Red Keep, Maegor's Holdfast.
After hearing Lancel's trembling account, Cersei glanced at him from the window, disdain flashing in her eyes."Poor Lancel. Are you truly so frightened?"
His voice still quivered. "Forgive , Cousin Cersei. I went to Baron Crabb of my own accord. At the council session it was I who first proposed executing those slanderers, after all…
B-but… it's not that I've never seen a man beheaded before. I've just never seen so many at once!
Hundreds of them. At Baron Crabb's signal, heads rolled, and the ground was soaked red!"
He shuddered. "I… I don't even know how I made it back to the Red Keep."
Cersei listened silently, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising and falling with a hidden heat.
Suppressing the warmth that threatened to overco her, she murmured: "I was not wrong about him."
Gawen's ruthless decisiveness thrilled her with a strange delight—beyond even the pleasures of the flesh.
Shifting within her gown, she whispered: "Where is Robert now?"
"I heard he's gone hunting again."
"And Jai?"
"At this hour, Ser Jai should be instructing Prince Joffrey in swordplay."
"Go then. Take Jai's place with Joffrey, and send him to at once."
"Yes, my lady."
Yet as Lancel lingered, he noticed her strange deanor and hesitated, concern in his eyes.
Seeing him still rooted there, Cersei drew a breath, then snapped sharply: "Well? Go!"
Startled, Lancel bowed hastily and fled.
Alone, Cersei sank into a chair, her movents oddly strained. She loosed the ribbon in her golden hair, letting it spill down across her shoulders and collarbone.
Her fingers toyed idly with the strands as her lashes lowered, hiding the gleam within her eyes. Her lips curved faintly, savoring a brief, unfamiliar pleasure she had never known before.
Red Keep, gardens.
Lancel Lannister thought this must be the most wretched day of his life.
He had gone eagerly to witness Baron Crabb's executions, only to be shaken to his very bones. He had dutifully reported it all to Cersei—only to be dismissed curtly for his trouble.
And now? He stood in the gardens, a great apple perched upon his head, while Prince Joffrey aid a crossbow at him.
During Jai's lessons, Joffrey Baratheon was the very image of a prince—humble, attentive, eager to learn.
But once Jai was called away and Lancel stepped in to supervise, Joffrey's true nature erged.
Seeking to secure his future, Lancel thought it wise to ingratiate himself with the heir to the Iron Throne. Yet his legs still trembled from what he had seen, and now they shook all the harder.
Joffrey—twelve years old, golden-haired, pale-skinned, strikingly handso—squinted down the sights of his crossbow."Lancel, stop squirming. I can't promise to hit the mark if you keep moving."
The young knight quaked even more.
Suddenly Joffrey snarled: "Dog! My dog! Do sothing about this coward shaking in front of !"
At once, a massive figure moved forward—the man with the scarred, half-ruined face, sharp cheekbones, gray eyes beneath heavy brows. His fra was towering, clad in sooty armor and an olive-green cloak.
His na was Sandor Clegane, the Hound—appointed by House Lannister to guard Prince Joffrey.
Lancel's heart nearly stopped as the Hound lood closer.
"What are you doing!"
The voice of another cut through the garden.
Lancel's legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground, very nearly wetting himself.
Tyrion Lannister strode in, scowling furiously.
Joffrey lowered the crossbow, his face twisted in disdain. "Why are you here?"
His expression was a mirror of Cersei's.
Tyrion approached. "My dear nephew, is this how you greet your uncle?"
"You interrupted my ga! Why should I greet you?" Joffrey spat.
Softening his tone, Tyrion said, "Joffrey, Lancel is a Lannister too—your kin, your ally. You must not treat him so."
Joffrey sneered.
Tyrion's eyes narrowed. "What you hold in your hands is no toy. It is a weapon, ant to kill. If you had struck Lancel, he might be dead. Do you understand the consequences? A simple apology would not suffice."
"I've done nothing wrong!" Joffrey barked. "He's not dead, is he? I am the heir to the Iron Throne. I'll do as I please. Leave !"
Smack! Tyrion slapped him across the face.
Joffrey clutched his cheek in shock. "You dare strike ? I'll tell Mother!"
Smack! Tyrion struck him again.
The boy whimpered, tears springing to his eyes.
"Good. Go tell your gracious mother exactly what her darling son has done here."
Eyes blazing, Tyrion growled each word: "Now, you will apologize to Lancel—and swear never again to treat human life as a ga."
But Joffrey shouted instead: "Dog! Beat him for !"
Sandor Clegane stepped forward, long legs carrying him to Joffrey's side, but he made no move to obey.
"You—you!"
Joffrey kicked at the Hound, then jabbed a finger at Tyrion. "I'll rember this! I won't forget!"
Tyrion rely raised his hand again, and Joffrey yelped, stumbling backward in tears and retreating in disarray.
With a weary sigh, Tyrion helped Lancel to his feet.
"Thank you, cousin," Lancel gasped. "Gods, I thought my heart would give out. This day has been cursed."
Tyrion grinned. "You did well. At least you didn't piss yourself. In your place, I would have."
Still shaken, Lancel asked anxiously, "But… he is the prince. Won't there be consequences for striking him?"
Tyrion shrugged. "Cersei already despises . Striking or sparing Joffrey makes no difference to her endless love for . My only regret is that the boy can't be taught."
Lancel frowned. "But Joffrey is heir to the Iron Throne. Won't he make your life difficult later?"
"Perhaps. But King Robert will thank for trying to discipline his son. And when our dear nephew does inherit the throne… I'll simply stay hidden in Casterly Rock. He won't be able to touch there."
That much at least was true. Lancel nodded, finally letting go of the fear that had clutched at him all day.
.
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