DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything associated with the show or books.
Chapter Eighteen.
By the Queen's order, supper was a simple three course affair with extravagant dishes and fine wines.
As instructed, evening repast started with fresh scallops in brown butter, smoked salmon tartare, cheese and tarragon filled mushrooms and spiced soup.
The main course consisted of four proteins, to be divided among the five Nobleborn dinners. Seared lobster tails harvested from the Narrow Sea in the afternoon that same day. Roasted pheasant, snared in The Kingswood, with a rich blackberry sauce. Succulent beef tenderloin, sourced from The Crownlands, was encrusted with garlic and rosemary, served in a Dornish red wine reduction. And a lamb shoulder had been slowly cooked for six long hours.
A selection of fragrant side dishes were just as painstakingly prepared, placed around the larger platters of poultry, meat and seafood on the long rectangular table. The asparagus dripping with butter was crisp, diced carrots roasted with orange peel still held a crunch, white rice had been boiled in the pheasant stock, roasted potatoes were coated with rosemary and thyme, brussel sprouts were glazed with apple cider and paired with bacon, choice hazelnuts were dotted across a mixture of radish and cabbage and shelled peas were assorted with seared onions and a light sprinkling of lemon.
The Lannister Queen had given instructions for a range of her family's personal favourites for dessert to be served, a lemon cake for Sansa, an egg custard tart for Jaime, pumpkin pie with candied nuts for Myrcella and Tommen and poached pears for herself.
She had ordered in excess, she was well aware. However, Jaime was entirely too thin after his imprisonment. Myrcella was doubtlessly famished after their day-long excursion into Maegor's Labyrinth and she had arranged for Tommen to begin lessons in swordplay while she and her daughter had been absent from The Red Keep Proper, a physical demand she was not overly familiar with but could sensibly deduce.
Sansa had requested that the leftovers from all their meals be distributed among the neediest of peasants, mainly those residing in the rank pit of Flea Bottom. She had griped venomously and growled menacingly, remembering all too vividly that harrowing day her SheWolf had been attacked and almost violated during the riots. She could still taste the acid of dread welling up on her tongue and feel hot blood coating her hands. She would have preferred to send the surplus to the kennels and let the peasants rot in their own filth. However, Sansa, her kind hearted mate, had been persistent in her plight, and she had relented reluctantly with a dark scowl. A sinister snarl, Sansa had quickly coaxed into her wicked, signature smirk with tender touches and loving words.
Supper was concluded with the toll of a bell, ringing out in the distance, announcing the tenth hour in the late evening, and Handmaids methodically cleared the table in the warm, flickering candlelight. Having been excused by their Lady Mother, The Queen, Myrcella and Tommen retired from the table to play with Duchess, Sansa's large, pristine white and grey Direwolf, in front of the roaring hearth. The Lioness would send her children to bed soon.
Naturally the Queen was seated at the head of white weir wood table. Her daughter and Heir had been placed at her right hand side, this was not by happenstance, now, Myrcella would be spending the majority of her days with her Lady Mother. Jaime, her loyal twin and The Lord Commander of her Queensguard, sat with his broad shoulders hunched over the table top, his gold hand concealed in his lap, formerly next to The Cub Princess at the far end. Tommen had been placed opposite his beloved uncle, adjacent to Sansa. Her redheaded Paramour was sheltered closely at her left side. Sansa held her pale hand atop the table surface, the incredible softness of her lover's thumb idly stroked the back of her palm.
The crisp, cool night air filtering into the elephantine chamber, through the open windows in the arched alcove behind the right side of the table, was heavy, like the slurry that sits atop the rancid water of a swamp.
With lazy flicks of her wrist, The Lannister Lioness patiently swirled her dark red wine, housed inside a glimmering glass goblet. The squared, solid gold singer ring encircling her middle finger flashed and glittered in the candlelight. Her astute jade eyes were trained on her twin brother, where Jaime lingered at the end of the table. Myrcella's high backed chair, the only seat present that was visually identical to her own save for the grandeur of size, remained empty, standing betwixt the two golden Lions.
Despite the promise of his satirical smile on entry to her chambers, her littermate had been distracted over dinner and largely silent. Jaime's wry humour had yet to make an appearance in his few responses during conversation. Myrcella and Tommen had been noticeably disheartened by their uncle's aberrant manner, despite their many attempts to galvanise him. She had allayed their questioning stares with a wordless look, to which they had responded sensibly. Privy to the exchange, Sansa had taken her hand and hadn't let go.
It would appear Jaime had begun to digest the events of his imprisonment. The natural advance of a strong and healthy mind.
Her sharp, intelligent eyes flickered over the jovial forms of her Cubs at leisure afore the warmth of the open fire, with Sansa's contentedly panting Direwolf. A hearty grin on her youthful face, carrying with it the promise of extraordinary beauty, Myrcella kneeled next to Tommen's shoulder, laying on his hip, with one milky white hand buried in the thick fur of Duchess's scruff. Tommen giggled as the adolescent wolf turned her wedge shaped head and enthusiastically licked his rounded cheek. An ebullience soared through her heart as she wordlessly watched her children.
The Future of House Lannister, patiently forged, burned bright.
Jaime's attention, too, seemed drawn to the heart-warming vision of the Princess and Prince.
The air, dense with that which lay unspoken, pressed down on her shoulders. She felt the muscles in the back of her neck tense tightly as she returned her gaze expectantly to Jaime.
Downing his wine in a single gulp to bolster his courage, Jaime stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He moved to fill Myrcella's empty place at her side. Ducking his gold hand beneath the surface once more.
He sighed heftily, combing his fingertips back through his golden hair. Stress fell from his shoulders in palpitating waves.
Though newly acquainted, Sansa seemed to sense The Lord Commander's emotional burden.
She felt her younger lover begin to withdraw her hand from the embrace of their palms. Doubtlessly with the intent of joining Myrcella and Tommen, with Duchess, before the fireplace. She appreciated Sansa even more for attempting to ease Jaime's troubled mind by offering herself and her twin privacy. Without delay, Cersei tightened her fingers, holding Sansa captive at the table. This SheWolf was her mate, an integral part of her Pride. And she sagely suspected what Jaime was struggling to give voice to involved the House of Stark. Sansa had every right to be witness to whatever news Jaime held for her first hand.
Jaime drummed his fingers against the table, the persistent noise dulled by the woven, ruby red table cloth.
Cersei cocked her head. Her patience had its limits, even with her brother. Fortunately, Sansa's soft thumb stroking over her pulse point was incredibly soothing.
"It occurs to me..." Jaime sucked on his lower lip, before releasing that flesh with a moist popping noise.
It amazed her. The fact that Jaime could singlehandedly face down a feral rogue lion simply to bring her back it's fur, openly roar his defiance at their imposing Lord Father at the prospect of her being forced to marry Robert Baratheon and readily forsaken his claim to Casterly Rock in favour of following her to King's Landing where he could better protect her from their enemies. But this unknown truth made Jaime falter.
'He has always feared displeasing me.'
Her ageless face was schooled into a mask of neutrality as she nodded encouragingly for Jaime to continue.
"My being held hostage did not agree with me, Cersei." Jaime met her jade eyes, and to his credit his gaze did not waver.
"Toward the end of my...Tenure, with the Starks. Lady Catelyn visited me in my delightful cage."
Cersei ran her jade eyes over her lover, watching Sansa hold her breath and lean forward in her chair, eager for news regarding her family. She squeezed the redhead's pale hand supportively.
Chagrin bled into the edge of Jaime's eyes, and her twin rubbed the back of his blonde head. It was uncommon for her brother to fidget.
"Go on." Cersei pressed lightly, sensing Jaime's next statement was the cause for his nervous behaviour.
"She, questioned my honour, Cersei. I did not react as you would have done." He swallowed, clearing his throat.
Cersei snorted, closing her tired eyes and resting her head against the back of high-backed chair, breathing deeply. Jaime had slain The Mad King upon learning of the Targaryen's intention to burn King's Landing to the ground with Wildfire. Jaime had saved the City and the lives of all it's undeserving inhabitants, and for that, he, a gallant Kingsguard, was labelled Kingslayer. The opportunist whom stabbed The Mad King through the back. Few things riled Jaime as a confrontational slur upon his honour, and that of their noble House.
"Lions do not concern ourselves with the opinions of sheep." She said, eyes still closed. Her thick blonde eyelashes cast shadows over high cheekbones, as she quoted the wisdom of their Lord Father.
Jaime snorted and bowed his head, flicking his eyes over Myrcella and Tommen, gauging that his niece and nephew were well out of earshot.
He licked his lips, "I played on the marital betrayal of Ned Stark. I, infamous oath breaker, flaunted that you and I are lovers, and that I had only ever lain with you. While Lord Stark, renowned for his honour, had sired a bastard son." Jaime confessed with a wince that molded his brow into a tight, remorseful frown.
The air, full of restless strain imploded with The Lord Commander's revelation, like a scab lifted from the face of a wound too soon, leaving behind a countenance of raw foulness.
Cersei's eyes shot open, in time to catch Sansa slumping back in her chair with a mournful cry. Her hold on her SheWolf's paw tightened to the point of pain, tomorrow she knew, there would be bruises. She had offered Sansa her freedom, on the night Stannis Baratheon had laid siege to King's Landing, her lover had refused with confession of love. She would never, never again, entertain the idea of Sansa leaving her. The Lioness knew she wouldn't survive that loss.
The Lion Queen hissed her primal and bestial, as her blood turned to ice in her veins. In that moment, she feared nothing more than the possibility of her Paramour pulling away from her over this lie.
Sansa had heard the filthy rumours of incest of course, every soul in the Realm had, but to be confronted by the prospect by one of the parties supposedly involved...Could Jaime's foolish sense of honour cost her the love of the mate she had only just found.
The broad plains of her vision thinned. Panic, the same that beat in the breast of an animal with it's paw caught in a trap, coloured the edges of her sight red. She desperately studied Sansa, the younger woman had covered her mouth with a pale hand as she trembled in the chair beside her.
"Its not true, Sansa..." She forced out between gritted teeth, shaking her head. She whipped her attention to Jaime, "You fucking fool!" She roared.
The tableware and cutlery visibly lurched and rattled, it was as if the earth itself was quaking, as she slapped her free hand forcefully on the edge of the table. The flat of her palm and wrist joint stung from the impact. But not enough to numb the angry beast vigorously pacing under her skin. Jaime flinched as if he had been physically struck. A reaction that would normally fill her with contrition, now only fed her ire.
Cersei's jade cat's eyes glowed, gold and green, as if there were a raging fire behind her irises, with piqued outrage as she levelled her frighteningly gaze on her little brother, his blonde head bowed deeply as he awaited her sentencing. Her breathing quickened. Her chest heaved. She failed to process this degree of pointless stupidity on Jaime's part. The Lion Queen gravely glared down at her twin with no recognition.
Her low growl cut through the thick air of malaise. Coiling her palm into a fist, she smacked her hand down on the unforgiving table top again. The flare of pain prevented her from lashing out at her brother. She wasn't certain Jaime deserved that consideration. The tendons in her neck stood out like diamond cords.
"Mama?" At timid whisper of her youngest chid, with great effort, The Lioness wrestled her murderous gaze from her littermate to her beloved cub.
Myrcella and Tommen stared up at the table, at her, with fear in their wide innocent eyes. The Princess and Prince had born witness to the wild temper of their Lord Father, Robert Baratheon, but never had they been exposed to their Lady Mother's terrifying wrath. Sat on her powerful haunches, Duchess whined uneasily.
She had always gone to tremendous lengths to shield her cubs from that dark part of her, that all instinctively knew to dread and desperately avoid.
She sought to cool her head and hunt down the words needed to calm her apprehensive children. But her tongue was sharpened to an edge, her vocal cords thickened, battle-ready for conflict. She trembled, attempting to contain her anger. For the sake of her children.
Amidst the rolling ruckus of the storm, a single brilliant streak of lightning struck.
Her breath caught in the back of her throat at the realisation, Sansa still firmly held her right hand.
At her side, seated in her high backed chair, Sansa swallowed hard, and angled herself to address the two golden Cubs, "Nothing for you to worry about, darlings." The redhead crooned assuredly, smooth and soft as silk.
Sansa looked back to her with warmth and trust reflected within those wolf pale eyes, "Cersei?" The younger woman calmly prompted.
She, the scion of Tywin Lannister, could not detect an speck of suspicion nor modicum of a reservation, ruminating back at her through those strikingly crystalline blue and grey irises. Her every muscle went slack with awe for this beautiful creature at her side, 'She has not lost faith in me. She does not lend credence this ridiculous allegation.'
Her SheWolf knew as well as she, that nothing short of a lulling word from her would ease their children's anxiety.
Her agitated eyes locked with blue-grey orbs. Slowly, her Paramour drew their entwined hands toward the splendour of the redhead's beautiful face. A profuse wave of overwhelming solace washed over her, making even her legs feel hollow, as Sansa tenderly nuzzled the back of her hand trustingly.
The beast clawing at the underside of her flesh froze, and suddenly began to purr adoringly as she eagerly stroked Sansa's porcelain cheek with a quivering hand.
"All is well, Cubs." She declared, steel swathed in velvet, to the satisfaction of Myrcella and Tommen, whom, albeit hesitantly, returned to playing with Sansa's loyal direwolf companion before the grand mantle.
It was not a true summarisation. Even now, The Hound, at the head of an expeditionary force of Lannister soldiers, was escorting Catelyn and Robb Stark to the Capital. Catelyn Stark now housed the belief that her eldest daughter was in the vile clutches of woman capable of the worst of unholy acts. She had never planned for the Starks to believe her intentions toward Sansa to be of a sound and heartfelt foundation. But she had planned to force the Stark's open acceptance of their relationship, to ensure Sansa's continued happiness, rather than an actual desire for the outcome itself.
Cersei was The Lioness of House Lannister.
Jaime's careless remark to Catelyn Stark had now cast the road to her ultimate goal into shadow. She recalled the sight of her lover falling back in her chair with a desolate noise, and deducted that fact was the source of Sansa's momentary distress.
She cursed under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache bloomed in her temples.
She lowered her tone as to not upset her children, "When faced with Catelyn Stark, you will retract your statement." She instructed Jaime, with an exhausted sigh.
She placed her hand, joined with Sansa's over her heart, listening to the organ hasten in her ears.
Her brother dipped his head and shoulders, signalling his respectful acceptance of her will, and finally lifted his head.
He looked to her sombrely, "I will claim my lie for what it is, utterly false..." He spoke quietly, looking at Sansa apologetically. He blinked, "...But I doubt it will be sufficient for Lady Catelyn."
"I know..." Cersei murmured, the timbre of her voice carrying a hint of a pointed edge, "...But, it is all that you can do. The rest, falls into my domain."
Already her tired yet wickedly intelligent mind turned to manage this newest challenge and render it null and void.
All would be well.
Determined Jade eyes touched on loving, wholly accepting pale wolf irises. Jaime had been wise not to broach this subject until Sansa was close at hand to soothe The Lioness. By the Gods, if only her little brother would apply this sporadic wisdom to other affairs.
The silence that followed was not exigent, rather it was clouded by a grey forlorn mist of a question. A question, like so many, only she held the answer.
Jaime slumped forward with a prolonged sigh, touching his lightly sun kissed forehead to the table cloth. He had never proffered the question, never shown an interest in the answer, preferring to contribute his peace to her manoeuvrability to weave her web of confounding machinations.
Sansa leaned closer to her over the table top, wolf eyes bright with a plea. Her young lover squeezed her hand gently.
Lifting her solid glass chalice, Cersei finished off her rich, dry wine and replaced the cup on the dining table. With that same hand, she reached out to her brother, absentmindedly burying her long, slender fingers in the thick strands of Jaime's hair, affectionately scratching his scalp. He may not want to hear the answer, but Sansa did and her lover's complete faith in her would not go without a justification.
Their Lady Mother, and the events that had stolen her from their lives, was and always had been a point of contention between sister and brother.
"What is the cause...for those rumours?." Sansa enquired, shattering the quiet, like the howl of a wolf slices through a silent, starry night.
She tugged on Jaime's short, thick blonde hair, effectively demanding The Lord Commander's heed.
Releasing her brother, she lightly scratched her cheek, taking a moment to gather up the harrowing details of an incident long ago passed.
"Jaime had night terrors as a child." Cersei began, noticing she held the rapt, respective attention of her lover and that of her twin.
"On most nights." She swallowed. Recalling the countless nights she had been awakened to the shrill screaming of her little brother, tearing through the halls of Casterly Rock to her own nearby chambers, so full of extreme panic that her heart had pounded rapidly with her responding distress.
Jaime's brow was pinched with strain, but his eyes were blank. He did not remember, however much he might want to. A merciless fist gripped that blackened and jaded organ in her chest.
In spite of that acute pain, she managed an tender smirk, "Mother, ignoring Father's particularly vocal objections, would come and sit at the edge of your bed, stroke your hair and sing you back to sleep. Then, and only then, you would rest soundly."
She exhaled, picturing in her minds eye, an occasion she had crept down the grand hall of her Ancestral Home, drawn in toward the angelic timbre of her Mother's voice, into her brother's chamber, to witness Johanna Lannister calming her tearful son. She had, at all times, strived to imitate her Mother in the manner she raised her own Cubs.
Jaime's half smile was wistful as imagination took the place of physical memory.
Cersei struggled to eliminate the tremor from the velvet smooth quality of her voice, "After she died, Father forbade all from giving you comfort during the terrors, convinced you would overcome the nightmare's influences on your own."
She rested the back of her golden head against her chair, lulled by Sansa's impossibly soft fingertips stroking over the back of her hand.
Pursing her full red lips and clearing her throat, she continued with an incredulous shake of her head, "I listened to you cry out for Mother for a full week, every night for hours on end..." Even now, thirty years on, her heart twisted painfully at the phantom cries she could still hear ringing in her ears, "...When I left my room to check on you, Father would be standing in the hall and he would order me back to bed."
She blinked slowly, studying the faces of her SheWolf and her younger Twin through a bleary haze. The cool night air filtering into her large chambers, through the open windows, was quite enjoyable upon the sharpness of her fine features.
"The eighth night came, when he wasn't barring my path. So I hurried to your room and I stayed with you, all night."
Jaime's smile metamorphosed into a playful grin, and he folded his large hands together atop the table, "Did you sing me to sleep, dear sister?."
Cersei levelled him with a dark, withering glance that could crush the spirits of giants, but she couldn't contain her pleased smile at Sansa's light laugh.
She rolled her eyes and scoffed, "Cretin." She spat absent malice.
"As time passed, when we were first sent to bed, you began to come to my chamber with me and you would sleep beside me. It continued for years..." Her sculpted brow lifted, "...A servant witnessed the two of us in my bed..." She shrugged a slender shoulder carelessly, gesturing for Jaime to hand her the glimmering decanter of Dornish wine.
"And thus, word passed from servant to servant to spy..." She sighed, bristling, "...And rumour was born."
For the sake of Sansa's gentle heart, she left it unsaid that, by her Lord Father's doing, the handmaid whom had originally discovered them had quickly vanished from Casterly Rock and wagging tongues had been buried. Though not soon nor thoroughly enough to protect herself, her Twin and the next generation of her bloodline from smeared persecution once that wretched leech, Petyr Balish had chanced upon the harmful gossip.
Jaime's sneer was full of the same wary cynicism she shared, as he followed her command and passed her the crystal carafe.
Sansa shook her head in disbelief, the slashes of her Auburn brows lowering in confusion "Simple affection betwixt siblings. A prevalent act many, Noble families and Common born, carryout daily." Her SheWolf exclaimed, visibly horrified that an act so simple and pure could be turned into so dangerous a weapon.
Jaime grinned dryly and brandished his arms proudly, "Ours is the most detested House throughout the Seven Kingdoms, Lady Lannister..." The Lord Commander suddenly clutched a hand to his chest in mocking apology, "...Forgive me, I mean Lady Stark."
Sansa's pale wolf eyes twinkled with pleasure at the inference and connection to her love. Jaime's grin widened knowingly.
"Mm..." She murmured, sipping at her wine, staring at Sansa with open devotion through relaxed jade eyes, "...As hated as we Lannisters are, the Starks are in high esteem. Your heritage will never be forsaken."
Perched on the high edge of the enormous, four poster bed, the fire light cast out a dim orange hue to combat the dark shadows lurking in the far corners of The Queen's shared chamber, Cersei moaned as Sansa, settled behind The Lion Queen with her impossibly long, toned legs stretched out and framing the older woman's hips, massaged her lean shoulders and the nape of her pale neck.
She felt a delightful shiver of pure awareness trickle down her spine as her SheWolf teased the thin straps of her gossamer, silk shift down her upper arms to catch at her bent elbows, granting the younger woman greater access to the tensed muscles of her upper back.
Tired jade eyes fluttered closed as she allowed herself to thoroughly enjoy the feeling of her lover sinking her soft fingertips into the tight knots gathered in her neck. Shift rucked up to her upper thighs, the warmth from the open fire licked at her naked calves and the tips of her bare feet.
A purr rumbled in the Lioness's throat as Sansa glided closer to her, the luxurious, Lannister red, bed sheets rustling beneath them with that smooth movement, the solid, flat expanse of the redhead's belly pressed against the small of her back and the deliciously full mounds of her SheWolf's inviting breasts meshed into her intoxicatingly. The younger woman's warmth melted into her, and she felt herself truly relax into Sansa's embrace.
Full red lips tilted into a sensuous smile, when Sansa urged her mane of gloriously thick, blonde hair to cascade down over one shoulder and full breast, the curled ends gathering in her lap. An undeniable tingle passed over her shoulder blades as her Paramour pressed a gentle, yet wonderfully firm kiss to the very base of her neck. The fine hairs there standing on edge in the most pleasant manner in response to the sensation of Sansa's warm breath caressing her flesh.
"Returning to our conversation, I have decided..." Sansa whispered intimately.
Cersei hummed languidly, conveying wordlessly that her mate held her attention, eyes drifting open halfway while the redhead confidently brushed open mouthed kisses along her neck, until her SheWolf's perfectly pink lips were pressed against the shell of her ear.
"...I do not like it when you don't come to bed." Sansa said, nuzzling the sensitive spot behind Cersei's ear.
"The curse of residing with a lover, I suppose, is the revelation of bad habits." Cersei sighed quietly, acknowledging the experience of sharing her chambers was a first for herself as well as Sansa.
Seven Hells, she had never before kept a lover for as long as she kept Sansa. A kind of joyous levity blossomed in her chest at the thought that she would possess the rapturous pleasure of keeping Sansa at her side for life. Come what may.
Many of her nights had been, and would continue to be spent sleepless, an inevitable ramification of playing the Game of Thrones.
The younger woman huffed an airy laugh into her ear, sending a wave of goose flesh spreading down the length of her arms.
She sighed once more as Sansa rubbed her aching shoulders. Reaching out to encircle her fingers around the redhead's elegant calf, Cersei gently prompted her lover to bend her right leg. Willingly, the younger woman wrapped her silken leg around The Queen's waist, settling the weight in the older woman's lap. Cersei began the leisurely task of kneading Sansa's foot with her strong thumbs, earning a pleasant gasp from her lover.
She cocked her head curiously, when Sansa's graceful hands disappeared from her neck, but nonetheless continued her ministrations upon her lover's lovely foot. She waited patiently, feeling Sansa rest her cheek on the curve of her shoulder.
She sensed Sansa's mood shift, and felt the tiredness plaguing her mind dissipate in answer.
"Is it strange?. That I missed you more in one night, than I have my family in a year." She felt Sansa's troubled frown against her shoulder. Her heart quickened in her chest and she smiled, contented at her lover's loyal devotion to her.
That loyalty was a mutuality that existed between them, she mused, turning her mind back to dinner. She had always believed that Jaime could never commit any offense to turn her heart against him. She hadn't even been able to hold her Twin's bizarre affection for the loathsome creature responsible for their Mother's death against him. The love one bears for another often blinds them to the faults of that individual. A vision of Joffrey's empyrean face flashed before her jade eyes. She knew that truth better than most. But Jaime's jeopardizing her relationship with Sansa, even unwittingly, had churned sickeningly in her gut and threatened to close the staunch gates of her blackened heart to her little brother forever.
She tilted her blonde head, feeling the tendon in her neck begin to strain in protest at the awkward angle, as she pressed her lips to Sansa's temple, "No, my darling." She murmured, assured.
Sansa cuddled tighter to her back, bringing them impossibly closer to one another. She rhythmically squeezed the strong muscle at the back of her Paramour's ankle, delighting in the breathy noises of enjoyment her touch evoked from her younger lover.
"I worry." Sansa confessed, in a whisper so soft she almost didn't catch her lover's words.
The golden Lioness, powerful and calculated, living underneath her skin roared in Cersei's ears. Her glorious beast thoroughly disgruntled at the notion of her mate being anything but content.
Releasing Sansa's foot, she rose up from the edge of their bed, elegant and regal, and turned on her bare heel. The sudden flurry of motion distorted the flickering candlelight illuminating the huge bed chamber. Kneeling on the edge of their bed between Sansa's splayed legs, The Lion Queen silently urged her SheWolf to lay back upon the Lannister red bed sheets. In a smooth predatory motion, Cersei covered Sansa's body with her own, hips to hips, belly to belly. Firmly planting her hands on either side of her lover's head, she supported her weight on lean arms. As she cocked her blonde head curiously, the thick, satiny wave flowing down over her shoulder, Sansa bent her long, magnolia pale legs and hugged the curve of The Queen's hips with her knees.
Cersei felt herself growl with satisfaction at the renewed and deepened intimacy of their position. A pink blush stained the sharpness of her paramour's high cheekbones in response.
"Why?" The Lannister Lioness demanded, her pupils narrowing with intent to utterly destroy the object of Sansa's distress.
The velvety timbre of her voice low, dark, and terrifying to most. But not to her beloved mate.
Sansa's majestic hands tenderly encircled her bare biceps as she held herself above the younger woman on all fours atop their bed. She very nearly purred, happy with the freeness of movement that the redhead touched her. At the beginning, there had always been trepidation, Sansa never knowing where to place her hands or for the length of time she would allow it. That nervousness had vanished.
"My SheWolf knows. I am hers, and she is Mine."
Sansa nibbled on her plump lower lip, collecting her thoughts, blinking slowly. The Lioness waited, patient but so very driven to pounce on the enemy.
"I long to see my family after so many months, even Arya..." Sansa's kissable lips tilted into an amused half smile at the memory of heated sibling rivalry. Though, as quickly as it had appeared that bright smile dimmed.
Crooning comfortingly, Cersei dipped her blonde head and pressed a kiss to Sansa's porcelain cheek. She knew all too well , the agony of a lost littermate. She remained there, her slightly parted lips ghosting over the corner of her Paramour's luscious mouth.
"But after much consideration, I cannot help but settle on a conclusion I believe to be inevitable." Sansa swallowed, hard. Her wolf pale eyes shining.
The younger woman tilted her head, meeting her gaze.
"They will ask me to choose where my loyalty lays. Robb and my sister, more so than my mother." The warmth of Sansa's breath brushed over her lips as the younger woman released a heavy sigh.
Cersei felt as if a mailed fist were gripping that sage and jaded organ within her chest, causing acute physical pain as she listened to her mate.
"I truly fear losing their love." Sansa blinked, mesmerising blue-grey eyes glistening ever more noticeably.
The redhead's melodic voice quivering as she admitted her dread, however her Paramour's steady gaze did not waver.
"But...Should they press the issue, they shall be disappointed..." Sansa inhaled sharply, her compassionate, confident strength returning to her tone.
Her SheWolf's smile was watery, but well defined and did much to ease the tremendous emotional weight coiling within The Lion Queen's chest. Sansa's long, nimble fingers squeezed her biceps. Cersei could feel the feathery brush of Sansa's long, eyelashes, the colour of red wine, with each beat against her cheek.
"I've already chosen you. I love you, and I love your children." Sansa whispered, devoutly.
A lump formed in her throat, and her heartbeat seemed to stutter in her ears. She released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding captive. Briefly she pondered how she could possibly crave closer contact with her lover, when Sansa was already there, beneath her, pressing into her body. Their warmth blending together. The redhead's faintly flowery scent filling her nostrils and her lungs with every inhale. Sansa looked at her in a way that no other lover ever had, as if the sun itself rose and fell with her. The only barrier between her and her mate was the two, respective, gossamer thin nightgowns they wore. But it was entirely too much. Intolerable.
Her throat constricted further, stifling the words of a resonating sonnet. Brow pinched with tension, Cersei stared down at her lover, willing the younger woman to understand what she couldn't whisper in return.
Shifting her weight onto one paw beside her mate's head, The Lannister Lioness moved her freed hand to Sansa's toned thigh and languidly began rucking the pristine white hem of the younger woman's shift up the silky stretch of her Paramour's leg, unveiling perfect pale flesh. Sansa's breath hitched as she slowly drew small circles along the redhead's upper thigh, evoking shivers from the woman beneath her. Her Paramour's impossibly long legs tightened encouragingly around her hips.
Bowing her head, Cersei teasingly flicked Sansa's full, pink bottom lip with the tip of her talented tongue. She heard herself growl, rumbling in her chest, at the soft noise Sansa uttered at the contact.
"Our children." Cersei crooned, earnestly, against Sansa's delectable mouth.
Her SheWolf's joyous smile and the love dancing in Sansa's blue-grey eyes set the cold, withered corners of The Lioness's heart ablaze. The Queen surged forth, capturing her lover's succulent mouth as the fire in her heart swept through her body, burning in her veins and settling in her sex. Sansa moaned, parting her full pink lips. Sansa raised her splayed legs, bringing her pretty knees almost to her compact shoulders. Her lover's long, lean legs tightened around her, the younger woman's slim ankles locking at the small of her back. A hungry growl tore from Cersei's throat as Sansa wantonly dug her bare heels, hard, into the firm muscles of The Queen's backside. Plunging her warm tongue into the addictive depths of Sansa's sweet mouth, she slowly began to leisurely roll her hips into the wet heat blooming at the cradle of the younger woman's body. Her Paramour's responding, breathless mewl rang in her ears, racing to her core where the lips of her sex grew slick with want and swelled with desire.
The kiss was a dedication, to each other. She had Sansa's love and loyalty, and Sansa held her heart and her Soul. No other would ever suffice.
Robert Baratheon may have instrumental in her Cub's conception. But the Baratheons were Stags. Intuitively unfit to raise Lions, her late husband had always known that, sensed it. She had not gone hunting for a mate to raise her Cubs alongside her, and yet she had found her mate, with whom she happily shared her children, in the SheWolf nestled among her Pride.
TBC . . .
