Ceresa III
Within the massive dining hall, meant and designed specifically for a Lord Paramount and a large retinue, the whole powerbase of house Lannister and its vassals dined. Massive chandeliers illuminated the large hall, and the walls were covered high in the large thick tapestries of houses Lannister, Swyft and Crakehall, with the Baratheon banner hanging much higher than either of them. A show of subjugation and respect for the crown and its authority. Even when His Grace was not here, his stag was always hung higher than all other banners. Tonight, was no different at the dinner. Warm cooked roasts lay on the table, with sauteed vegetables drippled in melted butter, and carefully carved and served to the hungry lords and ladies.
"It was amazing father! We fought and pushed each other. We ended up tumbling down and Ser Gilbert eventually made it a draw. He said we both did very well." Tyland relayed at the dinner table, herself paying eager attention. The bruises from his continued sword training under the Red Keep's Master-at-arms evidence for his claims. Father looked on, proud as any man. Mother seemed less interested, but a smile plastered on her features none the less. Lord Tywin sat at the centre of the huge table, paying his own quiet attention to his grandson's latest day at court. Imposing even at such an occasion as the family dinner. Decorum closely observed under his ever hawk-like gaze. Servants came and went to serve them their courses, not wishing to invoke the mighty lion's wrath by spills or mishaps.
"I can't wait to spar again, if we ever leave for home, can Bran come too, father?" her little brother asked.
Her father thought for a moments before he answered, a piece of lamb on his fork.
"Lord Bran is a ward of the crown now, boy. We would need the King's own permission, aye, just as much as we would need lord Stark's for him to return home with us." He gently explained to his second son.
Her little brother frowned, dark of hair with a little pug nose, traits shared with her other two brothers, directly inherited from father.
And while her brothers looked on as perfect copies of father she still looked as much a Lannister as her mother did.
Tyland looked on for a moment, a thoughtful look on his features, only to give a beaming and hopeful smile as he turned to her.
"You can get the King to do that, Ceresa, he'll do as you want. Then me and Tywin can show him the highest point outside Crakehall. He loves climbing, he'd love it here with us!" he energetically exclaimed. Her third brother, named in honour of lord Tywin, giggled along, as eagerly and excitedly as any six-year-old could.
Her cousins and ladies, Lanna and Myrielle, sat by their respective families further down the expensive Golden Oak table.
Lanna with her knightly father, ser Damion Lannister, a cousin of the main Lannister branch, and her own aunt, Shiera Crakehall, who had smiled and laughed as Tyland had retold his tale with enthusiasm. Lanna had seemed upset the whole night as if something was bothering her.
Myrielle sat between her brother, Devan, the heir of their father, broad and powerful, with his red tight tunic accentuating his build. Also present was her elder sister, Cerenna. Ser Stafford, along with his wife, lady Myranda, formally of house Stafford sat across from the three. The knight himself was the brother of Lord Tywin's late wife and her own grandmother, lady Joanna.
"It's unlikely to be that way, Tyland." Uncle Kevan stated. He, his wife and three sons attended the dinner as usual.
In total, Grandfather sat at the centre of the high table. Mother at his right, father by her, then herself and her brothers in that order.
Kevan sat next with his wife, quiet and sweet lady Dorna, formally of house Swyft. Next to her sat her father, Ser Harrys.
"But he's, my friend." He whined.
"The men in this family do not beg or whine like spoilt brats." The cold voice of lord Tywin announced. Eyes glaring down the huge table towards her little brother, who hung his head down in shame and fear, his protest brought to a swift halt. "I expect better from my grandchildren." Though his eyes looked down to her.
"All of them." He spoke.
At that, any conversation or noise at the large table died.
"The lion takes what it wants, it never begs." The voice of her grandfather rang in her head. It was a lesson they all had to learn at one point. Crakehall or Lannister, those related by any blood to the Old Lion must never despoil the family name.
Silence overcame the table, aside from the sounds of eating and the occasional sips of drink.
After dinner, she knew to expect that grandfather would want a word with her. After all, had finished their meals, lord Tywin had everyone but her dismissed, nobody daring to challenge otherwise, even mother. The large room just the two of them then.
Grandfather held an uncomfortable silence. His eyes glaring at her. She kept her tongue and waited.
"As much as your brother gets too out of line. He speaks true on one account." He lined over from his side to her. Even across from him, it still made her edge back to her seat. "As the King's favourite, Ceresa, you hold influence. It is best time you started using it more efficiently before it wanes." Tywin spoke up openly, this time, eyes pointedly looking towards her new earrings, a gift from the king. They were made of pure gold, with two emerald rubies encrusted at the centres.
"The king whisks you around openly like a prized pet. It is beneath you, as a member of this family, but to argue otherwise risks you losing his favour, and I will not have that. So, for now, I tolerate it until this blasted betrothal to the Stark girl is undone."
"How can that be?" she thoughtlessly asked before she could stop herself. Her only reward was Tywin narrowing his eyes.
Of course, he wouldn't tell her.
"So far, the only thing of note you've managed to gain for us is to have your father promoted to the Master of Coin. A job he is not at all suited for and that I hazard a guess, was not your own suggestion to begin with, only for the King to keep you close by. All your father knows of managing the crown's finances is to badger and pester me for gold to prop up the treasury." He exclaimed. An irritated line on his brow. Seemingly having no concern that it was her own father he was speaking of in such a demeaning manner.
"Then what am I to do, grandfather. The King listens to me, truly, but he also listens to lord Stannis, his mother, Waymar Royce, Ser Rolland and many others. What am I to suggest?"
Tywin frowned. "You will convince him that I should be the new Master of Laws. And that he should take your two brothers on as his squires. He's already taken on the son of the Master-At-Arms here, the Farring boy. There is no reason that sons of House Lannister and Crakehall should not receive the honour."
Rickard had not been able to dine with her for the last few nights as they had previously.
He not seen her this last week, only occasionally in passing and at court to watch on as he heard and answered complaints and petitions. He had the beautiful jewellery delivered to her chambers, a servant handing a letter explaining the heavy workload and stress that the King had come under, and that once his duties had been sufficiently attended to, he would make all the time in the world for her.
"Signed, your loving prince." She fondly recalled at the ending. She tucked it away in a corner of one of her chests – made of pure gold, lions and boars encrusted on the sides - that contained all her letters and written materials. At her table, she still kept the Blue Winter Rose crown Rickard had bestowed on her. They were partially shrived now, no longer lively, but she still remembered the look on his face through his visor as he had gifted it. Her heart fluttered.
She smiled; Uncle Tyrion would have called her state of happiness "the love of youth. Experienced only at her age, rare to be replicated" and was something to cherish. The other brother of her own lady mother had spoken to her often on the many occasions she had come to Casterly Rock.
He was a dwarf, with a head that was oversized for his own body, but she did miss and adore him – quite possibly the one true point of contention she had with mother, who still held onto a grudge that defied reason for the death of her own mother, from what she herself understood, it came due to the size of Tyrion's head, which when pulled out caused the Lady Joanna Lannister to bleed out to death.
But he did not choose such a path, Ceresa recalled once to her mother, just ten, imploring her to see reason. Uncle Tyrion was just a babe, just as they all had been once, a babe could not help itself.
That had been the one time in her life she had ever been struck by mother.
Sharp and quick, as the lighting emblazoned on the shield of house Dondarrion. The left hand of mother had slapped her on the cheek, her pedicured nails leaving a scratch that drew blood. She had immediately run to her chamber, tears strewing down her face, mixed and stinging with the blood.
Father had come then, he had embraced her in a huge hug, with a gentleness that beguiled his stature and appearance.
"Don't cry my girl, you're okay. Father is here, and he won't let anything hurt you."
She sniffled further, the Maester had come in, cleaning the small scratch and using ointments to keep it clean from infection.
"What are our words, little Boar?" he softly asked. Still keeping her embraced an hour later.
"N- None – None so… so… None so Fierce." She managed to whimper out.
He smiled through his cropped black beard.
"There we go."
It had taken the next six days for her to speak to her mother again. For one of perhaps the few times of her life, Lady Cersei had apologised, that she would never hurt her little girl, but some things, especially the question of her own mother, still cause emotions to this day.
Even after that, there was still some tension between daughter and mother, until it gradually faded. Time healing wounds, and she hoped they would never be in such a position ever again.
She walked ahead with her cousins to the throne room, ten red-cloaked guards around them. A session about the begin soon. "Keep your head up straight." Her mother often chastised in her early years. "A daughter of house Lannister should always hold her head up high and proud." In a tone that left no argument.
Her mother would refer to her as Lannister, more than she ever did a Crakehall. A strange thing really. But Ceresa always let it be.
She wore her hair in a crowned braid, with the remaining golden locks flowing across her back. She also continued to wear the earrings that had been a gift from Rickard. Her gown was copper red. Her long sleeves were pushed back as she held both hands.
"I will continue to show the world his favour. Loudly and proudly." She thought to herself confidently.
Her cousins following close behind. She looked back at Lanna, whom she had found out was soon to be betrothed and married off. The main reason for her downcast mood the night before.
"I'm to be married off to lord Antorio Jast." She had exclaimed after dinner, and as the three sneaked out from their rooms to an empty solar, they lit the fireplace and sat down to feel its warmth in the cold night air as they sat on the massive comfy cushions in their night clothes. All three girls had trouble sleeping, so they would make the most of it, with stolen Arbor wine and some leftover food from earlier, they curled out each other's golden hair and gossiped like hens.
"He's ugly!" Lanna petulantly shrieked. "Mother and father plan to have me wed within a month's time." Myrielle placed her arms around their cousin, soothingly comforting the distraught girl, whom she treated like a younger sister, a role she thrived in, despite being the youngest of the children of Ser Stafford's line, she had enjoyed being the one to take charge over and act as the oldest whenever she could.
She would make a fierce mother one day, Ceresa speculated.
The two's appearances contrasted as much as their attitudes did; while both beautiful girls, they were so in their own ways; Lanna was more innocent and pretty, slightly skinny and smaller of breast, looking more like a porcelain doll that most men would seek to protect and cherish than lust over. She preferred her hair in braids, with a petulant mouth used to demanding that things be her way or no other. It was a child-like innocence that she hoped could be preserved as much as possible.
Myrielle was different: She preferred her hair flowing as flowing curls, though just past her sixteenth name day, one year her own elder. She moved and sounded like a grown lady of five and twenty; voice husky and inviting, with a bust she loved to show off as often as she could without crossing into the realm of dishonouring herself and the house.
She loved to protect those that she cared for and demean those she did not like and enjoyed the power she had, full hips, pursed lips and knowing eyes - her high cheekbones reminded her of mother.
She was a beauty in the making that could rival her one day.
Ceresa could only vaguely recall the young lord Jast, a tourney at Ashemark, to celebrate Ser Addam Marbrand's marriage to Lady Barbara Bracken some years back.
He was bold and tenacious in his black armour, the three lion heads of his house adorned on its breastplate, though those were the best qualities of him. He had homely features and a rather plain personality from what she had gathered.
"Don't be ridiculous, Lanna." Myrielle chastised "You should be more worried he's kind and cherishes you over how he looks."
Lanna wiped her eyes of the tears. "Why couldn't it be Waymar?" her pleading eyes landed on her,
"Ceresa, you said you mentioned me to the king! That he could talk to Waymar, and a betrothal arranged." She sniffed. "It isn't fair, you get to be Queen one day. You'll have everything you want. I'm going to be married to an ugly minor lord who won't be able to get me any new jewels."
Myrielle rolled her eyes.
"Oh enough, Lanna. You're on the brink of your six and tenth name day, you're older than Ceresa and yet you act like a child still."
Cersea decided to speak up.
"This is our fate in life as women. We have what fun we can and then accept the husbands and lives fate as chosen for us." She spoke, with as much wisdom as she could muster in all her fifteen years of life.
It had been what she had learned watching mother. While mother never loved her father, she had seemingly accepted it as her lot in life.
"That's easy for you to say." Said Lanna.
Ceresa looked irritated.
"It will happen, yes, Lanna, but the king is still entangled within that stupid betrothal to that idiot girl. It is not as easy as easy as you think to bare."
"I hear she howls in her sleep." Said Myrielle.
Ceresa turned to her, "No, it's the other Stark. Bran, he's the one that someone said howled." Ceresa spoke. Overhearing the conversation between two cooks.
"I thought it was her at least." Myrielle shrugged.
"Well, they are wolves." Said Lanna."
Myrielle rolled her eyes.
"They're not really wolves. They just have those big monsters and wear it on their banners. We don't actually roar like lions, nor does our sweet Cer actually squeal like a pig."
"I'm just saying." Lanna muttered.
"Well don't." Myrielle chastised.
While Lanna still looked on sadly, it was Myrielle who then gave them a playful smile.
"I've certainly been having my fill of fun, you know." She not so casually admitted. This drew the attention of both girl: Lanna looking interested.
"What do you mean?" Ceresa asked, curiosity peaked.
Myrielle stared at them. Still smirking. Eyes gleaming.
"Oh, why Osney Kettleblack. He came to me on the second day we arrived, wanting to escort me around for a tour around the Maidenvault. A fair lady deserves a protector to show her the keep after all. He's given me a more tours since then." She looked on proudly.
Lanna giggled, while Ceresa smirked and giggled "How could you?" she playfully added.
"Oh come, Cer, how is a lady meant to ignore those scars, that lovely, hooked nose and such a bold tongue? And by the Gods does he know how to use that tongue..." She said as she bit her lip, they all laughed in glee at the revelation.
It simultaneously amused and horrified Ceresa to how Tywin would react to one of his niece's acting in such a manner with such a man, one from a house of landed knights no less. For the sake of all of them. She hoped he would not find out. She was not the savviest in the ways of politics, but even she could see how such a paring could reflect on their house. A daughter of house Lannister could never find herself in such a state. Let alone with men of such dire reputation and lowborn standing.
That night was good though. Amidst the plotting of mother and grandfather. The controversial relationship she enjoyed with the king, and the uncertainty of everything. It was nice… nice to relax and enjoy times like these with her closest friends. Such times could not go on forever.
Whatever happened. She knew she could miss them, and she would hold tonight close to her heart.
"Lady Ceresa, a pleasure to see you" a voice called out as she walked with her three companions. Looking over her shoulder, among the large number of individuals, it took her a moment to trace the voice, but another call showed her to a face she was beginning to dread and hate equally.
Lady Margaery Tyrell. And her flock of followers. Her cousin companions, Megga, Elinor and Alla, as well as her other ladies from house Tyrell's many vassal houses: Lady Meredyth Crane, another cousin, Lady Desmera Redwyne, little Alysanne Bulwer, her own aunt, Janna Fossoway, and Lady Leonette Fossoway, the wife of Margaery's elder brother.
With them was the lady Rhaena Rhysling, new to the king's court and new to her inheritance as the sole heiress of Blue Table in the Reach. She was the sole child that had a claim to the keep and its lands, leaving her independently wealthy at the age of nine and ten.
She was buxom. She usually wore the black, grey and pale of her house's colours. But today, it was a dark dress that included gold.
Her face was fair and freckled; brown eyes with long lashes and a mass of curly dark hair, a pouty red lip curled into a knowing smirk, she wore two white shining pearl earrings along with a read necklace with five red gemstones that resembled large droplets of blood.
They all maintained fake and transparent smiles upon their faces. It pained her to do the same.
Anyone who paid slight attention could taste the tension, even Lanna understanding it, as she turned her head, not making eye-contact. Always one to hate confrontation. Her grandfather would no doubt be unhappy if he saw. Myrielle looked on, a transparent glare in her eye at each of them.
Mother would have insisted she stand proud and not be afraid to look any of these little Reach girls in the eye. Though she did not need to be told.
Ceresa kept a cool head and gave a curtsey, which her cousins followed.
"Lady Margaery, you look as wonderful as ever"
The words hurt as they left her tongue. Even though Rick had insisted he had no interest in ever marrying a Tyrell, the lovely brown hair, eyes and cheekbones of the little Rose made her subconscious despite his words, and to acknowledge them was worse.
"You honour me, lady Ceresa. I must say, you wear the king 's favour very well." Her seemingly doe-like brown eyes looked on at her earrings.
"Thank you, lady Margaery, I'm sure the king will look to bestow a similar honour upon you someday." Myrielle seemed to barely hold in a laugh at that, and even Lanna cracked a smile. The little Rose blushed a crimson mask.
Lady Elinor was the next to speak.
"Oh, but my lady, to be honoured in such ways as you have… many poor ladies are unworthy of. It is well known."
The gaggle of ladies all laughed. Even a dullard would understand such an insinuation, and she would have liked nothing more than to tear that little tart's hair out for her underhanded insult. She was a Crakehall after all. She was naturally taller and stronger than many girls her age, certainly more than Lady Elinor, who stood no higher than her nose.
"I assure you, ladies, I have received such fine gifts and compliments that you would never belief." She turned to Margaery. A smile came to her own face as she spoke.
"Tell me, my lady, how does Ser Loras fair? From what I have seen, seated at the king's side, he now makes as dutiful and gracious of a cupbearer as much as he does in a joust."
At that, Myrielle and Lanna could no longer hold back. Bursting out into open laughter.
She herself smiled at Margaery's open glare, her jaw and hands clenched.
It had been not the week before that Ser Loras Tyrell, one of the finest knights of the Seven Kingdoms, and the pride of the house of Roses was called in front of the court for all to witness. The handsome young man sank to a knee in acknowledgement of the King, who then bid him to rise.
The whole of the Tyrell clan, extended family and all, stood by the stands. Mace Tyrell hardly hiding his own look of enthusiasm. Perhaps, he must have thought, this was the first step of King Rickard to finally acknowledge the prestige and worth of his house. Maybe more, if he played his cards right.
That was not what this was of course. As her king had explained before the session, telling her to watch when he called of the Knight of the Flowers.
Instead of the grand honour he likely expected. Some new position or task that the king could only entrust to a knight of such integrity and reputation. The only honour His Grace bestowed was to serve as the cupbearer for himself and any in his company.
The fall of their faces was a sight to behold. And chuckles abounded from the other stands.
The Dowager Queen Lynesse most of all.
No doubt, to serve in such a position would be a privilege for any others. Some would even fight for it, if they could. But for such a prideful young man as Loras Tyrell, the humiliation to his oversized ego was easy for even the blind to see. Even more so with her own eyes, as she had dined with the royal family of the king, the princess Layla, Queen Lynesse, as well as the prince's own companions.
Ceresa did not consider herself a vindictive or cruel person by nature. In fact, she liked to think that she was reasonable, kind even. But she knew the will and needs of houses' Crakehall and Lannister, what was expected of her, and those needs meant that she would hit back against those who threatened their positions.
Margaery held a look that could kill, with her cousins and Lady Leonette looking scandalised. Ceresa refused to break eye-contact, daring the girl to do something.
As expected, she decided against such action.
"Come ladies, let us find other company more suited to us." She stiffly spoke to her posse. Briskly walking past the three blonde ladies.
"Lion-pig slut…" she heard muttered from the group.
Myrielle's eyes kept following the group as they went, disappearing into the large gathering of nobles and ladies.
Her eyes narrowed, "Those little whores need to learn their place." A smirk went to her face as she turned to Ceresa, "Perhaps you could have the king to consider arranging a betrothal to Ser Gregor Clegane for one of them, cousin?"
"But Myrie, Ser Gregor is a monster, nobody deserves to be stuck with him the rest of their lives. Three of his previous wives are dead."
"Precisely Lanna, no Lannister should ever have to talked to like that, especially by those of lesser blood. A life with the Mountain is what any of them deserve for their insolence." She declared.
"Leave it, Myrie, they don't mean anything. Let them say what they want. The king won't ever care for House Tyrell, and we shouldn't care either."
Myrielle stared at her before speaking up, "Of course, Cer, but the King isn't our house, and its up to us as Lannisters to ensure our name commands respect. Its what Lord Tywin expects of us. All of us."
"The lion doesn't concern itself with the opinions of the sheep." She spoke. A quote she borrowed from Tywin himself.
Myrielle did not look completely convinced. She looked back at the direction of where the Tyrell girls had left.
"Maybe it should be."
She let her handmaids brush her hair out. This one of her favourite things. Peaceful, quiet, she could be herself here. Not the only daughter of Ser Rolland Crakehall, nor the proud and fierce granddaughter of Lord Tywin Lannister.
She lightly licked her big finger and her thumb as she turned the next page of The Seven-Pointed Star.
Since her time here under Rickard had begun, she had steadily become more and more interested and conscious of the Faith.
At first, it had been upon her own initiative: Rickard loved the Seven and would attend service at the Sept of Baelor. He always aimed to keep up a minimum seven prayers a day, as proscribed in The Book of Holy Prayer.
She had seen it to be closer with him. To gain much more access. Mother had called it a bold and clever move, rewarding her with a proud smile when she had explained her sudden interest in reading entire passages off by heart.
"You have inherited your grandfather's wit and cunning, my dear. I could have never asked for a better daughter."
Now though, she could not help but ponder and truly bask in the glory of the Gods. The Seven-Pointed-Star was truly a work of the Gods.
Her favourite verse was undoubtedly the tale of the Maiden, the Seven-Who-Are- One's embodiment of love, chastity and innocence, and it was she who brought forth King Hugor of the Hill's bride, the most beautiful woman on earth, that all men, from merchants to beggars, sold whatever income they had, just for the chance to gaze upon the divine bride-to-be. They all offered their mortal wealth, and even their souls, to convince her that she may marry one of them instead. But the purity of the bride was such, that she never accepted their gifts. For she was destined to marry Hugor and bless him with his mighty four-forty sons as was foretold by the Crone. It was with that example of righteous love that King Hugor's kingdom came to be.
With his sons, he began his glorious divine mission to spread the Faith to all men. It was done by both word and by sword. One by one, all kingdoms and their people accepted the worship of the true Gods.
Truth came in that hour, falsehood fled away, In the remnants of the broken and smashed pagan statues across Andalos.
She would be the bride to Rick's Hugor. None could deny that the work of Gods was at play. It all made perfect clear sense; mother was correct, how could she not be? This was what she was brought into this world for. She would be the greatest Queen the realm had seen – greater even than the Good Queen Alysanne, one of the most renown Queens of all – even though she was an abomination who wed her brother in the sight of the Gods.
"Stop." She spoke to her maid, that was about to begin the process of braiding it, who then stood waiting with the brush.
She briefly looked to the page within the Holy Book.
Fair was she, who's person, shaped and perfect for all of Man to gaze! With hair that flowed as free as the birds in the sky, and the coolest of autumn rivers…
"I will have my hair free without decorations or braids, leave it plain."
The older woman looked unsure.
"Are you sure, M'lady?"
She turned around.
"Yes. Please"
Her king had again delayed a planned meeting. He was still dealing with a mountain of work. Important meetings with the High Septon, then the recently arrived Iron Bank representative from Bravos.
The later seemed to have caused true annoyance when he had informed her, something to the effect of Bravosi being difficult to work with.
In her silken red dress, hair free and naturel as the Maiden and her bride, she walked with purpose. She would come to him. What was this feral Wolf girl to her? Nothing. Yes, Rickard never wanted this, and he could get out of this foolish betrothal. Surely, his High Holiness would see the truth. Only his word could do it, and there was no reason not to.
He would do it; he would do it for her. She knew it. Damn grandfather's and mother's scheming. She did not care for if she could convince Rickard to give him the Master of Laws office or not and she didn't care.
His royal office chamber was on the highest floor of the Red Keep. It was where they had shared one of their best kisses, warm at night opposite the roaring fire.
I'm his bride. I'm the Naerys to his Aemon. I'm the Danaerys to his Daemon, the Alysanne to his Jaehaerys. Like grandfather was to Lady Joanna. Even Jonquil to his Florian.
She forwent her cousins, and only took two guards. As she went through past the spiralling stairs, it was when she spotted the room of her desire.
She spotted three men and a boy, all of whom she recognised. Two were Kingsguard – the knight of the Moths, Ser Richard Horpe and Ser Balon Swann, and the other, her love's Sworn shield and one of his best friends, Ser Rolland Storm. The boy was the King's own squire; Bryen Farring; a skinny and boy of one and one with short brown hair. He was a serious boy, a trait he seemed to inherit from his father, the Red Keep's Master-at-Arms. He wore a simple surcoat with the sigil of the crowned stag sown onto his breast of the cloth.
Ser Rolland had a look of surprise and nervousness on his face. A beard that matched the colour and length of his short brown hair and that covered his tanned and pox-marked face.
"My lady." He bowed his head. Eyes looking around.
"Sers." She curtsied, there were noises within the room behind the heavy wooden door, she needed to get in, "I'm here to see the King."
"Apologies, lady Crakehall, the king wishes not to be disturbed." Said Ser Balon, his thickly muscled frame blocking the door.
Rickard's companions and guards had never prevented her from seeing him before. Panic settled in her chest.
Her voice changed "Let me in." she demanded.
It was a harsher voice who answered.
"Did you not hear, girl? The king has spoken that none are to disturb him. Leave now." It was Horpe who spoke. His eyes, always malicious, burned to hers. She only glared back.
"How dare you speak to Lord Roland Crakehall's granddaughter that manner." One of her house's men-at-arms spoke. His surcoat emblazoned with the vigil of her house.
The Moth knight simply looked on, hand on the palm of his blade.
With the moment's distraction, she rushed through the heavy door. A plea from Ser Rolland to not go in too late.
She wished she had headed his warning.
Upon the massive table, it was not the supposed important work of the Iron Bank envoy that was being worked on, rather, the shapely and naked body of Lady Rheana Rhysling. Her freckled face in ecstasy and voice filled with lust, and so was the King's, they were both sprawled on top of the table.
The worst was that while Rickard's eyes were closed in pleasure, it was that little cunt's who face landed on hers first.
An accursed smile on her features. Taunting her, mocking her. Humiliating her.
She ran out as soon as she could, not wanting that whore, or the Kingsguard, nor the bastard, nor Rickard to see the tears.
She shoved past Rolland, wanting to at least leave a mark.
She blocked out the screams of her name in that familiar voice. She ignored the calls for her to stop.
It was no use. It had all been a lie, and she was a failure.
Author's notes:
I want to give a shout out to my most consistent reviewers so far: Sage of Wind Dragons, oneironaught101, Julian, Ptolemys pyjamas. As well as all people who've given my tale the time of day to like and comment.
Special thanks to Hassarn and Hapanzi.