"Queen Selyse. Princess Shireen."
"Sit, Lord Baelish."
To preserve the dignity of the royal family, Selyse had already sent a servant to wipe Shireen's face with a warm cloth before Petyr arrived. Still, those sharp little eyes missed nothing.
He could see the queen was wound tight as a bowstring. That was exactly how he wanted her.
Petyr began by joining her in cursing Jon Snow's name. Years of dealing with women had taught him that most of their conversations held little meaning but were heavy with emotion. If you understood the feeling behind the words and answered it, you could close the distance fast.
"Your Grace," he said, leaning forward with concern, "I will soon be taking another shipment of supplies to the front. If there is anything you wish me to say to His Grace, I would be honored to carry your words."
"Thank you, Lord Baelish." Selyse's voice was thick with gratitude. The man had lost a hand and a leg in service to the crown, yet he still offered help. It moved her.
She launched into a long, anxious defense of her family, insisting that Alester had only surrendered because he was forced to, that House Florent remained loyal at heart. Petyr listened with a patient, sympathetic expression while his eyes stayed cold.
When she finally ran out of words, he spoke quietly.
"Your Grace… is this truly the time to worry about your family? Should you not be worried about yourself? And about Princess Shireen?"
Selyse glanced instinctively toward the seat her daughter had occupied moments earlier. She had sent Shireen away earlier, embarrassed by the scars on her face.
"Lord Baelish, most of House Florent is now with Jon. He defeated Alester. If Alester simply bends the knee, then the entire family is safe. What more could they ask for?"
"But you are no longer a Florent, Your Grace," Petyr said softly. "You are a Baratheon. And so is your daughter."
Selyse stared at him.
"If the Florents have turned their backs on Stannis," Petyr continued, voice gentle but relentless, "then what protection do you and Shireen have left? The king already travels with Robert's bastards. He has already shown he values strength over blood. Without the Florents behind you… how long do you think your position will last? How long before he looks elsewhere for a queen who can give him sons?"
Selyse's hands trembled in her lap.
Petyr rose and came closer. He lifted the stump of his wrist so she could see it clearly.
"Wake up, Your Grace. Power is the only thing that keeps a woman alive in this world. Without it, we are all like this." He let the words hang. "You remember what happened to Eddard Stark? Cersei bought the gold cloaks. If she hadn't acted, she and her children would have died on Ice. Sometimes a queen must be willing to do what is necessary."
He told her a carefully edited version of Cersei's story, leaving out his own role. He painted Cersei as a woman who had seized control when her husband was away and made sure her son sat the throne.
"Queen Selyse," he said, voice low and urgent, "Joffrey was a bastard. Shireen is Stannis's trueborn daughter. Does she not deserve better than to be cast aside?"
Selyse looked lost.
Petyr pressed harder.
"When the king returns… do you truly believe he will forgive the Florents' betrayal? Or will he take his anger out on you? On your daughter? He needs strong allies now. The Vale. Dorne. Would he not rather have Lysa Arryn as queen, with the Vale's army at his back? Or a Martell bride who could bring the Reach army to heel?"
"No," Selyse whispered. "He wouldn't…"
Petyr's voice sharpened.
"Can we even bring the king home safely anymore, Your Grace? Or will he return only to punish you for the sins of your house?"
Selyse's breathing grew shallow.
Petyr leaned in until his face was close to hers.
"You can only save one of them now. Your daughter… or your husband."
The words struck like a blade.
Selyse sat very still. Memories rose unbidden—her wedding night and Robert's drunken rutting in their bed, Stannis's cold distance, the way his eyes had lit when he first saw Melisandre in red, the endless slights, the way he had never once looked at her the way she had once dreamed he would.
She had given him everything. Her family's swords. Her loyalty. Her body. And still he had never loved her.
Now her family had abandoned him. He would likely abandon her in turn.
She had nothing left.
Slowly, Selyse lifted her head. Her brown eyes were hollow and terribly clear.
"What do we do, Lord Baelish?" she asked.