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Game of Thrones: Azeroth? This Is Westeros!
Game of Thrones: Starborn Conqueror
Game of Thrones: My Pets Evolve Into Dragons
Game of Thrones: Joffrey the Ruthless Emperor
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But their cousin Lancel—that meek, dutiful son of Uncle Kevan…
The gods really do have a twisted sense of humor.
Who could have guessed the spineless little boy would actually raise a blade against his king?
And succeed?
Even the Crone herself, lantern in hand, couldn't have seen that twist coming.
Yet that single sword stroke solved every problem.
Robert was in the ground. Stark was in the dungeons. The stupid eastern war had been strangled in its cradle.
Now House Lannister could pour every ounce of its strength into cementing their rule over Westeros.
The plan was flawless. No question—Father's hand was behind every move.
Cersei almost felt like forgiving him for keeping her in the dark.
She was free. Joffrey sat the Iron Throne.
That was all that mattered.
"So what did you find?" she asked.
"Nothing suspicious," Jaime said. "No strange visitors, no coded letters. Every squire tells the same story—he acted perfectly normal.
The night before he killed Robert he spent the whole evening in one of Littlefinger's brothels until dawn. Nothing odd about a boy thinking with his cock.
Besides, Baelish has already proven he picked the right side."
"And what does our dear cousin say about the murder?"
"Still stubborn as a mule. Swears he doesn't remember killing the king, claims a demon possessed him." The Kingsguard gave a snort of laughter, as if it were the funniest jest he'd heard all year. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I might have believed him.
He's so convinced of his own innocence it's almost contagious.
Show him the corpse and he drops to his knees, babbling the same nonsense over and over."
"Joffrey wants blood for blood," Cersei said flatly. "He's screaming for Lancel's head, insists on avenging Robert.
You know how much that pig meant to him—far more than the drunk deserved."
"You're the Queen Regent," Jaime reminded her, the way an adult scolds a stubborn girl. "You decide.
But I'm telling you, Uncle Kevan won't stand by while you hand his eldest son to Ilyn Payne.
Worse, Father won't allow it… and you know what happens when we anger him.
Let Joffrey curb that bloodthirsty streak of his. Besides… the boy is family."
Cersei frowned, displeased.
Even as Regent she wouldn't openly defy Tywin Lannister.
"But such a grave crime cannot go unpunished. Half the city watched it happen. The rumors are already flying…"
The Queen rubbed her temples. Then an idea struck like lightning.
Perfect.
"Here's what we do… The King's honor, name, and safety are guarded by the Kingsguard, correct?"
"Correct."
"Lancel can demand trial by combat.
Since he swears he's innocent, and since he is our cousin." Cersei's eyes met her own reflection in the mirror; every word had to burn itself into her brother's mind. "Send that fool Boros Blount against him. Or Meryn Trant.
Either one—Lancel should be able to handle them."
Jaime exploded with a horse-like bellow of laughter, so genuine and infectious that even the Queen found herself laughing along.
"It's practically a song already! Useless Boros versus the pathetic Lancel! The singers will eat this up…"
When the laughter died, Jaime's face sobered. "Only one problem, sister. There's a mountain-sized turd in your pudding."
"What turd?"
"The Lord Commander has the right to answer the royal summons first. He was in the yard that day…" Jaime's smile vanished. "When Ser Barristan demands the right to cleanse the shame with blood, Lancel is dead—even if the Warrior himself rides to his rescue."
Jaime's brows were knotted, but Cersei's smile only brightened.
He still didn't see it. She had already accounted for every risk.
"Tomorrow, Barristan Selmy will no longer be Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."
She watched him, testing. Her twin didn't disappoint—he still couldn't guess her brilliant plan.
"If you want him dead…"
"No, you idiot!" The woman spread her hands, patient now. "Joffrey believes Selmy failed his father.
We both know the old fool wanted that traitor Stark named Regent.
A man like that has no place in the Kingsguard…"
"I can't do it alone. I'd need twenty gold cloaks at least…"
"No! Not force.
Tomorrow, when we swear our oaths, the King will announce it in open court.
Selmy will be dismissed—honorably, of course—for distinguished service and advanced age. He'll receive a small castle in the Crownlands, a few servants.
In a year or two he'll die there, forgotten by everyone."
"Kingsguard serve for life. Only death releases them. No one can dismiss—"
"That was the old way!" the Queen snapped, tired of the endless arguments. Teaching everyone to obey would be a long road. "It was true under the Targaryens. True under Robert. But a new dawn has risen, brother. Our era has begun. We make the rules now. Besides… don't you want to be Lord Commander?"
"Hmm." The familiar sly smile curved Jaime's lips. "If I have to wear this white cloak, I might as well wear it better than anyone else ever has."
Heh. Men. So easy to steer.
Even when they think they're clever and far-sighted.
"There's more," Cersei decided to stroke his pride a little higher. "The King has agreed to name you Hand of the King. You, Jaime, will rule the city with an iron fist, guarding his throne and power just as our father does from hundreds of leagues away."
"And my… predecessor? You said you'd decide his fate."
She had. Of course she had.
"I spoke with Sansa Stark."
Oh, that had been easy!
Myrcella was younger than the little she-wolf, yet she never whined or twisted like that.
One look told you everything—true highborn blood versus baseborn mongrel…
"She'll beg Joffrey for mercy tomorrow. I've already convinced our son to agree."
"So what happens to him?"
"The Wall. He can spend the rest of his worthless life there." Cersei waved a dismissive hand. "As long as he orders that whelp of his to disband the northern army and crawl back home. Northerners have no business meddling in the Riverlands."
Cersei was utterly confident the little trick would work.
The northern fool had no choice.
What else could he do?
Trial by combat?
By custom, Lord Stark couldn't refuse.
But locked in a cell with an unhealed leg wound, Eddard would never fight himself.
He wasn't mad.
And he had no one left to fight for him—his men were dead, and no knight in King's Landing would dare defy the crown.
Besides, after Sansa's plea, a trusted man would visit the imprisoned lord and explain things clearly.
Make him understand that in his current position he had no right to stubborn pride.
His daughter was in the Queen's hands. Her entire future depended on Cersei's mercy.
And that mercy had to be earned.
Otherwise… there were plenty of brothels in King's Landing.
Plenty of owners who would happily pay for a pretty red-haired maiden.
Stark would break.
He would confess. He would name Stannis and Renly. Only then would he be allowed to crawl off to the Wall.
And that wasn't all.
His final order would be to disband the northern host.
With a few threats and a handful of sweet words, Cersei Lannister had won an entire war for her family.
Her father—the great lion everyone praised in songs—could never have dreamed up a stroke this elegant!
The gray rats hiding between the pages of their histories would one day marvel at her genius…
She was so lost in the thought she almost missed Jaime's next question.
Men really were exhausting company.
"Will Joffrey agree?"
"Oh, of course he will." Cersei assured him, completely confident in her son's obedience. "He's a good boy. Tell him what to do and he does it."
"Stark humiliated him in open court. Humiliated us." Jaime was arguing again. "And the boy genuinely believes the wolf put Lancel up to it. Your Joffrey loves the sight of blood—you're robbing him of his fun…"
"Let him sulk." Cersei rose from her chair. "And brother, stop arguing with me. Stop making me angry, or I'll start shouting at you the way I shouted at Stark… before he crawls back north… and you can ask him what that felt like."
"Then what am I supposed to say…"
As he spoke, Jaime stepped close and slid an arm around her waist.
Before Cersei could react their mouths crashed together—hot, fierce, hungry.
The first kiss since Robert's death. Perhaps the sweetest they had ever shared.
The kiss of victors.
Cersei almost regretted it when Jaime pulled back first.
"I love it when you're angry. It reminds me you're mine… and now you finally belong only to me…"
"Not yet!" the Queen fought down a soft, sweet moan.
She changed the subject, reclaiming control. "Any word from Father?"
Jaime only laughed.
"You're the one with Pycelle and his ravens. The gate guards know nothing but yesterday's stale gossip.
How would they know what Lord Tywin is doing on the other side of the world?"
"He should write to us! Every day!" Cersei tried to twist out of his arms, but the Kingsguard refused to let go.
"Our father has always decided for himself what needs doing and who deserves to hear it.
Right now he's besieging Riverrun and burning the Riverlands. He has no time for raven paper.
Trust him. He was winning wars before we were even in the womb."
Father's campaign was going perfectly.
His Westerlands knights had already smashed the poor Tully trout at the Golden Tooth.
Now they stood before Riverrun, ready to crush House Tully once and for all.
No help would reach them.
The northerners would crawl back to their snowdrifts.
The trout that had flopped onto dry land had days left to live…
Then Father would march south, ready to crush any Baratheon fool or other idiot who dared challenge the lions.
A new dawn indeed.
The age of Lannister!
"While he's busy," Jaime murmured, his right hand sliding lower, "let me take care of you. The sun has set. Tomorrow will be a long day… we should rest."
Cersei didn't hesitate.
Jaime had finally said something right!
The woman smiled, full of anticipation, and reached up to remove her crown.
"No. Undress me completely… but leave the crown on.
I like you wearing it…"
"Heh… men!"