The carriage raced through the night.
Wheels rattled over the muddy road, the compartment swaying hard, but Cersei Lannister barely noticed. All her attention was fixed on the dark shape growing larger ahead—Stokeworth's towers stabbing the sky like swords aimed at the stars.
Almost there.
Her fingers tightened into fists. A fierce, hungry smile pulled at her mouth.
"Cersei…"
Tyene Sand's voice came from the seat beside her, hesitant. "This is just something I happened to overhear. Are you sure we should be doing this?"
Cersei turned, green eyes bright in the dim light.
"What do you mean?"
"I just think…" Tyene lowered her head, choosing her words carefully. "The message came so suddenly. You only just sent me to watch the queen, and I suddenly hear something this big. It feels… off. Like someone might be setting a trap and hoping we walk right into it."
She paused. "Maybe we should focus on getting Nymeria out first. We can deal with the queen later."
Cersei studied the Dornish girl. In her mind, Tyene was still the naïve one—worried about her sister, easy to steer. She felt a rush of satisfaction. Recruiting the Sand Snakes had been one of her smarter moves. Even the gods were helping her tonight.
She smiled, warm and motherly, and reached out to take Tyene's hand.
"Tyene," she said gently, "do you know the difference between you and your sisters?"
Tyene blinked.
"You're too innocent, sweet girl." Cersei squeezed her fingers. "Caution is wise, but you have to understand something—opportunities don't come twice. The cleverest people make mistakes. The strongest have weaknesses. Margaery Tyrell's weakness is that she thinks she can play everyone. She never expected me to have weapons of my own."
She leaned back, voice dropping into something conspiratorial.
"You three. You came from Dorne with no ties here. That's why I trust this partnership. Think about it—if we let this chance slip away, that would be the real stupidity. Margaery has been whispering in Tommen's ear, turning my own son against me. After tonight, she'll be finished. And Corleone… that jumped-up farmer will learn what happens when you cross me."
She moved closer, lips near Tyene's ear.
"You'll be the sharpest blade in my hand. I'll help you free Nymeria. I'll give you titles, lands—whatever you want."
Tyene kept her head down, playing the part perfectly.
"You're very wise, Your Grace," she murmured. "Once Obara brings the Gold Cloaks, the queen and Corleone won't stand a chance."
Cersei's smile widened. She had already sent Obara ahead with orders for Commander Adam Marbrand to ride for Stokeworth on the pretext of investigating missing children. The child-trafficking ring operating out of the castle was real enough—Osney had been running it quietly for weeks. Cersei hadn't cared before. Now it was the perfect excuse.
Margary Tyrell…
The thought of the younger woman's pretty face made Cersei's teeth clench. That bitch had turned her son against her. Tonight she would watch everything burn.
---
By the lake outside Stokeworth, moonlight turned the water to broken silver. Reeds whispered in the night wind.
Two figures stood at the water's edge.
Vito Corleone and Queen Margaery Baratheon.
They weren't touching. They weren't even looking at each other. Both simply watched the distant castle lights.
"I didn't expect you to be this thorough, Your Grace," Corleone said quietly. "Sometimes women's wars are crueler than men's. After tonight, the court will look very different."
Margaery turned her head. Moonlight traced the line of her cheek.
"My grandmother told me to do it."
"Olenna."
"Yes." Margaery's voice was soft. "She said a rose is beautiful, but it always has thorns. Anyone who tries to pick it should expect to bleed."
Corleone was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled, small and knowing.
"She's not wrong."
He glanced at her. "The hunter thinks she's setting the trap. She doesn't realize the trap is already waiting for her—and the bait is a rose that bites back."
Margaery studied his face. "And you, Lord Corleone? What role are you playing in all this?"
"Me?" He picked up a stone and skipped it across the lake. "I'm just a farmer from the Riverlands who knows how to pick apples."
Margaery laughed despite herself. The sound was light, genuine. Then it faded.
"I didn't want this," she said after a moment. "I never wanted to be enemies with Cersei. But I had no choice."
She looked out over the water. "She hates me. From the first day I arrived in King's Landing, she's hated me. I can see it in her eyes. She hides it poorly."
"She sent that ridiculous knight to try to ruin my reputation. She's been turning Tommen against me. There's no reason for it. Just… hate."
Corleone's voice was calm. "Because you're younger. More beautiful. More popular. And smarter."
Margaery looked at him. For a second the night felt very still.
"You once hated someone too," she said. "What happened?"
"He died."
She didn't know what to say to that.
"Anyway," she said after a moment, "thank you for your help tonight, Lord Corleone."
"No thanks needed." He shook his head. "I didn't do much. Just had someone pass along a message at the right time."
Margaery gave him a knowing look. "You're sure there's nothing else you're planning?"
"Nothing." Corleone tossed another stone. "I'm not a god, Your Grace. I don't know what Cersei will do. I don't know what you'll do. I only threw a stone into the lake."
He watched the ripples spread and fade.
"And now I'm watching how far they go."
Margaery was quiet for a long moment.
"What do you want, Lord Corleone?" she asked finally. "Truly?"
He looked at her, dark eyes reflecting the moonlight.
"Order."
She frowned slightly. "Order?"
"Simple things," he said. "People who want to live, get to live. People who want to work, have work to do. People who want to sleep, don't have to worry someone will cut their throat in the dark."
He turned his head toward the distant castle.
"That's all."
Margaery stared at him. In the firelight beginning to bloom at Stokeworth's windows, the black-hand sigil on his coat seemed to shift.
She smiled then—small, real, and strangely warm.
"House Tyrell will be your most loyal friend, Lord Corleone."
She gathered her skirts and walked back to her carriage without looking back.
Corleone watched the carriage disappear into the night. Then he turned and started walking toward the castle.
Flames were already licking out of one window, bright orange against the stone. More windows lit up as the fire spread. The ancient walls of Stokeworth were burning.
Balman had done his job.
Corleone kept walking, the firelight painting his face in shifting gold and shadow. His long silhouette stretched across the ground like a reaching hand.
He had only ever wanted order.
Tonight, one more rotten piece of it was about to be cleaned away.