Chapter 42 — If He Says Ten, Then It's Ten — A Lannister Always Pays His Debts
As the door swung inward, Podrick instinctively looked inside.
The room was dim, lit with a hazy, seductive glow.
A faint perfume hung in the air.
A canopy-draped bed dominated one side of the room.
A tall wardrobe stood beside it — carved with figures locked in indecent, fiery embraces.
A narrow lead-glassed window was set high in the wall, panes arranged in a red-and-yellow diamond pattern.
In the center of the room stood a polished column as thick as a man's arm — rising from floor to ceiling.
Curtains hung like veils around the walls.
Aside from this — the room was empty.
"Come in, little lord…"
Seeing Podrick frozen in the doorway, Chataya laughed softly, her fingers still curled around his hand. She guided him forward.
Behind them, Bronn and Tyrion shared a look full of wicked amusement — and stepped in after them.
Podrick, stiff as a puppet, let himself be led to the first curtain.
Before he could speak, the curtain rustled — and out stepped a breathtaking young woman, her dark skin the same shade as Chataya's.
Her loose silken robe hung open, held at the waist only by a thin belt strung with beads.
She swayed toward Podrick like a serpent — hips flowing, eyes gleaming — before pressing herself lightly against him.
"Alayaya — my daughter," Chataya introduced her with pride.
"They didn't tell me you would be this handsome," Alayaya purred, her Summer Isles accent warm with honey and heat, her breath tickling Podrick's ear until his knees nearly buckled.
Before Podrick could form a single intelligible word, Chataya was already leading him onward — no pause, no mercy — toward the second curtain.
Again, the curtain parted.
"This is Jinnah," Chataya said.
A beauty with dark hair and pale skin stepped out.
Unlike Alayaya's loose silks, Jinnah wore almost nothing — only gold bands at her neck, upper arms, and ankles.
Her thick twin ponytails whipped through the air as she turned, then fell over her shoulders like ink.
"She is talented with shy boys," Chataya said with a smile. "And very talented with boys who are no longer shy."
Jinnah didn't respond with words.
She only stared at Podrick with smoky grey eyes — and slowly dragged her tongue across her lips.
Podrick swallowed hard.
Chataya did not slow down.
She walked him toward the third curtain — and by now Podrick understood: every veil hid a new miracle.
His legs felt like mud, yet somehow one part of him was… far from soft.
"Mary. Her skin is silk, her hair the color of the moon."
A small girl stepped out — petite, porcelain, with a pair of vivid emerald eyes that caught the light even in the darkness.
Her silver hair spilled down her back and over one shoulder like a waterfall, perfectly hiding and revealing at the same time.
Podrick forgot to breathe.
Mary was adorable, but serious — without the seductive playfulness of the others.
Cold rather than sultry, pure where others burned — if Alayaya was a black pearl of melting heat, then Mary was a flawless shard of emerald ice.
Before Podrick could even properly admire her, Chataya was already guiding him to the next curtain.
"Kayla. Her reputation reaches all the way to Volantis.
She is one of only four women in the world capable of performing the Meereenese Knot."
Kayla wasn't cold like Mary, wasn't bold like Alayaya, and wasn't sultry like Jinnah — yet as Chataya spoke, she demonstrated how flexible she was.
Limbs like water, spine like silk — she seemed to glide rather than walk.
Podrick stared in open-mouthed awe. His heart thumped so hard it might burst out of his chest.
And yet, one question slipped out through the fog of panic:
"E-excuse me… what… knot did you just say?"
Chataya only smiled — and didn't answer.
This time, she didn't lead him curtain by curtain.
She simply clapped her hands.
Instantly, every curtain in the room rippled — and women poured out from all sides at once.
A red-haired girl named Dancy with a lion's nose, freckles across her cheeks, and a springy, athletic body.
Jette, tall and slender, her blonde hair wound into an elegant knot, carrying a platter of roasted meat as if it belonged in a seduction ritual.
After them came Helene, Sana, Alyse, and more and more until Podrick completely lost count.
Names blurred. Perfumes overlapped.
Warm arms and soft bodies surrounded him, pressing from every side like waves, dizzying him with scent and touch.
Somewhere in the storm of beauty, a coin pouch clinked — sharp and bright like a bell.
Podrick twisted toward the sound.
"If I said ten, then it'll be ten. A Lannister always pays his debts."
Tyrion wore his trademark wicked grin, shaking the heavy bag of gold before dropping it into a black ebony box inlaid with white pearls.
"Be back before supper," he said, almost musical.
"Take it slow, kid," Bronn added with a smirk before turning to leave.
They started for the door.
"WAIT!"
The door creaked halfway shut when Podrick — now stripped down to his undershirt without even realizing when it happened — shouted urgently.
All three adults paused, confused.
Tyrion, Bronn, and Chataya turned to look at him.
But Podrick didn't look at them.
His eyes were fixed only on Chataya, the tall beauty with sandalwood eyes.
"Can you… stay too, Lady Chataya?"
For a heartbeat, the entire room froze.
[You have gained new insight into life: +300 EXP]
[CHARISMA +1]
Thirteen pairs of feminine eyes turned toward him, shocked.
Even Chataya herself looked stunned — just for a moment.
Then her lips curved very, very slowly.
"Of course."
THUD.
The heavy door slammed shut — cold and merciless — leaving the dwarf and the sellsword on the outside.
Tyrion and Bronn stared at each other, dumbstruck.
And from behind the door erupted a sudden, thunderous wave of female shrieks and laughter — two worlds separated by a single wall.
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