A/N: My very first fanfiction was written for my friend Elena and it centers on our crack ship Cersei Lannister and Bronn. This is truly an odd pairing, but I'm happy to say that I've enjoyed exploring the possibilities in making this work. They're both very ambitious and ruthless and I think that these qualities will have a push-and-pull effect is a romantic/sexual attraction comes into play. Their dynamics have so much tension and room for evolution :)

Reviews are very much appreciated

PART ONE: THRONES AND COINS

Chapter One: A lion's share

Cersei has began to strongly dislike the imp's former pet sellsword.

All her life she was raised to treat servants in only one way and that they should be as invisible as they are dispensable. She didn't care if this lowlife called Bronn breathed and lurked around the castle halls at first—until she soon realized his real importance. Perhaps she overestimated Tyrion all this time because her brother was a fool to trust the sellsword's loyalty in the first place. She could tell Tyrion treasured his service as much as the sellsword had treasured a full purse filled with Lannister gold.

That had been the imp's undoing in the end. Cersei saw to that.

The scheme was effortlessly executed. All she had to do was to beat her brother's price and hire the sellsword into her confidence. She promised him a lordship as her father had given him a knighthood after the battle in Blackwater.

Lannisters and their debts—Cersei loved that enduring quality about the family.

The sellsword knew his place at first. From Ser Bronn to Lord Bronn, he was consistently reliable. He brazenly followed through orders that Cersei finally understood why her brother chose him in particular. However, as soon as he acquired the security of House Stokeworth, he became inclined to display disrespect—indirect as it may be—towards her.

So she called upon him to talk in her private quarters one afternoon when everyone else was at court. The Tyrells had been too hospitable with guests and Red Keep seemed like a common tavern now as oppose to a king's home. It repulsed her but she has learned to quell the rage if she wishes to keep the alliance between their families untainted.

The insolent rogue must have read that in her expression somehow. She wouldn't doubt that he did. "Throne room looks smaller every day," he remarked. "Must be the crowds. It's like a marketplace with all that noise." He stood there in freshly woven silk and velvet, a peculiar mixture of green and gray with golden cloves and strings. As handsome as his garments may be, they never lessened the unkindness of his looks. He is always shaved now but his overall gaunt appearance still manages to offend her.

Cersei coolly glided to her chair, her skirts sweeping the floor as she sat down. She didn't offer him to do the same because she knew he'd rather stand and look over her with those sneering black eyes—eyes that made him look as if he's always plotting something.

"I know you must have been fond of him," she began without preamble. The sellsword-turned-lord will pick up what she means. "But is it fitting for you to dishonor me by naming him after your bastard?" she regarded him carefully, anticipating further rudeness.

"I wanted to name him after your father but you forbade that," he answered. And then his lips formed the most disgusting smile. "Would you rather I named the boy 'Jamie'?"

Cersei did not bite back. The faint contempt she has for the sellsword-turned-lord will not get the best of her. "The damage has been inflicted," she answered ever calmly.

She has learned to mask certain feelings in her speech even as a child. "I trust the Stokeworth household must have been stressful for you to adjust in. I can overlook this…stunt of yours because I sense the difficulty in your position at hand."

He kept smiling at her. "Your concern is touching, Your Grace." He slowly approached her. "Since we are speaking of children, how fares yours?" The oakwood table is the only thing that kept his distance at a safe range. It offered her no comfort nonetheless.

"They're no concern of yours." Cersei did not enjoy talking about her children for quite some time now. She's certainly not going to talk about them with this parasite.

He still smiled. "Is that all, Your Grace?"

"Not quite." Cersei paused. She placed one hand on top of the other as she met his gaze. "You are to present yourself with the rest of your house at court tomorrow. The Tyrells wish to strengthen the bonds of small houses around King's Landing by mingling them in a masquerade in honor of the late kings." The last statement made her chest ache slightly but she maintained composure as she added. "You and your lady wife are to be seated in the main table. We should get along properly by then."

The threat was not lost to him and his smile dimmed just a little. "You are most forgiving, Your Grace." The statement dripped with all kinds of condescension.

Cersei allowed herself a small smile. "Courtesy does not suit you after all, Lord Bronn." She still held his gaze as boldly as he held hers. "You may take your leave."

Bronn had learned that when a woman like Cersei Lannister is not pleased, she retaliates in subtle ways. He did not like her as much as he did the imp (Tyrion at least made him laugh) but she was a gracious benefactor though she lets paranoia rule her sometimes.

These highborn lords and ladies play their games too freely that Bronn has navigated through their castle walls and learned exactly what the bricks are made of.

It is about time he reaps the price of such hard labor.

He doesn't mistake his sudden climb to royalty to be awarded by warm welcomes especially since it was something he earned from duplicity.

No one in the table approved of his presence tonight, that much is obvious, and they can all bugger themselves as far as Bronn is concerned.

He took the biggest share of chicken and pork and his cup had never been empty once. His wife Lollys, on the other hand, simple girl that she is, only ate the pastries and her fill of sugar made her sleepy. Her handmaidens had to escort her to the chambers and Bronn was left to ignore the rest of the royal households around him as he feasted.

The lioness had been staring intently at him for quite some time now. He returned the gaze afterwards as he finished his third bottle of wine. They were only a seat apart and he definitely shares her discomfort although it was easier for him to brush it off. He pondered if she'll engage him in small chat but conversations are truly impossible between a queen and a common sellsword. Bronn remembered that she was no queen anymore but she was still an uncommon woman nevertheless—and a real beauty of prominence and viciousness. Bronn took note that she had gained plumpness since he first saw her. But it didn't lessen the radiance of her alabaster skin or wash out the golden-woven hair.

In a loose pink bodice laced in sapphire stones, she looked almost harmless. The only distinctly Lannister about her right now is the vibrant red mask across her eyes.

An idea occurred to Bronn. He wiped his mouth at the back of his hand and placed the goblet down the table. He pushed himself off the chair and approached her.

"Honor me a dance, Your Grace?" he inquired.

All eyes in their table settled onto them. The lioness may not concern herself with the opinion of the sheep but it would be suspicious and unlady-like to refuse a lord of his standing, considering she got him the nobility in the first place.

She looked at his hand and even with the mask he could sense such strong vehemence like she saw his unwanted gesture as begging. But then her hand touched his as he expected she would; although nothing prepared him for the cool softness of her flesh. She gripped his hand first and the squeeze might as well be a slap.

"Lead the way, my lord." Cersei Lannister remarked as she stood up. She bore the kind of fierceness that intrigued him to no end.

In the old days, she would have had him killed on the spot for this mere provocation. But Cersei's position in the game has changed. She had to withdraw her cards to play it safe. He still makes her blood curdle in blind fury, however, especially since he seems to find the tension between them as some sort of entertainment. She liked nothing more than to eviscerate him with her own bare hands.

Cersei took a moment of pause. To bore such ill against a man who absolutely meant nothing to her—it would appear as if she's starting to care and think more of him than she's supposed to. It was so unpleasant to realize that she immediately had to shut off while the repellent parasite placed a steady hand on her back—right under her spine—and glided the two of them across the royal hall. As for her part, she held onto his hand, relishing on the thought of crushing his fingers. It was a saving grace that she wore a mask in her eyes. She would not let him glimpse her displeasure.

The sellsword-turned-lord took his time and looked as if he was moving to a slower tune. He wore a faded brown mask, the color of earth. And peasantry, she thought slyly.

"You amaze me, Lord Bronn," she spoke up.

"Amazed that I can dance?"

"No," Cersei pierced her masked gaze through him. "Anyone can dance, wealthy and shitty alike." Her coarse language took her aback but she didn't let it show.

Bronn snorted a laugh.

She regarded him with a lazy smile. "What I mean is that I'm amazed that you were audacious enough to attempt another injure to my honor."

"All this talk about honor," he replied. "You put too much value in it."

She would've said something again but he twirled her around in an instant. And then he twirled her again. And again. The motion made her dizzy but she regained her balance. When she recovered, the parasite had pulled her very close to him that their torsos are rubbing against each other. She wanted to throw up. He reeks of wine and blood and it reminded her of a black-bearded, mighty fool she almost loved once.

Cersei was not going to push him away, however, because the hall was filled with so many couples and she did not want to draw any more attention. Instead she leaned even closer to him and whispered. "You dance like you wield a sword."

She dug her fingernails on his palm and clutched the collar of his velvet robe with the other hand. "You go for the kill just to defend yourself."

The sellsword-turned-lord pulled his hand up her spine, his fingers lingering on its outline. He whispered back. "And what do I defend myself from right now, little lady?"

Cersei Lannister is a lot of things but she had never been "little".

The shock of the comment rendered her mute for a passing moment.

"Problem, Your Grace?" he added. "Does the expression remind you of a certain brother who still haunts your sleep?"

Before she could even consider slapping him, he was once again twirling her, like she was an instrument he was presenting around. She disengaged then. The mask can no longer hide the intensity of her rage. She could not speak for a moment, cautious of its ferocious hold on her. It only took her seconds to cool down once more.

For a while the fast beat of the music engulfed everything else and they stood there four feet away from each other; a pair of perfect strangers in a battle stance.

"Lord Bronn," she addressed him. The iciness in her words can sting any man. "You will act according to the fulfillment of our bargain whilst you comply with the demands of your lordship. It would sadden your lady wife and her mother to see you harmed for your lack of discretion. If anything else, it would present me no difficulty to strip you off your title."

He said nothing. Cersei stood very still, ready to grant her swift vengeance if he insisted on challenging her.

The sellsword-turned-lord took off his mask then and tossed it aside. The swirling motions of the couples dancing and laughing around them ceased to exist or matter for a moment. He approached. She allowed it.

His hand slowly reached up to remove her mask. She debated on pushing him away but the look in his black eyes made her froze. When he had taken it off, their gaze bore into each other and the incredible weight of it has made her very sick to the bone.

"Your Grace," he began. The parasite leaned very close that their lips were just inches away. "You are the very first woman to set me ablaze like this."

Cersei held her breath as she waited for him to close the distance further. She didn't know what she will do if he did and that frightened her. She should have a ready response at all times. Lannisters do not fear anything except maybe their own shadow.

When he did not move, she whispered. "By all means burn."

She quickly withdrew from him and vanished into the crowd of lovers.