?"

Joffrey ignored him, dropping Ros to her knees in front of him. She immediately knew what to do, her hands moving to his hips as she positioned herself, pressing her breasts together to envelop his cock. Joffrey thrust between them, the sensation of her soft, warm skin wrapping around him sending a shiver of satisfaction through his body. He snapped his fingers, and Ros obediently licked her lips, teasing the head with her tongue before taking him deeper, her mouth wet and eager.

"I'm here to tell you something important," Joffrey said, his voice casual, as if they were discussing the weather rather than what was happening in front of them. He pushed Ros's head down, guiding her movements as he spoke. "Jaime's being removed from the Kingsguard."

Tyrion's eyes widened, and he stopped, pushing the girl away as he sat up straighter. "Removed? You can't be serious. Jaime's taken vows—"

"He'll be taking on a new role," Joffrey cut him off, his grip tightening on Ros's hair as he thrust harder, the slick glide of her breasts around him sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. "And he'll be marrying soon."

Tyrion looked furious, his eyes narrowing as he processed what Joffrey was saying. "You can't just toss him aside like some pawn, Joffrey. He's—"

"Don't worry, Uncle," Joffrey interrupted, his tone dripping with false reassurance. He pulled Ros back, forcing her to take him deeper, her mouth stretched wide around him. She gagged slightly but recovered quickly, her tongue flicking out to tease him. "There's a place for you, too."

Tyrion's lip curled, his annoyance barely contained. "What place, Joffrey? Court jester? I'm not one of your toys."

Joffrey ignored the jab, his attention focused on Ros as he felt himself close to release. He groaned, thrusting one last time as he came, spilling into her mouth. He held her there, watching her choke slightly before pulling back, his voice commanding. "Open up. Show me."

Ros complied, her eyes wide as she opened her mouth, his release glistening on her tongue. She swirled it, showing off her obedience before swallowing every drop, licking her lips clean with a satisfied hum.

Joffrey looked at Tyrion, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Master of Coin, Uncle. That's the position I have in mind for you. It suits you, don't you think?"

Tyrion stared at him, a mix of surprise and reluctant intrigue flickering in his eyes. He knew there was a game being played, and Joffrey was setting the board just the way he wanted.