[64] A Queen’s Gambit
Chapter 64: A Queen's Gambit
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The ropes bit into my wrists as the Kingsguard shoved me forward.
I kept my head down, the scratchy wool of the wig itching my scalp. It annoyed me, but I ensured it. The crowd pressed close on all sides, fishmongers stinking of yesterday’s catch, washerwomen clutching baskets, merchants pausing their haggling to gawk. Their whispers slithered around me like snakes.
“Who’s that?”
“Dunno, looks like an average cutthroat.”
“Must be some big criminal if he’s being captured by King’s Guards personally.”
They don't know who I am? I tuned them out, scanning the sea of faces instead. I didn’t know if there was anybody inside back in the mansion. If there were, they would have come outside when I was getting captured. Where were they?
I didn’t find them amid the crowd, either.
No sign of Nymeria’s coiled braids or Tyene’s poison-sweet smile. Kinvara’s crimson robes would’ve blazed like a signal fire in this drab mob.
Had they been taken? Slaughtered? My jaw tightened. Kinvara can’t possibly die, that wouldn't make sense.
The only reason I hadn’t slaughtered the two guards and flown away was so that I could make sure they were alright. That was why I let these fools drag me to the castle.
A sharp gasp cut through the murmurs.
My eyes flicked toward the source, and I found Ros standing frozen near a painting seller’s stall, one hand clamped over her mouth. The violet silk draped over her arm trembled, and she looked ready to break down into years.
I shook my head once, a tiny motion, and smiled. Why's she panicking so much? Stupid girl.
She watched my gesture, then spun away, silk fluttering from her grip like a wounded bird.
From the looks of it, from the crowd’s reaction, news of me being the Ghost of Targaryen hadn’t spread.
The guards going as far as tying my hands was a bad thing, but it didn’t necessarily mean that I was exposed. It could be because of something else.
If not, then a whole army would have been sent to me, not two King's Guard.
“Move,” grunted Meryn Trant, prodding my ribs with the hilt of his sword. My eyes twitched. The other guard was behind me as we ascended the serpentine steps to the Red Keep.
Their armor reeked of lemon oil and arrogance, and I noted to myself to kill them when the time would come.
Stone gargoyles were hanging from the vaulted ceilings as we marched past the throne room. It was empty.
I half-expected Cersei Lannister to stage her little performance there, perched on that absurd chair of swords. But she nor her son was present here.
The guards steered me toward the royal apartments instead, past artworks of dead stags and golden lions on the wall.
A few minutes later, Meryn hammered his fist against an oak door banded with iron. “Your Grace. We have the mercenary you asked for.”
A beat of silence passed. My guess that it was Cersei who'd sent them after me was confirmed immediately. I was starting to consider a different possibility behind this whole situation…
“Send him in,” a reply came a short second later. “Alone.”
Meryn exchanged glances with the other guard and shrugged. He pushed, and the door creaked open.
Cold lavender water flooded my senses as I crossed the threshold. Cersei’s private sanctuary, all Myrish lace and gilded mirrors. The guards didn’t follow.
The door clicked shut behind me.
I didn't flinch, observing the chamber. It reeked of Lannister gold—gilded mirrors catching the afternoon sun, Myrish carpets swallowing every footstep, windows taller than castle gates streaming light over damask drapes worth more than a lord’s ransom.
My boots sank into the carpet’s plush weave as I took stock of the room. A carved mahogany table held crystal decanters of wine, their ruby contents catching the light.
More artworks depicting lions mauling stags lined the walls. Typical.
Her voice slithered across the room before I saw her. “Vis of the Second Sons?”
I turned.
She lounged on a velvet divan angled toward the hearth, one knee drawn up.
A silk robe the color of freshly spilled blood pooled around her hips, barely clinging to her shoulders. The fabric was sheer enough to silhouette the curve of her waist, and the pale swell of her breasts. She might as well have been naked at that moment.
A handmaiden knelt beside the couch, her head bowed as she smoothed oil over Cersei’s thigh—jasmine, sharp and cloying.
The queen’s skin glistened under the glaze, damp blonde hair clinging to her neck.
“Your Grace,” I greeted her with a smile.
She smiled back. “You have been absent from the city, Vis,” she said, swirling wine in a golden goblet. Her eyes, poison-green, always measuring, went over my common clothes, the cheap wig itching my scalp. “Off playing hero in the North, hm?”
…She suspects me. But that doesn't make sense. Why would she send only two guards if she suspected me? I was confused.
I kept my face slack, shaking my head. “North? That's too far. I was simply hunting, Your Grace. Boars near Kingswood. Got lost for a bit, but don't worry, I didn't actually go inside the forest.”
A laugh, low and mocking. “Boars. How thrilling. King Robert died to a boar.” The handmaiden’s fingers worked higher up her thigh, kneading the oil into milky skin. Cersei’s breath hitched, just barely, as if she was holding back a moan. It made my eyes twitch. “Tell me, sellsword. Did your hunt include stealing Stark girls from under my son’s nose?”
She definitely knew.
“Couldn’t say,” I shrugged. “Heard some ghost story about a silver-haired man with wings. Madness, if you ask me.”
Her nails tapped against the goblet. The handmaiden’s thumb brushed the inner seam of Cersei’s thigh, and the queen bit back a moan. “Mm… Enough,” she said, voice tight. The girl froze. “Leave us. And, uh,” she lowered her voice, “tell the guards outside to find somewhere else to loiter.”
The handmaiden’s cheeks flushed as she scrambled to her feet, clutching the oil jar to her chest. She scurried past me without raising her eyes, the door sighing shut behind her.
“By the way,” I ignored the situation and started. “Where is Priestess Nyra? And my other companions.”
Cersei took a long drink, wine staining her lips as she smiled. “Your priestess,” she said, languid. “The red whore. Why ask about her? Planning a prayer?”
“Just polite concern.”
“How dull.” She set the goblet down and leaned back, the robe slipping lower. This whore was testing my patience. “They’re alive. For now. Though that one with the snake tattoos has a mouth that needs… correction.”
Nymeria. I flexed my fingers, holding my jaws back from tightening. “Generous of you to house my companions, Your Grace.”
“Generosity has nothing to do with it.” Cersei rose, silk whispering as it slid against her skin. “You’ve made quite the impression, Vis. The way they speak of you in the streets—ghost, demon, king.” Her laugh was honeyed venom. “But here you are. Just a man. Tied.”
She walked even closer, and the jasmine oil clogged my throat.
She tilted her head, studying my face. “Take off that ridiculous wig.”
"...Hands tied, Your Grace," I said. "Why not help me?" I asked, and she stared. She reached up a moment later and peeled the itchy thing away.
My silver hair tumbled free, swaying in the air, framing my face as I looked down at her.
Cersei’s lips parted. Not out of surprise. She was expecting this. Rather, there was hunger in her eyes. “Better.” Her finger traced the line of my jaw. “Now we’re being honest.”
“You really think I’m him?” My voice dropped, and the Targaryen cadence slipped through as I tilted my head.
Sunlight caught the silver strands of my hair, turning them to liquid mercury.
Cersei’s tongue darted over wine-stained lips as she searched for her words. “The dragon circling Winterfell. The Sand Snakes skulking through Flea Bottom. That red witch lighting fires in the Sept’s shadow.” Her laugh was a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. “You’re not the Seven’s idea of a cruel joke, sadly. I'd have preferred that, but you're not your brother, are you, Viserys Targaryen?
I chuckled, dropping all the act. “Here I thought Varys’ little birds would’ve been the first ones to find me. Not the dumb queen.”
“Oh, I drowned their songs in honey.” She drifted closer, the robe gaping. “Gold for the Spider’s favorites. Whispers of Tyrell plots for Baelish’s whores. Children make such noise when you dangle new toys. All of my attention was on you.”
Her scent, jasmine and poison, coiled around me as I let her circle, a lioness sizing up wounded prey.
How hilarious.
“So all this,” I gestured to the empty chamber, the distant clank of guards, “is your clever trap?”
“Mm.” Her finger trailed down my bound wrist. “A lioness does love a good hunt.”
“Yet here you stand,” I murmured, voice hard. “alone with a dragon.”
She stiffened, blinking. For a heartbeat, fear flickered in those poison-pool eyes. Then she spun away with a scoff, silk hissing against her skin. “Your hands are tied, little dragon. You don't know where your stupid friends are, perhaps an inch away from execution, and thousands of guards surround you. Would you dare touch a hair on my head? One shout and—”
A dagger materialized in my palm as the ropes fell slack. I moved faster than her breath—one hand snatching her throat, the other catching the falling goblet mid-air.
It vanished into my [Inventory] before it could clatter.
“—and what, you dumb whore?” I shoved her face-first into the mattress, knee pressing between her shoulder blades.
“Yo-” A strip of linen appeared in my grip, jammed between her teeth before she could scream. “Mmhmmmgh!”
I grumbled, “You’ll die a million times before those fools outside blink, bitch.”
She thrashed, muffled curses vibrating against the gag. My free hand yanked her hair, exposing the pale curve of her neck, my dagger trailing just one drop of blood.
What a stupid little bitch.
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