No longer was the concept of war against Daenerys mere whispers; the words had been put into action as the Northern warriors prepared for their trek to King's Landing.
Cersei looked out her bedroom window at the city below. She couldn't see the city folk milling about since the sun had set, but the fires that warmed their meals could be seen from the distance, giving the appearance of flickering lightening bugs. "Let them eat their supper with their families,", Cersei thought. "When Daenerys arrives, she will create much bigger flames, and not ones that will warm one's meals. Only then will they finally understand how good they have it with me," She smiled at the thought.
Not that King's Landing hadn't seen it's share of war before. In recent times it had prevailed against Stannis Baratheon's men, albeit only because her father arrived. Could it stand the wrath of a dragon? Probably not, but thanks to that sellsword Harrison ("No, Garrison," Cersei silently corrected herself), the monster perished by ingesting sickened animals. "It is a pity," Cersei thought, "That the owner won't die so easily,"