Behind Cersei came Joffrey, likewise under guard. The thirteen-year-old was much taller than others his age, but his frame looked thin, and his prison clothes hung loosely on him.
His face was deathly pale, his lips trembled, and his eyes darted about as though searching for a gap through which he could escape. But everywhere he looked, he saw people, and every one of them hated him.
At the rear, Tommen and Myrcella were brought out together. Tommen was still young and rather short, his plump face still rounded with baby fat.
He hunched his neck and clutched his sister's hand, tears already streaming down his face. Myrcella had beautiful golden curls and the green eyes that were the hallmark of House Lannister.
Her face was pale too. Though she was frightened, she did not cry. She merely pressed her lips together and supported Tommen as they walked forward, step by step.
"Whore! Bastard!" Someone hurled a rotten apple straight at Joffrey's shoulder, splashing putrid juice across his face. He screamed, ducked his head, and recoiled, nearly falling over.
Hearing her son's scream, Cersei whipped around and glared toward whoever had thrown the apple. The viciousness in those green eyes made the people nearby instinctively step back, but a moment later, more rotten vegetables and stinking eggs came flying.
"What are you staring at? Never thought you'd see this day, did you?"
"Lannister bitch! Your son's a mongrel too!"
A stone struck little Tommen in the forehead, and blood ran down the bridge of his nose. He burst into a loud wail and cried even harder. Letting go of Myrcella's hand, he covered his face and crouched down.
Myrcella hurriedly crouched beside him, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and pressed her hand against his forehead. Her fingers trembled slightly,