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The Queen Regent set down the sheet of parchment covered in her own sharp, precise handwriting.
Proclamations to every Warden, lord, and sworn vassal.
They were ordered to ride to King's Landing at once and swear fealty to King Joffrey the First. The penalties for refusal were spelled out in brutal detail.
Such an important document could never be trusted to weak, useless Pycelle.
Only the Lioness of Casterly Rock, only Tywin Lannister's own daughter, could craft words this exact, this cutting.
The Grand Maester and his assistants would simply copy her text and send the ravens flying across the realm.
A pity she could not send a singer along with them.
Still, the name Lannister at the bottom would be enough to remind every reader of the song they all knew by heart.
Cersei read the wording once more and allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.
Her work tonight was flawless.
Now she could let him in.
"Send in Ser Jaime," she told Osmund Kettleblack outside the door.
The knight was useful enough, for now.
She would need to find someone more reliable soon…
In the old days her twin could have walked in whenever he pleased.
Now she was forced to observe the ridiculous courtesies imposed on her—rules made by sheep.
If it were up to her, the Red Keep would have celebrated Robert's death and Joffrey's ascension for an entire week.
Instead the proud lioness was forced to wear mourning black for the drunken fool she had hated all her life.
Her gaze lingered on the knight who entered.
Tall, broad-shouldered, the white armor and cloak perfect on him, that familiar, intimate smile on his handsome face…
Heat bloomed low in Cersei's belly, sweet and urgent.
She wanted to kiss her lover right now, drag him straight to the bed that finally belonged to her alone.
But the Queen Regent mastered the impulse.
No matter how handsome, how deadly, how loyal her twin was, Ser Jaime had never been the clever one.
Like all men of his kind, he thought with his sword or his cock.
Jaime was Joffrey's sword, an indispensable arm for their son.
But the planning, the ruling—that belonged to her and her alone.
Fortunately she had been preparing for this role her entire life.
"You took too long," she said, not bothering to hide her displeasure. "Far too long."
"You know how tedious it is to inspect every gate," her brother and lover answered carelessly. "I couldn't leave it to that fool Slynt. I had to tour the whole city and speak with a dozen armed idiots who call themselves captains." He shrugged. "And no one has seen the Stark girl. Neither the Gold Cloaks nor the Red Keep guards. Looks like the little she-wolf vanished into some hole in Flea Bottom."
"She deserves it," Cersei said, letting the mask drop completely now that they were alone. She had worn it all day and was exhausted. "That bitch and her beast attacked Joffrey! My poor, bruised boy told me everything. I hope some thief cracks her bones and swallows them."
Jaime ignored her curse and continued, "Worse, we still can't find Renly or the little Tyrell. The Gold Cloaks searched every hiding place they know, but both of them and their men have disappeared."
Cersei gave a cold snort. "Where did that sweet pair run off to? Hiding outside the city so they can cut each other's throats in celebration?"
"I'm afraid they have other plans," the knight said with a shrug. "Varys heard a report of armed men bearing Baratheon and Tyrell banners on the Roseroad."
"You need fear nothing—not even roses." Cersei handed him the parchment. "Let the lovers hide wherever they like. They cannot hide from this letter. They will come here and kneel before our son, or they will be declared traitors. You know how Lannisters deal with traitors. A debt is always paid…"
The instant Jaime began reading, his face twisted in displeasure.
Cersei laughed coldly inside.
Men always made that face whenever she asserted her power and rights.
They would simply have to get used to it. Until Joffrey came of age, she would rule thousands of discontented, coarse men.
It had been so close tonight—so dangerously close!
That stubborn northern ram, Stark, had actually tried to claim the regency.
The council had quickly shown him who the true masters were, and he seemed ready to tuck his wolf tail between his legs and crawl back North.
It should have been perfect!
But then… but then!
The morning after the king's death, Lord Baelish had come to her with news that the Hand had tried to bribe the officers of the City Watch.
Littlefinger had not needed to say more. The queen had understood the threat at once.
What did those conspirators want with swords?
The Master of Coin had indeed given Slynt and his men the gold they wanted… only for them to choose her side—and Joffrey's—at the crucial moment.
And then that northern bastard had stood in the throne room and shouted his accusations!
Incest. Usurpation. Kingslaying!
Now Eddard Stark rotted in the dark cells beneath Maegor's Holdfast, awaiting judgment, while every one of his men had been slaughtered.
A bloody lesson for anyone who dared oppose her house, who dared oppose the dynasty she and her father had dreamed of…
Yet the queen still could not understand what had driven Stark to act so clumsily.
How had the lone northern wolf suddenly grown bold enough to make such a stupid move?
He could never have guessed her secret with Jaime on his own…
Stannis!
The viper hiding in the shadows!
He was the one behind it all!
He had used Stark to reach for the throne. He had struck some bargain with the Stark lord.
None of it mattered now.
Cersei had already crushed the Lord of Dragonstone's scheme, and soon—very soon—he would lie dead among the smoking rocks or sink to the bottom of Blackwater Bay.
She had not yet decided which fate would please her more.
But… a Lannister always pays his debts.
"You were too harsh," the Kingsguard said, handing the parchment back. "Many will see this as a provocation. And you completely forgot that the Dornishman has gout. By the time he arrives we'll both be dead of old age."
Cersei nearly slapped him.
Why did her own brother always argue with her?
When their father made a decision, no one dared utter a word!
"Harsh? It was meant to be," the queen answered, deliberately copying her father's commanding tone. Perhaps then he would learn to obey. "A lion makes the sheep afraid—sick or not."
"Sister, we share the same blood," Jaime countered again. "I heard the same lessons you did."
"You heard them, but you never listened! You've been like this since we were children." Cersei gave a cold snort and tucked the parchment away. "Now tell me what you've learned about Lancel."
"Not much," Jaime admitted frankly.
Cersei's face darkened at once.
Robert's death… she and Jaime had wanted to be rid of the drunken fool who kept ruining their secret for years.
They had traded fantasies, even made serious plans from time to time.
But they had never acted.
The risk was too great. One mistake and their children's lives would be forfeit.
So they had waited, month after month, cursing their own hesitation, hoping the Baratheon would simply drink himself to death or tumble down the stairs in a stupor.