Renly walked to his side. "Send your men away." They met in the center of the bridge, the dry moat beneath them. Moonlight silvered the cruel edges of the spikes that lined its bed.
Ned gestured. Tomard and Cayn bowed their heads and backed away respectfully. Lord Renly glanced warily at Sir Boros on the far end of the span, at Sir Preston in the doorway behind them. "That letter." He leaned close. "Was it the regency? Has my brother named you Protector?" He did not wait for a reply. "My lord, I have thirty men in my personal guard, and other friends beside, knights and lords. Give me an hour, and I can put a hundred swords in your hand."
And what should I do with a hundred swords, my lord?
Strike! Now, while the castle sleeps. Renly looked back at Sir Boros again and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. "We must get Joffrey away from his mother and take him in hand. Protector or no, the man who holds the king holds the kingdom. We should seize Myrcella and Tommen as well. Once we have her children, Cersei will not dare oppose us. The council will confirm you as Lord Protector and make Joffrey your ward."
Ned regarded him coldly. "Robert is not dead yet. The gods may spare him.