Cersei II

Cersei Lannister sat by the window, her eyes unfocused as she watched the sea beyond the Red Keep. The waves crashed against the shore, relentless and unchanging. She hated it. She hated the constant reminder that the world moved on, indifferent to her suffering, indifferent to the void left in her heart. She missed Jaime. It was an ache that never seemed to dull, no matter how many days passed. She missed his warmth beside her at night, the familiar sound of his voice. She missed his touch, the way he would make her feel as if she were the only woman in the world.

Her sons. The thought of Joffrey and Tommen brought a sharper pain. They were so close but so far away now. Tywin's cleverness was gone. She had always taken his strength for granted, his presence a solid foundation beneath her feet. Without him, the walls of her life had begun to crumble. She was alone in a way that felt suffocating.

The door to her chamber creaked open, and her thoughts were broken. She turned, only to see Bryan, his broad frame filling the doorway, holding a tray of food. He was an unwelcome sight, but an expected one. Every day, he brought her the same tray with occasional delicacies, but commonly laden with bread, cheese, and fruit, always fresh, always safe. It was a minor comfort, but it did not make the sourness in her mouth vanish.

"Your food, my lady," Bryan said, his voice rough, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips as he set the tray down on the table.

She nodded curtly, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than it should have. The man's brutish manners grated on her nerves, but she had learned to bear them. He ate like a pig, and though she knew the food he brought her was safe, she could never quite shake the distaste she felt at having him in her presence. Still, she reminded herself, he had done his part in keeping Myrcella safe. That, at least, was something she could begrudgingly appreciate.

Bryan was a puzzle. She had noticed something about him in the weeks that had passed. He had little company of women he mentioned, and he seemed to prefer her company, though it made her uncomfortable. He wanted her. It had driven her to dress provocatively on occasion. She would wear low-cut gowns and allow her hair to tumble over her shoulders in waves, making sure he saw her, making sure he couldn't ignore the curves of her body. She had no interest in him besides controlling a man with Robb's ear and the fear or awe of most lords.

At first, there had been subtle signs of his attention—glances, the way his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. But when she had dared to make advances, to tempt him with a touch or a word, he had recoiled, every time. She hadn't expected this rejection, in truth. There was no man in Westeros who could resist her beauty.

There had been one instance, however, that burned itself into her memory, one moment where she thought she could perhaps make him succumb to her charms. Her robes had accidentally fallen to the floor, after meticulously tying their knots just barely holding together when she sat. The soft silk pooled at her feet, and she had seen him blush—something that irritated her, but also intrigued her. He had muttered an apology, his eyes wide, and then fled the room, leaving her standing there in nothing but her shift. She had expected him to stay, to take advantage of the situation, but instead, he had left her standing there, humiliated and angry.

She cursed him in the silence of her chamber. A man who could not be swayed by such simple charms was a dangerous one, and she despised him for it. She had tried to manipulate him, to bend him to her will, but he was nothing like the other men who had fallen at her feet. No, Bryan was a different breed. He fled from everything unbecoming of him. The bastard.

Still, she could not deny that a part of her admired him for his restraint. In a world so full of lies and deceit, where even her own brother could not keep his vows to her, Bryan's integrity, though maddening, was strangely captivating. She wanted to break him, to see him give in to his desires. But he was proving to be harder to crack than she had imagined. Yet through it all, he kept bringing her food. He spent time with her. He asked her questions, which she ridiculed or ignored like they deserved. Yet he came back the next day.

She looked away, turning back to the window. Bryan's intrusion had left her disturbed, but she forced herself to focus on something else. Her daughter, Myrcella, had been safe under his watch, and for that, Cersei would give him some semblance of gratitude. She had seen the boy—young and innocent—every few days, his small, delicate face brightening the gloom of the Keep. He was a reminder of the things she still held dear.

Her thoughts turned darker as Varys began to make his presence known. The eunuch had started to visit her as well, granted permission by the lord protector. He was a slippery creature, but one she had learned to tolerate. He was useful, providing her with gossip from the shadows.

Pycelle, it seemed, had found himself out of favor, kicked from the Citadel in disgrace. It displeased her to hear it. Then there was Viserys Targaryen, who had finally decided to leave Essos and stake his claim on the throne of Westeros.

But Renly—Renly Baratheon—was the one who truly concerned her. The youngest of the Baratheon brothers had gathered a following in the South, and his popularity was growing by the day. After he was engaged to Margary Tyrell, Cersei felt doomed.

Stannis would not stop preaching three truths, according to Varys. Joffrey was an abomination incest. Viserys was an abomination incest. The second son comes before the third. Unsurprisingly, Stannis was the least popular, only having the support of the North.

Varys was loyal no matter who the fools of the realm chose as king.

The night was oppressively still, the kind of silence that smothered the whispers of rebellion and treachery. Cersei sat by the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap, though her mind was anything but calm. The sound of footsteps at her door startled her, and when it opened, Varys stepped through, a shadow of silk and cunning.

"My queen," he said with a bow so graceful it seemed practiced a thousand times. "I bring news, though not all of it is the kind to bring comfort."

Cersei narrowed her eyes. "Speak plainly, spider. What is it?"

He clasped his hands together, his painted nails catching the light of the single candle burning in the corner. "The Great Council is nearing its end. The murmurs of the lords suggest that Renly Baratheon will emerge triumphant. They adore him, my queen, for his charm, his promise of unity, and his ridiculous notion of a realm governed by love. Tomorrow, the council will make its decision public, and unless some unforeseen disaster occurs, Renly will sit the Iron Throne."

Cersei's nails dug into her palm, her fury mounting like a rising tide. "And where were you, Varys, while this farce unfolded? What good are your whispers if they come too late?"

Varys inclined his head, unfazed. "I am but one man, my queen. Yet, I am still your man." His voice softened, an edge of genuine reverence slipping into the silk. "The realm is poorer without the Lannisters, and I am not blind to the dangers of a Baratheon king untempered by the wisdom of Tywin's blood. I have taken steps to rectify this."

She frowned. "What steps?"

From within his robes, Varys produced a small iron key. "The first of which is freeing your family from their gilded cage."

Cersei stared at the key as if it were a serpent. "And why now? After all these moons of silence?"

"Timing, my queen. Timing is everything. The realm shifts beneath us like sand, and I would see you in a place where you might shape it to your will once more."

Without waiting for her response, he placed the key into her hand and bowed deeply. "I will not say where you should go, but there is a certain cell door in the dungeons that this key will open. Beyond it lies your freedom. Use it wisely."

Cersei watched him leave, the soft rustle of his robes fading into the stillness of the night. Her heart raced, and for a moment, she hesitated. Trusting Varys was always a gamble, but he had been steadfast in his loyalty to her family before. And what choice did she have? To die here while Renly sat on her son's throne?

The halls of the Red Keep were as quiet as the grave, the shadows long and oppressive. Cersei moved swiftly, her bare feet silent on the cold stone floors. She clutched the key tightly in her hand, its cold bite grounding her as she navigated the familiar corridors.

Her first stop was Myrcella's chambers. She found her daughter sleeping soundly, her golden curls spread across the pillow like a lion's mane. Cersei shook her gently. "Wake up, my sweetling," she whispered. "We must leave."

Myrcella stirred groggily, her eyes fluttering open. "Mother? What's happening?"

"We're leaving," Cersei said firmly, helping her sit up. "We're going to rescue our family and escape this cursed place. But we must hurry."

Myrcella nodded, her trust in her mother absolute. Together, they slipped into the hall, the torchlight casting eerie shadows on the walls. Cersei's heart pounded in her chest as they made their way toward the dungeons. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant echo of a voice made her freeze, her hand tightening around Myrcella's.

As they turned a corner, the sound of shouting reached her ears. She stopped abruptly, pressing Myrcella against the wall. The voices were frantic, panicked, and though the words were garbled, one name came through clearly: Renly.

Her breath caught. What had happened? Had Varys orchestrated some coup, some disaster to delay the council's decision? The thought brought a surge of hope, but it was quickly tempered by caution.

Peering around the corner, she saw guards swarming the corridor ahead. Their faces were pale, their movements frenzied as they shouted over one another.

"—dead, just like that—"

"—the blood, gods, I've never seen—"

"—shadow, it was a shadow—"

Cersei's blood ran cold. A shadow? Her mind raced, trying to piece together what little she had heard. If Renly were truly dead, it would throw the council into chaos, but who could wield such a weapon? Her thoughts turned to the red priestess she had heard whispers of, the woman who served Stannis Baratheon. Could it be her doing?

She pulled Myrcella back, her mind spinning. Whatever had happened, it was clear the Red Keep was no longer safe. They needed to move quickly, to find a way out before the chaos caught up to them. The girl's small hands clutched her mother's robes, her eyes wide and fearful. The corridor before them was a maelstrom of chaos—guards shouting, their boots clattering against the flagstones as they rushed past, steel glinting in the flickering torchlight.

The shadows seemed alive, writhing on the walls like serpents. Then she saw it.

At first, she thought her eyes deceived her—a trick of the light or the madness of the moment. But no, it was real. A shadow, darker than the blackest night, moved among the guards. It had form and substance, the outline of a man cloaked in shifting darkness. Its movements were swift and silent, cutting through the guards like a reaper at harvest. The men screamed as they fell, their blood pooling in the guttered torchlight.

Cersei's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to move, to run, but her legs felt like lead, rooted to the spot by the sheer terror of what she was witnessing.

"Mother…" Myrcella's voice was barely a whisper, trembling with fear.

"Quiet," Cersei hissed, her own voice trembling. "Stay still."

Then she saw the sorcerer. He emerged from the fray like some spectral avenger, his robes whipping around him. In his hand was a sword ablaze with fire, its flames licking the air with a hungry fury. He shouted words in a tongue Cersei recognized—High Valyrian, harsh and commanding. His voice echoed through the corridor like a thunderclap.

The fiery blade clashed with the shadow, sparks flying as steel met something that was not quite flesh. The shadow recoiled, its edges blurring and reforming, but the sorcerer pressed on, his incantations rising in urgency.

And then the shadow shifted. It twisted around the sorcerer, slipping past him like smoke through a crack. It moved with a dreadful purpose, heading straight for where Cersei and Myrcella hid.

Cersei's heart stopped. The shadow's form solidified as it drew closer, and she saw its face—sharp and severe, with dark eyes and a mouth set in grim determination. It was a face she had seen before, on the banners of the stag and flame. Stannis Baratheon. Yet, it was not him. This was something else, something darker, something unholy.

The shadow stopped a few feet from them, its form rippling like heat haze. It spoke, its voice a sibilant whisper that crawled under her skin. "Abomination."

Myrcella whimpered, clutching her mother tighter. Cersei's mind raced, panic threatening to consume her. She had no weapon, no way to defend her daughter.

The shadow stepped closer, its voice growing louder. "Abomination." The word carried with it a weight, a judgment that made Cersei's blood run cold.

Suddenly, a torch sailed through the air, its flame bright and desperate. It struck the shadow, and for the first time, it screamed—a high, piercing sound that seemed to tear through the very fabric of the air. The shadow recoiled, its form twisting and shuddering.

Cersei turned to see Bryan standing at the end of the corridor, his face pale but resolute. He held a sword in one hand, its edge gleaming in the firelight.

"Guards, to me!" he shouted, his voice hoarse but commanding.

The shadow turned its attention to Bryan, its form surging forward like a tidal wave of darkness. Bryan braced himself, raising his sword, but the force of the shadow's approach pushed him back. He stumbled, his foot catching on the hem of his cloak, and for a moment, Cersei thought he would fall.

Instead, he twisted at the last second, driving his blade forward. The sword plunged into the shadow's center, and it shrieked again, a sound that seemed to shake the very stones of the Red Keep. Its form convulsed, shuddering violently before dissipating into a swirl of black smoke.

Bryan collapsed to one knee, his breath ragged. He turned his head, his eyes locking with Cersei's. His sword with dark waves pushing and pulling the metal fell out of his hand to the ground as panted like never before. "Go," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Back to your room. Now."

Cersei hesitated, torn between her fear and her instinct to stay and demand answers. But the sound of approaching guards snapped her out of it. She grabbed Myrcella's hand and pulled her back the way they had come, her heart pounding in her chest.

As they fled, Cersei's mind raced. It was not safe to leave, nor was it safe to stay. She needed to gather any plan she could to escape. Myrcella returned to her room safely, and Cersei returned to hers. She loathed it. She loathed it all.

Still, she grinned. The guards's words had been glossed over at the start of the fray, but Renly was dead. There was more time. Falling asleep was difficult but her eyes managed to shut shortly before dawn.

Cersei woke to the sound of pounding fists against her chamber door, followed by the unmistakable clamor of steel. Before she could fully rise from her bed, the door burst open, and a trio of guards stormed in. They seized her roughly, their hands like iron shackles on her arms.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, her voice cold with fury. "Unhand me, you oafs!"

They did not answer, dragging her from her chambers without ceremony. Cersei's protests fell on deaf ears as they hauled her through the winding halls of the Red Keep. The castle's cold stones seemed to mock her with their indifference.

By the time she was thrust into the throne room, Cersei had composed herself. She straightened her back, lifting her chin high as she surveyed the faces before her. Pretender Robb Stark, self-styled Lord Protector, sat upon the Iron Throne, his youth masked by the weight of command. His direwolf lounged at his side, its eyes fixed on her with predatory intensity. Flanking him were Varys, who's serene face a mask of calculated neutrality, and Bryan, who had incredulous expressions.

"My lady," Robb began, his tone measured but firm, "you are accused of attempting to escape the Red Keep last night. Three guards claim to have seen you."

Cersei's lip curled into a sneer. "Lies," she spat. "I have not left my chambers. This is some crude attempt to defame me."

One of the guards stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I saw her myself, m'lord. She was sneakin' through the halls on her way to the cells during the commotion."

"A bold claim," Cersei said coolly, her green eyes narrowing. "And a false one. I was in my bed all night."

"Three men say otherwise," Robb said, his voice sharp. He gestured to Varys, who stepped forward with his hands clasped before him.

The Spider's voice was smooth, almost apologetic. "My lord, the former queen mother has whispered of such plans before. I have heard her speak of escaping under the cover of darkness."

Cersei's stomach twisted, but she kept her face impassive. "And you chose now to share this with the court? How convenient."

Robb ignored her jibe, his gaze fixed on Bryan. "What say you, ser? You've been vocal in her defense before."

Bryan stepped forward, his posture tense but confident. "My lord, Varys and the guards are lying."

The room fell silent. Even Grey Wind raised its head, ears pricking at the sudden shift in tone. Robb leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You claim to have proof?"

Bryan nodded. "Archmaester Marwyn and I placed a warding spell on her door months ago. It alerts us if anyone leaves or enters. The spell must be renewed daily, which I did this morning. According to the ward, someone entered her chambers late in the night and then left, but Cersei was not among them. I had a hair plucked to know when she specifically enters or leaves."

Varys tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "That only proves someone else was involved, my lord. It does not absolve her."

"It does," Bryan countered, his voice steady. "If Cersei had left, the ward would have marked her departure and return. Yet it didn't. She was in her room when I checked this morning. And then there is her missing guard…"

Robb frowned, glancing between the two men. "And the missing guard?"

Bryan crossed his arms. "None of the guards are Cersei's guard, my lord. Her guard has conveniently disappeared. It couldn't have been Cersei. She has no authority over the men. Only select few have been given authority to come and go to Cersei's chambers as they please. All of the lords but three with such authority have been accounted for after last's nights events by their families and guards. I have numerous attestations of where I was, as you know, my lord. That leaves only two people in this castle with the power to move guards: Lord Varys and Lord Petyr Baelish."

Varys's calm façade cracked, his lips pressing into a thin line. "An interesting speculation, my lord, but it is just that—a speculation. The guard could have been bribed or seduced by Lady Cersei. Her charms are well known."

Cersei bristled, but Bryan cut in before she could respond. "That's conjecture. You have no proof."

Robb's jaw tightened as he considered the matter. Silence fell over the room, broken only by the soft growl of Grey Wind. At last, Robb spoke. "Enough. I'll not make a judgment on rumors and half-truths. Guards, escort Lady Cersei back to her chambers."

Cersei stood rigid as Bryan raised a hand, halting the guards mid-step. His tone was calm but carried a weight that made even Robb Stark pause.

"Wait," Bryan said. "Before we escort Lady Cersei back to her chambers, I have a few questions for the men accusing her."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. Robb gestured for them to answer. Bryan began, his words measured, but his eyes were sharp, watching every twitch and hesitation.

"Why didn't you arrest Lady Cersei when you saw her flee?"

One of the guards shifted uncomfortably. "We—we didn't realize it was her straight away. The halls were dark. We ran to check her room first."

"Yet you say she wasn't there," Bryan pressed. "That's why the ward triggered, correct?"

The man nodded, his face pale. "Aye, m'lord. She must've slipped back after we left."

"Why didn't you send for reinforcements?"

A second guard stepped forward, his voice tight. "There was a crisis, ser. The King had been killed. Everything was in chaos."

"The King," Cersei breathed, her blood running cold as she remembered last night. It was true. Renly was dead.

Bryan raised an eyebrow. "A crisis, yes. But if you believed Lady Cersei was escaping, why didn't you leave a guard by her door to catch her return?"

"We thought it better to search for her," the third guard said. "It was just us three. Varys's little birds heard about the search later and said she'd returned to her room."

Bryan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "So, you say you saw her flee, but she didn't return to her room, and you kept searching. Tell me, who was watching the prisoners?"

The guards hesitated, exchanging glances. Finally, one muttered, "There was another guard there still."

"And why isn't this fourth guard a witness?" Bryan asked.

The second guard shrugged. "He didn't see anything, m'lord."

Bryan's lips twitched in a wry smile. "That's fine, then. Call this fourth guard as a witness. Surely, he can attest to your claims—when you started searching, how you informed him of Lady Cersei's supposed escape, and so on."

Robb, his expression grim, nodded to his men. "Find this fourth guard and bring him here."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as the minutes dragged on. Servants whispered nervously, and even Grey Wind shifted, letting out a low growl that echoed in the chamber. At last, a report came back: no such guard existed.

Varys moved quickly, gliding like a shadow between guards and courtiers, whispering with his soft, honeyed tones. Moments later, a man stepped forward, his armor hastily donned, his face slick with sweat.

"I am the fourth guard, my lords," he declared. His voice wavered as he spoke. "And I can attest to my brothers' words."

The captain of the guards came forward to vouch for the man, but Bryan's expression hardened. "How convenient," he said. "Let's test your memory, then. Why didn't you see Lady Cersei when the others did?"

"I didn't notice her," the man stammered.

"You didn't notice her?" Bryan's voice was sharp, almost mocking. "A prisoner in fine red silks, sneaking through the halls? Then you're blind or worse. Lord Stark, this man should be dismissed immediately for incompetence."

The guard's face turned red. "I swear, m'lord, I—"

"You what?" Bryan cut him off. "Perhaps you were in league with her. Perhaps she slipped you coin, or perhaps more, to look the other way."

"That's a lie!" the guard snapped. "I never—"

"Then what?" Bryan's tone grew colder. "You're so incompetent that you didn't notice your fellows searching the halls? Didn't see the supposed commotion they claim to have caused?"

"I—I was asleep," the guard admitted at last, his voice barely a whisper.

The room erupted into murmurs. Bryan turned to Robb, his face grim. "Asleep. So either the other guards lied about informing him of their search, or they left the prisoners in the care of a man too lazy to stand his post."

Cersei suppressed a smirk as Bryan pressed on. "Lord Stark, I request you dismiss them all. They've lied, abandoned their duties, or both."

The three guards fell to their knees, pleading. "Mercy, m'lord! Please!"

Robb's face darkened. "My mercy depends on one thing," he said, his voice as cold as the winds of the North. "Why did you lie to me? Speak the truth, and you may yet be spared. But if you lie again, I'll have your heads."

The guards looked at one another, their fear palpable. One finally broke. "It was Varys," he said, his voice trembling. "He told us to say we saw her. Said it was for the good of the realm."

Cersei's heart raced, though she kept her expression neutral. Robb turned to Varys, his face like stone.

"Lord Varys," he said. "You have much to answer for."

The room seemed to crackle with tension as Varys stepped forward, his hands folded calmly in front of him, his expression a mask of injured dignity. His voice was soft, a honeyed whisper that carried through the chamber nonetheless.

"My lord, these men lie," he said, tilting his head toward the guards now huddled together like frightened sheep. "Their tongues twist with desperation, no doubt coached by Lord Bryan himself. Convenient, is it not, that these revelations emerge only under his questioning?"

Cersei watched as Varys turned his pale gaze on Bryan, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. The Spider's eyes were like chips of black ice, devoid of warmth. "I exist to serve the realm, Lord Stark. I have no family, no castle, no ambitions of my own. My only purpose is to ensure stability. And Lady Cersei Lannister—this treacherous, poisonous woman—threatens that stability every moment she draws breath."

A murmur rippled through the hall, but Robb raised a hand for silence. Bryan, unperturbed by Varys's accusation, folded his arms and waited. Cersei felt her breath catch. She could not tell if Bryan's calm was born of confidence or folly, but it was maddening to watch.

"And when my little birds told me she had escaped," Varys continued, his tone as smooth as oil, "I did what I always do: I acted for the good of the realm. I helped these guards search for her, though it seems my efforts have been repaid with lies and betrayal."

Before Robb could respond, the heavy oak doors creaked open, and Archmaester Marwyn strode in. His robes were dark and patched, his chain rattling softly with every step. In his hands, he held a book of aged parchment, its edges yellowed and curling.

"My lord," Marwyn said, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension, "I believe these will shed some light on the Lord Eunuch's loyalties."

He handed the parchments to Robb, who scanned the first page with a deepening frown. Marwyn continued, his tone heavy with disdain.

"These are notes taken from Grand Maester Pycelle's chambers before his… unceremonious departure. Not his personal musings or suspicions, mind you, but records of his direct involvement in schemes with Varys, including dealings with foreign dignitaries like Illyrio Mopatis."

Cersei's heart leapt. It was as if the gods themselves had intervened. She could feel Varys's glare burning into her. Let him squirm, she thought.

Robb's face was a stormcloud, his fury barely contained. "What say you to this, Lord Varys?"

The Spider's smile faltered, though only slightly. "I say, my lord, that Pycelle was a doddering old fool and these notes are fabrications."

"Then you will have no objection to facing trial," Bryan said smoothly, his eyes locked on Varys. "Surely a man with no family, no ambition, and no lies to his name has nothing to fear?"

Varys's gaze flicked to Bryan, and for a moment, something cold and sharp passed between them. "I will prove my innocence soon enough," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But mark me, I will be free."

Robb had heard enough. He stood, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "Guards! Arrest these men—every one of them. The four who accuse, their captain who vouched for them, and Varys."

When Varys was gone, the tension in the room eased slightly, though the air was still thick with unease. Robb sat heavily in his chair, rubbing his temples as if trying to dispel a headache.

"Take Lady Cersei back to her chambers," he ordered. "This matter is resolved. For now."

Bryan gave a slight bow, his expression unreadable, and turned to follow the guards escorting Cersei out. As they walked, she glanced at him, her curiosity outweighing her pride.

Bryan arrived just as the evening sun began to cast long shadows across the chamber walls. The scent of roasted meat and warm bread filled the air long before he set the tray down on the table. Cersei's nostrils flared, catching the rich aroma of spiced venison, honey-glazed parsnips, and a small wheel of soft cheese alongside a loaf of freshly baked bread. A decanter of dark red wine accompanied the feast.

"Well," she said, eyeing the tray with cautious intrigue, "you've outdone yourself tonight, Bryan. Should I take this as a sign that you mean to fatten me up before you sell me to the butcher?"

Bryan didn't respond immediately, busying himself with uncorking the wine. He poured a goblet for her, setting it down with an almost ceremonial care before taking a seat across the room. His indifference to her barbed humor only irked her more.

"I thought you'd appreciate something better than the usual fare," he said evenly. "No one should endure salted pork and stale bread after last night's events. Most of the food was being prepared before most of the lords and ladies started to mourn."

Cersei picked up the goblet, examining the wine as if it might reveal some hidden treachery. When she found none, she took a sip. The wine was robust, with just enough sweetness to please her palate. She took another sip before glancing at Bryan with narrowed eyes.

"And why this sudden generosity?" she asked, setting the goblet down.

Bryan leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "I defended you today because it was the right thing to do. Varys set you up."

Cersei let out a soft laugh, though it was devoid of warmth. "The right thing to do? Spare me, Bryan. You're no knight in shining armor, and I'm no helpless damsel. Tell me, truly—what is it you want from me?"

He met her gaze, his voice steady and unyielding. "I defended you because it was the right thing to do, Cersei. Varys has been playing his games since long before any of us sat here, and I don't trust a man who whispers so sweetly while pulling the strings. You may not see it, but this wasn't about you or me. It was about making sure the truth didn't get trampled under his schemes."

Cersei studied him, her fingers idly breaking off a piece of bread. The golden crust flaked beneath her touch as she smeared it with a generous spread of soft cheese. She took a deliberate bite, letting the creamy richness coat her tongue. It was infuriating how good the food was. It still grated on her nerves that this man had brought it, unasked, and now sat across from her as though he belonged here.

"And what truth would that be?" she asked, her voice sharp. "That I'm innocent? You've known me long enough to know better."

Bryan's lips quirked into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed serious. "No, Varys has his own plans for the king. I suspect, at least…" he trailed off. "You remind me of someone," he said, the words almost too casual, as if testing them out loud for the first time.

Cersei narrowed her eyes. "Oh? Do tell. Some harpy who cut you with her tongue until you fled her side?"

"Not quite," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "She was nothing like you, really. Kind-hearted, gentle, but stubborn as the day is long. But she had this way of seeing insults where there weren't any. Plans and suspicions weren't any. She struggled to trust. Nothing got by her. She noticed every word and how it was utilized. You're not her mirror, Cersei, but sometimes I see flashes of that same fire."

She paused mid-bite, the bread hovering near her lips. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."

"Your choice," Bryan said with a shrug, his expression unreadable. "But it's true. That fire—it can burn everything to ash if you're not careful. Or it can light the way."

Cersei's jaw tightened as she set the bread down, her appetite fading. She hated the way he spoke, the calm in his tone that made her feel exposed. "You presume too much, Bryan."

Bryan turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Eat, Cersei. Even if you hate me, you'll feel better with a full stomach."

The door closed softly behind him, leaving Cersei alone with her thoughts. She stared at the food, her irritation simmering. He was clever, far too clever. That made him dangerous.

"Wait," she pleaded. Bryan stepped back into the room, to hear her last words. "Thank you," she said softly. The words were hard to get out, but she got them out. Even if only today, Bryan was deserving of gratitude for all he's done. If she was still Queen, she would award him some nice lands or a wealthy bride.

Bryan left.

And yet, she found herself replaying his words, wondering what kind of woman had earned his loyalty so fully, and what it meant that he saw even the faintest flicker of her in Cersei. Who earns the trust of a sorcerer?