Two sleepless days had passed. Cersei Lannister could still smell Euron Greyjoy on her skin, but she told herself that even if she had to offer herself to every captain in the Iron Fleet, no one would take the throne she had sacrificed everything for. Sometimes she thought of Jaime, other times of the children lost to that ancient prophecy. And then there was the child growing in her womb—the bastard whose father she couldn't be certain of. Was it her twin brother or Euron Greyjoy? In the end, it didn't matter. As long as she kept the legacy Tywin Lannister had entrusted to her before he was cast out of this world by that deformed monster allied with the Targaryen usurper.

But peace eluded her. If even Jaime had dared to betray her, anyone could. Only Qyburn remained truly loyal, wielding his mastery over wildfire and controlling the network of birds once belonging to the Spider. And then there was Ser Gregor Clegane—the towering force of death itself, feared even beyond the grave.

The Golden Company was on its way. Their fleet outnumbered the enemy's five to one. Their reputation was so fearsome that kingdoms paid their debts to the Iron Bank without hesitation, unwilling to risk devastation at the hands of the unstoppable mercenaries and their colossal war elephants. Meanwhile, Euron Greyjoy's massive harpoons had forced even Daenerys's dragons into retreat. Cersei allowed herself a smile. Victory was within reach.

She rose from her throne and walked to the window. King's Landing stood calm, but on the horizon, the storm was brewing.

"Qyburn," she called.

The maester appeared swiftly.

"My queen," he greeted with a bow.

"Are the preparations ready?"

"The ballistae are in position, and the wildfire reserves are secured. The Golden Company will arrive any moment now."

"Good," Cersei said. "This time, we will finish them once and for all."

Meanwhile, at sea, Euron Greyjoy's fleet prepared for another assault. The Ironborn sharpened their harpoons, ready to face the dragons once more, relying on their leader's cunning to claim the sky as their battlefield.

Then, a knock at the great hall's door. One of her servants approached and informed her that Ser Jaime Lannister had returned, requesting an audience.

For a fleeting moment, Cersei felt a flicker of joy, but she quickly buried it under her resentment. Still, she ordered that he be allowed in.

Jaime strode toward the throne with measured steps, bowing before her in silence.

"So you've come crawling back after defying me," Cersei declared, her voice laced with superiority.

"My queen," Jaime replied, "you know that from the moment I was born, my devotion has been to you. Even if I wanted to, I could never turn my back on you. Your enemies are my enemies. My duty and my heart remain loyal to you. But I bring urgent news."

"Speak freely. Everyone in this room is loyal to our cause."

Jaime shook his head.

"That is precisely why we must talk in private."

Cersei rose, leading Jaime toward her chambers. The Mountain followed, but as they reached the door, she ordered him to remain outside and stay alert.

Once inside, Cersei closed the door, then pressed a kiss to Jaime's lips—only for him to pull away, gentle but firm.

"The Starks are planning an ambush against you," he whispered. "There are infiltrators within the Golden Company."

Cersei turned away, irritation flashing across her face.

"You think I would abandon the throne over a mere rumor? We need to find out who intends to assassinate me and strike first. Who among the Starks could even pose a threat? The bastard, Snow, is still occupied fighting the wights, and that insipid girl, Sansa, lacks the resolve to reach me."

Jaime studied her, his expression unreadable.

"There are whispers that Arya Stark is still alive. No one knows her whereabouts."

Cersei let out a mocking laugh.

"That wild little girl? I don't fear the dragons of the usurper, nor the army of Ned Stark's bastard. What could one stray child possibly do against my entire kingdom?" Our new son on the way will be the absolute ruler of all seven kingdoms, no matter what our enemies do

Jaime stepped closer, his voice growing somber.

"Our child…" he murmured. "An innocent pawn you will shape into either a tyrant like Joffrey or a weakling like Tommen."

Cersei struck him across the face, the slap echoing through the room.

"How dare you?" she hissed. "You forget that I am your queen!"

Jaime's lips curled into a slight smile.

"I have never forgotten. I know exactly what you're capable of. You have killed and tortured anyone who has stood against you, including old Eddard Stark."

Cersei's eyes narrowed.

"He brought it upon himself. He told me to flee with my children, as if he didn't know what Robert would do if he learned the truth about their father. That warning saved your life too."

Jaime inclined his head.

"It did. But you should remember—The North never forgets."

And then, Jaime's hand rose to his face. He grasped his nose and pulled—revealing Arya Stark beneath the illusion.

Cersei's eyes widened in terror. Before she could even gasp, a cloth covered her mouth. A strange liquid seeped into her senses.

Darkness consumed her.