Chapter 138: Demands and Departures
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The day stretched lazily before us, sunlight dancing across rumpled sheets and bare skin. Arianne had long excused herself with a theatrical yawn, claiming she needed to "prepare for the incoming journey" but not before trailing her fingers suggestively across my chest and whispering promises for later.
A few days later, as I took care of the rest of the events of House Lannister and its serving lords, Myrcella and I were alone again in Tywin's bedchamber.
However, the air between us was charged with something different than before.
This was after we spent some intimate time in the grand bath and returned to the room. Now, she'd pulled on a silk robe—one of her mother's, I noted with amusement—and sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
"Something on your mind, little lioness?" I asked, though I could guess what was coming. A few days of post-coital vulnerability always loosened tongues.
She looked up at me through those long lashes, emerald eyes swimming with uncertainty. "I... I wanted to thank you. For these past few nights. They were the best."
I raised an eyebrow. "Best? But of course," I said while eyeing the marks on her neck and the way she'd winced while sitting down. "Although perhaps I should have been a little gentler."
A blush crept up her cheeks. "No, you were already far gentler than I expected," she amended. "Especially for what you said about... about waiting. About children."
"Ah." I leaned back against the ornate headboard, studying her. "You're building up to something. Out with it."
She took a deep breath, her fingers twisting in the silk of her robe. "It's about my mother."
Here it comes.
"I was wondering if... perhaps... she could stay here? At Casterly Rock?" The words tumbled out in a rush. "She could help me learn to manage the household, and she'd be out of your way in King's Landing, and—"
"No."
The single word cut through her rambling like Valyrian steel. My expression, which had been indulgent moments before, hardened into something that made her shrink back.
"Your Grace, please, I only thought—"
"You thought wrong." I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist as I fixed her with a cold stare. "Let me be very clear, dear Myrcella. The fact that I find your company... agreeable... does not give you license to make such demands. Especially not about Cersei."
Tears welled in those green eyes, threatening to spill over. Her lower lip trembled as she lowered her head, golden hair falling forward to hide her face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
The sight of her genuine distress made something twist in my chest. Not quite guilt—I was beyond such weaknesses—but perhaps a recognition that crushing her spirit entirely would be counterproductive.
Fear is useful. Despair is not.
I sighed, reaching out to tilt her chin up with one finger. "Look at me."
She obeyed, tears tracking silver paths down her cheeks.
"Your mother," I said more gently, "is a viper. Beautiful, yes. Cunning, certainly. But ultimately poisonous to everything she touches. Do you know what she's done? I did tell you a few, but the full extent of her crimes?"
Myrcella shook her head mutely.
"She murdered her husband. Conspired to place bastards on the throne, even if, yes, he was your brother. Ordered the deaths of infants. She asked me to bed her because I looked like Rhaegal, her childhood crush. A dead man. Yes, I'm not making this up." I let each accusation land like a blow. "Even now, chained and humbled, she plots. It's in her nature, as breathing is in yours."
"But… she's my mother," Myrcella whispered.
"Yes. And that's the only reason she still draws breath." I wiped a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "If I left her here with you, how long before she poisoned your mind against me? How long before she convinced you to slip something into my wine? Or worse, used you as a tool in some elaborate scheme? Do you want me dead, Myrcella?"
The horror on her face told me she hadn't considered such possibilities. Sweet, innocent Myrcella, who still believed in the good in people. She quickly shook her head.
"Besides," I continued, shifting tactics, "what of your brother? Young Tommen, alone in King's Landing? Would you have him motherless as well as fatherless?"
Her eyes widened. "Tommen... I hadn't thought..."
"He's just a boy, Myrcella. Younger than you were when you were sent to Dorne. At least you had the Martells to show you kindness. Who would show Tommen such mercy without Cersei there?"
Manipulation is an art form. The best lies contain enough truth to be believed.
I could see her wavering, torn between love for her mother and concern for her little brother. Time for the final stroke.
"Tell you what," I said, settling back against the headboard and pulling her against my side. She came willingly, curling into my warmth like a cat. "Prove yourself to me. Show me you can be the Lady of Casterly Rock this realm needs, someone who won't be swayed by others. Rule wisely, justly. Keep the Westerlands stable and productive."
She looked up at me with those wide green eyes, hope flickering to life.
"If you do that," I continued, "if you truly prove your worth and loyalty... then perhaps, one day, I might allow Tommen to visit. Maybe even live here, if you've shown you can protect him from your mother's influence."
"And... and Mother?"
I pretended to consider. "Even great errors might be forgiven, in time. For the sake of my sweet Myrcella." I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But that's a distant possibility, dependent entirely on you. Can you be patient? Can you be the lady I need you to be?"
She nodded eagerly, the tears drying on her cheeks. "Yes, Your Grace. I'll do whatever you ask. I'll make you proud."
Hope is the cruelest chain.
"Good girl," I murmured, already knowing I'd never allow Cersei such freedom. But the promise would keep Myrcella compliant, striving always for a reward just out of reach.
The rest of our morning passed in lighter conversation, though I could see her mind working behind those green eyes, already planning how to prove herself worthy of my "mercy."
****
The wind whipped through my hair as Viserion soared over the Riverlands, her powerful wings cutting through clouds like golden blades. Margaery sat before me, her back pressed firmly against my chest, the scent of roses somehow persisting even at this altitude.
We were almost at our destination, and it hadn't even been a few hours since we left. The Tyrell army would require weeks before they reach King's Landing, bringing the Slave Queen with them.
She'd dressed for travel in practical riding leathers that did nothing to hide her curves; if anything, the tight fit emphasized every delicious line of her body. Her brown hair was braided back, though rebellious strands had escaped to dance in the wind.
"Enjoying the view?" I murmured in her ear, noting how her eyes kept darting to the left where Arianne rode Rhaegal with infuriating confidence.
Margaery's hand found mine where it rested on her waist, squeezing possessively. "The view beneath us is spectacular," she replied sweetly, though her gaze shot another dagger at the Dornish princess. "Though some sights are less pleasant than others."
I chuckled, tightening my arm around her. "Jealousy doesn't become you, my rose."
"I'm not jealous," she protested, even as she pressed herself more firmly against me. "I simply question the wisdom of allowing her such... freedom."
On Rhaegal, Arianne must have sensed our attention. She turned, flashing us a brilliant smile and a wave that was just a touch too enthusiastic. The movement caused her to arch her back, thrusting out her chest in a way that was definitely intentional.
Margaery's entire body tensed. "That woman has no shame."
"One of her better qualities," I agreed, enjoying the way Margaery twisted to glare at me. "Easy, my rose. You're still the one flying with the king."
"For now," she muttered, but settled back against me.
King's Landing sprawled beneath us like a diseased growth on the landscape, smoke rising from countless chimneys to create a gray haze over the city. The Red Keep stood out like a blood-red wound against the squalor.
Home, sweet home. If you could call any place in this world home.
We descended in a spiral, giving the city plenty of time to see us coming. By the time we landed in the main courtyard, a proper reception had assembled. Sansa stood at the fore, resplendent in a gown of Stark gray trimmed with white fur, her auburn hair gleaming like burnished copper in the afternoon sun.
Beside her stood Brienne, my Lady Commander, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. The giant woman had taken to her role with admirable seriousness, though I suspected she still harbored doubts about serving a Targaryen.
I dismounted first, then helped Margaery down, letting my hands linger on her waist longer than necessary. She rewarded me with a kiss that was definitely meant for an audience, particularly the audience of one riding the green dragon that landed moments later.
"Welcome home, Your Grace," Sansa said, dropping into a perfect curtsey. Despite her flawless courtesy, I could see the strain in her eyes, the questions she was too well-trained to ask.
"Lady Sansa." I nodded acknowledgment. "I trust the capital hasn't burned down in my absence?"
"The city remains peaceful, Your Grace. Lord Commander Brienne has maintained excellent order."
Brienne shifted uncomfortably at the praise but nodded when I glanced her way. "Your Grace."
Arianne dismounted from Rhaegal with characteristic flair, somehow making the simple act of sliding down a dragon's side look like a seduction. Her traveling clothes—if you could call the scandalous arrangement of silk scarves and leather straps clothing—left little to imagination.
"Guards," I called out, my voice carrying across the courtyard. "See that Lady Margaery and Princess Arianne are escorted to their chambers. They've provided great service to the realm during our campaign and should be treated with all due respect."
I made sure to emphasize Arianne's title, watching understanding dawn on the faces around us. "Princess Arianne is no longer a... guest of mine, like last time. She's a guest of the crown. She is the ruling Lady of Dorne and should be afforded every courtesy."
Sansa's face fell, her gaze dropping to study the stones at her feet. The implications were clear—Arianne's elevation meant Sansa's position might shift in the future, perhaps even diminish.
The game never stops. Even kindness is a move on the board.
"I won't be staying long," I announced to the assembled group. "I sail for Dragonstone right away. My sister awaits, and it's time she saw her birthright."
"Dragonstone, Your Grace?" Margaery's voice held a note of surprise. "Surely the capital needs—"
"The capital has you," I interrupted smoothly. "And Lady Sansa, and Lord Commander Brienne. And Rhaegal. More than capable hands."
Arianne sauntered closer, her hips swaying hypnotically. "Will you require company on this journey, Your Grace? I'd be happy to—"
"You'll remain here," I said firmly. "Dorne needs its princess visible in the capital. Your presence reminds everyone that the realm is united under the dragon banner."
She pouted prettily but acquiesced with a bow that gave everyone in the courtyard an excellent view down her minimal top. "As you command, my king."
As the guards began dispersing to their duties and my brides were led away—Margaery maintaining queenly dignity while Arianne made sure to brush against me one last time—I found myself alone with Sansa and Brienne.
"Your Grace," Sansa began hesitantly, "might I have a word?"
"Unfortunately, no, my dear," I said, striding toward Viserion. "I'll be back soon with my sister. We can talk then."
Sansa stared at me with those strained eyes of hers, and I met them firmly from atop Viserion. As my dragon took off and I watched my castle from the high sky, one line of thought passed across me.
Now that I'm back home, there's a lot to do. The Ironborn should reach House Lannister soon, and then Yara would make her way back to me. That was one thing that'd lead me to the lands beyond. I must complete some immediate actions before that. The poison training is a top priority. As well as the situation with the Vale.
Littlefinger still schemed, and the Iron Bank still waited.
Time to show them all who ruled the Seven Kingdoms anew.
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