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Tywin stole half an hour with her on the evening of the ball, and some part of Joanna was sure that the King knew of it, somehow, and held it against her.
He came to speak with her while she was sitting at her dressing table in just her robe, resplendent in deep tourmaline velvet slashed with rich green silk, the perfect compliment to her gown and their matching masks - doubtless, everyone would be expecting them to arrive in crimson, and gold, and with masks teased into lion’s manes, but there was no fun in doing what was expected of you. Joanna had known that for a long time now, and had proved it the afternoon she accepted Tywin’s marriage proposal.
No, the unexpected - but carefully planned - was much more fun.
This was again proved when Tywin, much to her maids’ disapproval, dismissed all her companions and closed the door behind them, a spark of a smile in his eyes. Joanna ignored him, choosing instead to slot another emerald-edged pin into her hair.
“You look very beautiful tonight, my lady,” he told her. From other men, Joanna would have considered such words to be a weak flirtation, but from Tywin, they were merely a statement of fact. “I look forward to seeing you fully outfitted for the ball.”
He looked forward to showing her offl, Joanna knew, but she did not fault him for it - she, after all, looked forward to showing Tywin off as the most splendid man at court. None of Rhaella’s other ladies would have such a fine man on their arm, and certainly Rhaella herself would not, so Joanna could not object to Tywin’s pride. Not when she shared in it. Not when she basked in it.
He kissed her cheek, his lips warm and dry, and held out a hand before her. She was used to this - small gifts delivered by hand, without any great fanfare, because he did not trust any of her maids or his manservants, and because his brothers were both away, Kevan at the Rock and Tygett on his tour of the Free Cities. She had come to delight in them, in a small way, because they were something solely between the two of them, something that she could greedily hoard away from Rhaella.
As always, the gift was fitting - this last was a necklace of gold, set with lapis and emeralds, the perfect piece to set off her gown and her mask. He would know that, of course, because Tywin always knew, and she tipped her head forward to allow him to clasp the necklace around her neck.
“Now, tell me,” she said, folding her hands in her lap and turning to face him when he crouched beside her stool. She liked to sit this way, so he had to crane his head back to meet her gaze, so he had to be aware of the power she held over him. “Have you seen the decorations His Grace ordered for the throne room?”
Aerys was sprawled throughout the throne when they arrived, and for a breathless moment Joanna half thought that he had skewered himself amongst the blades.
Not so, of course. Aerys would never be another Maegor, given how closely the Kingsguard kept to their sovereign after Summerhall. It did not matter to them that Aerys was a greedy spendthrift without a head for politicking and diplomacy, oh no - it mattered only that he had a head that fit the crown.
Rhaella was likely somewhere in the gaggle of women that always flocked near Aerys, seeking his bed in hopes of advancing their families’ positions at court. Joanna could almost understand it - most of them were the next thing to lowborn, second and third daughters of knightly houses for whom wealth and excess, such as Aerys revelled in, were distant dreams. Rhaella tried to pay it no mind, until the King decided to flaunt one of his whores, but Joanna thought it all the height of impropriety. Even if a woman were bedding the King, she ought to wield her influence quietly, not parade herself before the court.
Tywin, she knew, saw those women in their undeserved jewels and trinkets, diamonds overbright against gowns of cheap satin and worn velvet, and thought only of his father’s mistress. Joanna thought her uncle a fool, to value a whore so highly, but she supposed it was only to be expected in a realm ruled by an arrogant little man such as Aerys. She supposed she ought to be grateful to the gods that Tywin would eventually rule both the Rock and the realm, but she thought it more honest to be grateful to Tywin for having grown into so fine a man.
“Jon Arryn is staring,” Tywin murmured, a purring rumble against her ear. “Is he jealous that I have such a beauty as yourself on my arm, or does he disapprove of our not wearing our house colours?”
Joanna laughed, just a little. “But my love, the King and Queen do not wear their colours - are we not to follow them in all such things?”
Aerys was pale in such a way as to render the blacks and scarlets of the Targaryen arms unflattering, and tended instead to wear purples, or sometimes spring greens, bright colours that were then emulated by the court in poorer style, giving the whole place the air of a gaudy jewel casket. Tonight, the King was garbed all in cloth-of-gold, save for the glossy black leather of his long boots, hung all over with thick chains of gold and rubies. Rhaella, once Joanna located her among the flock of gaggling hens, was dressed similarly, her hair shining like bloodied steel in the shifting light of the tinted lanterns. Neither looked so regal as they ought, she thought, if only because neither of them seemed to fit their clothes any more than they fit their roles.
“Duty calls,” Tywin drawled, lifting her hand to his lips and settling his mask in place over his eyes. True enough, Aerys was beckoning to Tywin from the throne, and Rhaella must have noticed Joanna, too, for she was waving one skinny hand in greeting.
“So it does,” she agreed, taking his hand when he offered it and letting him lead her down the steps into the throne room proper.
“Lady Arryn,” Cassana said in surprise, shifting aside on the bench to leave room for her new companion. Cousin Aerys had called Steffon away hardly a moment before, and Lord Arryn, easy to spot in his falcon mask, was away across the room with Lord Velaryon. Lady Arryn’s arrival was so timely it seemed almost planned. “A pleasure.”
“You are positively glowing, Lady Baratheon,” Lady Arryn said, settling her creamy skirts around her and adjusting her delicate blue-ribboned falcon mask over her long nose. Cassana thought that Rowena Arryn looked a little like a bird of prey at the best of times, but knew it would be rude to say. “Pregnancy suits you, it seems.”
Cassana couldn’t help but smile at that - she was so uncomfortable at this late stage in the pregnancy, and was dreading the travel back to Storm’s End, but she had been told by everyone she met that she looked well. She half wondered if it was only being said to distract from poor Rhaella’s own pregnancy, so important and fragile, so new, and so had accepted the compliments without complaint or denial, such as was her usual habit.
Still, that did not explain Lady Arryn coming to sit by her - she had been expecting someone she knew, perhaps, Lady Selmy in her delicate mask of braided cornstalks, or Lady Darklyn, who had befriended her almost as soon as she and Steffon had come to court after their marriage. Cassana liked Lady Serala a great deal more than most others seemed to, and always found her to be perfectly charming company - Lady Arryn, though, she hardly knew. The Lord and Lady of the Eyrie remained aloof of court, older than Aerys’ new inner circle and therefore out of place, and Cassana was not sure that she had much to say to her new companion.
“What think you of this all?” she asked, gesturing to the throne room at large. Even without the decadence of the courtiers, the decoration was all to the King’s taste - why, there between Balerion’s massive teeth, dripping out like tongues of flame, were three young women wrapped all in crimson and orange silk, rolling and writhing so the gauzy trains of their costumes twisted and caught the shifting red-gold light of the stained-glass lanterns so they looked almost alive! And here, from Meraxes’ maw, on long scarlet ropes like gobbets of gristle, two young men, painted red and wearing only loincloths, shifting and spinning in the terrible light! It was a queer menagerie, a peek into Aerys’ mind that Cassana might have preferred to be without, but she could not deny that it was impressive.
“Memorable,” Lady Arryn said with a small smile. “So much of King Aerys’ court is, I’ve found, not least his courtiers.”
Her gaze, Cassana found, was settled quite squarely on the smooth golden skin exposed by Lady Joanna Lannister’s low-backed gown. Ser Tywin and Lady Joanna were great favourites of the King and Queen’s, so Cassana knew them well enough, although she did not much like Lady Joanna. She was a beautiful woman with exquisite manners, but Cassana always half felt that she was being laughed at when she sat with the Queen and her ladies, Lady Joanna foremost among them. She tolerated them, for Steffon’s sake - Ser Tywin was as much a cousin to her husband as the King was - but she did not trust them.
They looked stunning, of course, just as they always did, this time in rich ivy-shining-sapphire silk for her and emerald-slashed-tourmaline velvet for him, with masks of peacock feathers, and that wonderful golden hair. Had Cassana been so inclined, she might have been jealous, but there was no point to vanity on Greenstone, and Steffon loved her even as she was now, bloated and flushed with child.
“The West and Dorne have such influence over the tastes of the court,” Lady Arryn said, gesturing with her mask at the gowns that the women surrounding the Queen and Lady Joanna and Princess Loreza were wearing, popular in the Westerlands, to the musicians on the dais in the far corner of the room, come with Loreza and Trystane Martell from Sunspear. Cassana had never much thought about it, but she supposed it to be true. “I wonder if that influence extends to other things.”
Prince Trystane had drifted towards Steffon and Ser Tywin and the King, standing there in their huddle at the base of the throne, and Lady Joanna and Princess Loreza, radiant in rich plum edged with gold, were dominating the Queen’s company - a trifle, since the Queen was always so eager to please the pair of them - and in turn dominating the court.
“They are such close friends,” Lady Arryn said, “I should dearly like to have a friend as close as that for the children my lord and I might have.”
Joanna laughed brightly at Loreza’s teasing japes, relishing the warmth of her friend’s fingers in her own - Loreza’s father, the Prince of Dorne, had been unwell of late, and she spent a great deal too much time at his side for Joanna’s tastes. Loreza was the cleverest woman in Westeros, after Joanna herself, and Rhaella spent more effort than usual when she had both Joanna and Loreza in her company. She had chosen her husband well, too, for Trystane Gargalen was a shrewd, witty sort of man, who found it easy to keep up with Loreza.
“Will you dance with me, Your Highness?” the Prince said, his dark eyes gleaming bright in the shadow of the throne. “It has been so terribly long since we danced, my love.”
Loreza rolled her eyes but took his hand, blowing a kiss back over her shoulder to Joanna as she let Trystane lead her out onto the floor. Joanna was almost in Tywin’s arms once more, ready to cling that bit closer than was proper, as Loreza’s Dornish music allowed.
Aerys, however, had other plans.
“Come, fair lady, since Her Grace will not dance with me, you shall have to do me the honour - you are the second lady of court, after all!”
Joanna thought it distasteful that he mocked Rhaella for being so careful of her pregnancy, but she had no choice but to allow him a dance. He was, after all, her King, and a man with little tolerance for refusal. He had been the same even before he was crowned, and had only grown worse in the time since.
“Tywin is a glutton, to keep a beauty such as you to himself,” the King said, his hands just a shade too tight against her skin. “I should like a share of such radiance - would you be willing to give such a thing, sweet lady?”
“I am a virtuous maiden, Your Grace,” Joanna demured, thinking of Tywin’s expensive inks spilling across his desk, of her fingers stained crimson against his chest. “No man shall have any share of me save for my lord husband.”
The shadows behind the throne were deeper than those before it, and Joanna did not know how Aerys had spun her into them. He did, though, and stood before her looking smug.
“I think I shall take a share now,” he said. “Doing away with the First Night was an intolerable indulgence-”
“How dare you!” she hissed, her hand raising despite knowing better. She was almost glad when Aerys caught her wrist, but was less so when he began to stroke her hand, caressing it as a lover might.
“The penalty for striking a King is to lose a hand,” he said quietly. “What a shame it would be for such a lovely hand to be lost, don’t you think?”
“My grandmother struck a prince once,” Joanna said, thinking of stories she had heard of the formidable Rohanne Webber, “and she did not lose a hand. I shall follow her example, I think.”
She tore away from him then, maintaining a dignified pace as she returned to Tywin’s side, and hid her reddened wrist. It would not do to give Tywin cause to be angry with Aerys - without him as Hand, the realm would fall apart within two years.
She wondered now, though, of whom Aerys was jealous.