CHAPTER XIV
The Devil's Sweet Trap
Jason Lannister was a man stretched thin.
Not in the poetic, sighing courtly sense of the word. No, he was stretched like old vellum over a frame- fragile, fraying at the edges, ready to tear the next time a raven shat a wrong scroll.
He'd barely slept in days, barely eaten unless his daughter slipped a plate onto his desk and gave him that quiet, knowing look. His sweet little Jo, with Marla's eyes and too much sense for her years. Gods, how he missed her mother. Marla would've known how to soothe the pounding in his head and whisper warmth into a room full of cold men. But she wasn't here, and Jason had a job to do.
Master of Coin by name, mason and madman by function. Missives, ledgers, angry lords with stained sleeves- all of them with opinions on where the piss of Flea Bottom ought to flow. He tossed his quill aside with a curse. It snapped in half, ink bleeding across the page like a wound.
"Seven hells with you, Aegon," he muttered, rising from his chair with a creak of tired joints.
It was too much. The Flea Bottom reforms, the grain pricing, the sewer redirection, the damned coin regulation edits…every damned noble and merchant wanted his own exception carved out. Everyone wanted the laws to be enforced… just not on them. And through it all, that Celtigar boy kept working like a man with no need for sleep. Caspian, the once-upstart, with his neat handwriting and smirking eyes, was everywhere at once. Drafting missives, redrawing districts, marching through alleys Jason wouldn't shit in.
He opened the window of his solar and leaned out, breathing in the night. It was cooler now, and strangely cleaner. The city didn't stink these days… not like it used to.
Maybe it was all worth it after all.
He blinked out across the rooftops. Somewhere in the dark maze below, he hoped the rats were drowning in newly laid drains, and children were learning not to shit in the streets. He never thought he'd live to see it.
Flea Bottom- clean. Well, Cleaner.
It shouldn't have been possible. Gods, it wasn't possible, except it had happened.
Of course, every whisper in court had hoped it'd all fall apart. Why not? Let the whole thing collapse and bury the king's pet project in the rubble. Two birds with one stone: humiliate the Crown, ruin the Celtigar, and remind the smallfolk that their betters would always rule from above, far from the stench.
They didn't know Caspian but it seems they didn't know Jason either.
He wasn't a bird.
He was a lion. And Caspian? He was... well, a crab. Jason wasn't sure why he always started thinking in animals when drunk. Fuck it, he had bigger problems.
Jason smirked and took another deep breath. He could almost pretend it was Lannisport.
The first of the surface drains had been carved through within a month. A month. That alone should've been impossible. Engineers had been bribed, threatened, and…seven save them…in a few cases, even inspired. Gold had changed hands. Walls had come down. Whole swaths of Flea Bottom had been torn up and redirected- its people along with it. Jason was fairly sure Caspian had gone back to his poaching ways, quietly whisking off a handful of the sharper ones to Claw Isle. And honestly? He didn't blame him. It was a fair enough reward for the madness of it all. The whole thing had moved like river water through a burst dam-faster than sense, faster than sanity. And somehow, the Celtigar kept it all flowing.
It should've made Jason hate him. But it was hard to hate a man with darker bags under his eyes than your own. Harder still when the boy didn't crow or preen or call in favors like half these other courtly shits. He just worked, relentless.
And success, of course, had begun to cling to him.
Like mud.
The smallfolk had taken to him first, whispered Caspian's name with a strange mixture of reverence and gratitude, like he'd crawled up from the drains to save them from themselves. Then the septons found their rhythm. A new fervor, a new face. You couldn't walk a street in the city now without seeing one of those crimson-robed preachers, star of the Seven swinging at their necks, shouting about the crab who cleansed the filth. Jason couldn't piss without hearing about the glory of the Crab. It was getting absurd.
He didn't know who the red-robes answered to…not yet- but they were multiplying like lice. Their leader, the one called Redbeard, was drawing eyes, and Jason still remembered the thin, brittle smile on the High Septon's face the first time the name was mentioned.
The fat devout had lost a few stone since. Worry, likely. Or dread.
Either way, Jason loved it. Watching the smug bastard shrink week by week gave him a quiet kind of joy.
And of course, after the people and the Faith, came the highborn sheep. Daughters dressed and powdered and perfumed were being marched toward Caspian like he was a tourney champion, not some ink-stained wreck of a man buried under drainage plans and half a kingdom's problems.
It was not as if he had anything to say for he too had sicced his own daughter on him, though fruitless.
No, no. It would not do.
The Tarbecks had finally arrived and with them, the whore, Ellyn.
Joanna sipped her Arbor gold, though it had turned dry on her tongue. Beside her, Myriah clenched her goblet a shade too tight- a tremor disguised in the swirl of her wrist.
"Hm?" Joanna murmured, glancing sidelong. She could understand herown irritation, but Myriah? That was curious.
She nudged the princess gently. "What is it?"
Myriah didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on something…or someone…across the hall, unreadable and distant.
Joanna followed her gaze.
Gods help me… Not him again!
Caspian Celtigar. Even from across the room, he looked like he belonged somewhere else. Quill-scars marked his fingers, and his posture was too straight for a man who claimed exhaustion. He stood half-smiling beside Lady Cyrelle, as if he hadn't upturned half the city with brick and blood. Ellyn Tarbeck hovered nearby, all painted lips and honeyed poison, introducing her daughter with that same practiced purr Joanna remembered too well. And Caspian...damn him...was listening.
The Tarbecks had finally arrived. And with them, Ellyn.
Once her aunt, now just a ghost with too much rouge and too many schemes. Once a would-be Lady of the Rock, now clinging to the fringe of noble courts like a perfumed burr. Joanna had grown up hearing the stories… the tourneys, the pageantry, the scandalous ahem golden days of Ellyn Reyne...but the woman down there was not her- Just a scorned lioness with a cause and a daughter to sell.
Myriah's stare was sharp now… could've flayed a man alive. Not just anger but that murderous focus, the kind that might burn someone to ash or give herself a few gray hairs trying.
Joanna bit back a laugh. Myriah never took well to her or Rhaella's jabs about age… but really, what else did they have? It was the only thing that ever ruffled her feathers.
Still, for the sake of her friend's scalp:
"What's got you scowling like that, Myriah?"
"Nothing, Jo."
Joanna scoffed. "You're looking at them like you mean to set them alight."
A pause. Then a thin smile. "Nothing like that."
She reached for Myriah's cup, but Joanna was faster- snatching it with a grin and lifting it to her nose. Her own goblet was already empty, and Myriah always drank the nicer stuff. Hopefully, Volantene this time.
"Give me that," Joanna said. "You get snide when you drink."
She blinked. "It's just cider."
"Exactly."
Joanna tilted it to her lips, then grimaced. "Hmf. Not even spiced."
She frowned. "Where's your wine?"
"Don't want it."
"You? No wine?"
"Just ill humors," Myriah said. Too quickly. "I'll be fine."
Joanna studied her. The Martell didn't look ill. No sweat on her brow. No bags under her eyes. But her goblet: plain cider. No wine. Myriah always drank wine.
Still, if she said so…
Joanna looked back to the hall. Caspian was still with them. Ellyn preening. Cyrelle blushing. The girl was maybe fifteen, with a neck like a swan and nothing behind the eyes.
Joanna exhaled through her nose.
This would not do.
She remembered what Father had said, not what he'd muttered weeks ago in some offhand warning, but this morning, sharp and certain:
"The Tarbecks are here. They'll make their play."
And now, true to his word, she was watching it unfold.
She rose, heart thudding. Courage or nerves? She didn't know, and frankly didn't care. The crab had been avoiding her like she was the winter fever herself… but now he was smiling, laughing, charming that bitch?
No. Absolutely not.
She rose with a sharp breath, like a woman preparing for war. Shoulder back. Chin up. A lioness. That's what she was-
A lioness on the prowl.
She snatched a goblet from a passing server and downed it in one gulp.
Her throat was parched. Not from nerves, obviously.
She arrived just in time to hear Lord Caspian make what sounded like a clever jape… his smile lazy- had young Cyrelle red, blushing.
And then, like clockwork, she slid between them.
Right on cue.
Ellyn's perfume always came before her, thick and floral, like a funeral wreath in bloom.
"My sweet Joanna," she said with a honeyed smile. "Still nursing cider? I remember when you could barely toddle without spilling it on your frock."
Joanna returned a polite smile. "And I remember being told not to speak to women who traded their names like gowns. Funny how some lessons fade."
Ellyn only laughed, soft and indulgent. "Oh, don't pout. You Lannister girls are always so precious about bloodlines. As if they've never been thinned."
She turned slightly, just enough to block Joanna's view. Beyond her shoulder, Caspian laughed at something insipid Cyrelle had said- something shy and forgettable, Joanna was sure. But his gaze didn't drift to her, not even once.
Joanna gritted her teeth, took a step sideways. Ellyn took one with her.
"She's grown into such grace, hasn't she?" Ellyn said, brushing a lock of Cyrelle's hair behind her ear with performative care. "I had my worries, but… well. Blood will tell."
"Mm," Joanna murmured. "Though which blood, I wonder? Reyne? Tarbeck? Lannister, briefly… twice, wasn't it?"
Ellyn's lashes fluttered, the only break in her mask.
"I can't quite recall the order," Joanna mused aloud. "There was Uncle Tion, then his twin, of course. And then… Uncle Tyto-well, I suppose the Rock got tired of handing out sons."
"History is such a slippery thing," Ellyn cut in smoothly, her smile glacial as she shifted again to hold the space between them, fan fluttering open. "Especially when heard second-hand by children."
Joanna's smile was all teeth. "Oh, I didn't just hear it, Auntie everyone's heard it. The retellings were quite thorough, it seems. They still make a show of it… ya know? In the Rock even now, about how Grandfather had to chase-ahem."
Caspian was still speaking with Cyrelle. His hands moved as he explained something- logistics, likely. Trade. Joanna knew that look. She'd seen him wear it in council chambers.
He hadn't once looked her way.
Ellyn followed her gaze. "Strange, isn't it?" she said sweetly. "You've been hounding that poor boy for weeks, and yet here he is. Talking to my daughter."
Joanna's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond.
Ellyn leaned in, voice like silk dragged through thorns. "How the mighty lions have fallen. Once kings of court, now sniffing for scraps. Pimping out their cubs like common hedge knights... and failing even at that."
Joanna turned slowly. Her smile was acid.
"Does she know how to run a castle yet, or are you still spoon-feeding her the basics? Still clinging to mama's frocks, is she?" She nodded toward Cyrelle. "Caspian doesn't care for soft things that crumple under pressure."
"You speak as if you know the man," Ellyn said, eyes gleaming. "Funny, considering he's yet to share even a word with you."
She paused just long enough for the barb to sink in, then added sweetly, "Don't worry about my Cyrelle. She's young. But she'll grow, with the right shaping."
"I'm sure she will," Joanna said. "You've had... plenty of experience molding young heirs."
A pause.
Then Ellyn's voice dropped low. "I know girls like you. Gold in the hair, lion on the chest...but no teeth of your own. Not yet."
Joanna didn't blink. "Maybe. But at least I didn't have to beg for scraps from every son of Casterly Rock just to end up in a crumbling tower with no coin and fewer friends."
"Crumbling tower? Us?" Ellyn laughed, a brittle, tinkling sound. "Oh, darling, your septa's lessons must've been tragic. I'd offer you Cyrelle's, but even the Crone knows poor Septa Lenore would be wasted on you."
She giggled then, sharp and graceless. "Reaching, are we? Oh, sweet girl. Tragic. You've still such a long way to go."
Joanna opened her mouth to fire back, but nothing came, nothing that wouldn't cause a scene. The Tyrell girl was watching now, lips pursed behind her goblet.
Joanna gritted her teeth and shut her mouth.
Ellyn's eyes sparkled, but this time, she said nothing. She didn't need to.
Across the room, Caspian chuckled at something Cyrelle said…warm, polite- but not interested. He couldn't be.
And yet, his back stayed turned.
Both women saw it.
But only one was smiling.
Myriah had taken her leave shortly after the feast slithered deep into the night. "Unwell," she'd said. Joanna didn't press. She knew that tone. She knew that look, too. Myriah wasn't tired. She had seen her deal with her troublesome vassals on one hand and plan a feast on the other, that too while sick. No, no, she was hiding something. Again.
Still she could not blame her for the feast had also left Joanna restless.
That's the reason why she'd found herself pacing the outer corridor like a cat in a too-small cage. The night air was warm, the marble underfoot colder than expected, and her anger hadn't faded, it had only simmered, deeper and thicker.
She should've said more. Should've done more. Ellyn's voice still rang in her head like a chipped bell, high and mocking.
'Tragic. You still have a ways to go.'
Urgh. Joanna clenched her fists. Where was Myriah when she needed her to spit poison and whisper scandal? That woman had advice for everything...from courtship to cover-ups. If Joanna wanted someone dead, Myriah could tell her which alley to leave the body in, and which guard to bribe afterward.
But nooo- she had to be 'unwell.'
Cow.
Joanna turned a corner with a muttered curse…just in time to walk straight into someone.
Hard.
"OOF!"
Her shoulder struck something solid, and she recoiled, ready to rip the stranger a new one.
"Watch where you-!"
She stopped short.
Caspian.
In black robes.
Alone.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Then: "My lord?"
He blinked, looking just as surprised as she felt.
"You… can see me?" he muttered, almost to himself. "Damn. I thought I had seven minutes...must've miscalculated. Three instead? Shit. That's what I get for trusting the inner dial-"
"Pardon?"
Caspian blinked again, then offered her a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah… Lady Joanna. Forgive me, was just talking to myself."
She ignored the sudden drumbeat in her chest. Gods, when had he gotten this close? Her eyes flicked over his face…quill-scars on his fingers, ink smudged across his sleeve, stubble dusting his jaw like shadow. He looked worn down, frayed at the edges… and still, those eyes. Even tired, the blue of them gleamed, bright and deep, like a sapphire catching the last of the candlelight.
He was pretty.
Seven help her, he was pretty!
Joanna's cheeks flushed, but she kept her voice level. "Out walking, my lord?"
He nodded, glancing around like a boy caught sneaking lemon cakes. "Just a stroll. I find the air more bearable at night."
"And you didn't see me?"
"No," he said, blinking. "No, I didn't. Apologies- I was distracted."
"Clearly," she said, tone light. "You nearly bowled me over."
"Then I owe you a second apology."
She smirked. "You owe me wine. But I'll take an escort instead."
His eyes flicked behind her. "No guards? No septa?"
She raised a brow. "I don't see one of yours either."
He grinned. "Fair point."
Joanna extended her elbow.
Caspian stared at it for a moment, confused. Then his smile softened with understanding, and he took her arm.
Together, they walked through the moonlit hall, slow and quiet. His pace matched hers exactly. Neither of them spoke for a while.
Joanna didn't need to, for she'd finally…after all these weeks- caught him alone.
And she wasn't about to waste it.
Their steps echoed gently as they walked, the marble cool beneath slipper and boot. Joanna kept her voice casual.
"Congratulations, my lord," she said. "On your success with Flea Bottom. I'm sure you've already been buried in praise, but...well. Consider this another laurel."
Caspian glanced at her, brow cocked. "Hmm. Nonetheless, I thank you for your thanks."
She stifled a grin but failed. "Very eloquent."
"I try." He gave a little shrug and a wink. "Though truly, the thanks should be shared. I'll be sending a few to poor Lord Jason. Your father's as deserving of praise as I am."
Joanna arched a brow. "And you think I haven't thanked my father yet, Lord Caspian?"
"Oh, I'm certain you have," he said easily. "But in King's Landing, one can never have too many thanks. Or too many knives tucked in the same boot."
"Ahh?"
He smiled sidelong. "Yes. I found that out the hard way."
"My lord?" She fluttered her lashes, teasing. "And how so?"
He laughed...a real one this time, low, tired, and honest. "My mother'd prepped me for court like a man trains for battle. I came here expecting cloak-and-dagger nonsense, all plots and poisoned wine."
"And?"
"And I forgot the most dangerous part."
Joanna tilted her head. "Which is?"
"Paperwork."
She laughed, shoulders shaking. "Gods, you sound just like my father."
Caspian grinned. "Ah. Why am I not surprised?"
"It seems," she said, lips curling, "the bags under your eyes aren't the only thing you two share."
"You might be correct in that assumption."
Joanna gave a theatrical pout, elbow still tucked into his, their shadows trailing behind them flickering under the lit torches.
"You know," she said, "you're the reason behind Rhaella's latest obsession."
Caspian blinked. "Am I?"
"She's buried in those gods-awful books. It's your fault."
He smirked. "And that's a badthing?"
"Don't play coy. Look at you, smirking like that. You know exactly what I'm saying."
"Fine," he said with mock gravity, hand to his chest. "But I'd still like to see my accuser answer the charge properly."
She nudged him with her shoulder. "Hmm? Where to start? Her head's in the clouds. No...higher. What's higher, my lord?"
"The moon?"
"Higher."
"Oh. That bad, is it?"
"She sighs and groans over every prince she reads about...fantasizing about her tragic Romeo and her bloodsucking vampire."
"Edward?" he added, unhelpfully.
Joanna rolled her eyes. "Yes, Edward. Gods, you're behind the books more than I thought. I assumed you just printed them."
"I admit nothing."
"That's an admission by itself."
"I plead the Fifth."
"The what?"
"Oh. Right. That doesn't exist here. Never mind."
She gave him a look. "See? That's what I mean. The books don't make sense...and neither do you."
"Oh?" he said, brow lifted. "So you've been paying keen attention to me, my lady?"
Her cheeks flushed. "It's not like that...gods, you wish."
"I'd be a fool not to."
"Mmh? Really? You talk this sweet to everyone?"
"Maybe," he said, no!- winked.
She narrowed her eyes, dangerously close to smiling. "You're impossible."
"Just a jape, milady," he said, raising both hands. "Just a jape."
Time slipped between their steps.
They walked, and talked, and japed… his quips making her laugh, his looks making her blush like some maiden at her first dance. With him, it didn't feel like a chore, didn't feel like the usual rehearsed smiles she gave to green boys and pompous lords who thought a good chin and a better title made them interesting.
This was… comfortable.
The night breeze carried a subtle chill, but the warmth of him on her side waded it off. Steady, quiet warmth. Unspoken.
She'd forgotten to be angry.
Almost.
Because now, she recognized the corridor. The curve of the tapestry... the sharp shadow under the sconce- they were near her rooms.
And she wasn't ready.
She slowed a little...just a touch, and spoke before she could stop herself.
"Why did you avoid me so?"
"Avoid?" Caspian blinked.
She turned her face toward him, trying not to sound too raw. She gave him a look. "Don't insult us both, my lord. I think I've earned at least the truth."
They didn't stop walking. His arm was still tucked in hers. But she could feel it...feel him mulling.
A beat. Then another.
Finally, he spoke.
"I didn't mean to, not like that," he said. "It's just- everything's been a storm. The work, the lords…gods!- the daughters they keep dragging in. And the ladies with their sons, asking if I'll take them on as squires or wards. It's just... everyone wants something."
"And I wanted something too?" Joanna asked, too quickly.
He looked at her…really looked. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
A silence stretched. Then:
"My intention was never to offend you," he said. "I thought… if I kept out of your way, spared you the tedium, spared me the trouble-"
She cut in. "But you had time for Myriah."
"That was trade."
"And Ellyn?"
He actually laughed at that, rubbing his brow. "They were thanking me. That's all. Lord Walderran's commissioned a few new contracts, and thought it an opportune time for me to meet the daughter. Just that."
"He meant display her," Joanna muttered.
"You're not wrong," he admitted. "But I've no interest in marrying a girl of five-and-ten. I hope you know that."
That landed heavier than it should have, not just because of Cyrelle.
She looked away. "Not just about her, you know."
He was quiet a moment. "I do."
Then softer, ""And you, Joanna…" He looked ahead, voice quiet. "You would not appreciate being passed along to a man you scarcely know. Which is why I thought it best I kept myself scarce. Not out of spite. Just-"
"So, you avoided me instead?"
"I thought it kinder than the alternative."
"Kinder for who?"
That made him pause. His voice came slower now. "I'm already half-done with this city. Burnt out. Bitter. You wouldn't have liked me much, not as I was a few weeks ago."
She gave a dry laugh. "I'm not the easiest person to like, either."
"That's not true."
"Oh?" she raised a brow. "And what is the truth then?"
Caspian hesitated. "The truth is… you deserve someone who sees you. Not someone juggling maps and grain charts- a marriage of cold hearths and colder beds."
She looked at him. He wasn't smiling now. Just… honest.
Then, lightly: "Not that it matters. Your heart's already spoken for."
Joanna blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Tywin," he said. "It's written all over you."
She snorted. "Is it? Funny, I don't remember signing that letter."
He chuckled. "Come now. He'll be a great lord someday. Strong. Smart. Steady. Who better for the lioness of the Rock?"
Her jaw tightened. "You make it sound like a conclusion."
"I make it sound like what it is," he said, gently. "The likely future."
Joanna didn't answer right away. Then:
"You're wrong, you know."
"Am I?"
She nodded. "About the liking you part."
Caspian turned, curious. "Oh?"
She met his gaze evenly. "I do like you. Even with the ink stains and exhaustion and whatever else you're hiding."
He exhaled. "Gods. That's dangerous talk, Lady Joanna."
"So, stop me," she said.
She was smiling, even as her mind was racing a close second to her own heart. What was she saying? Was it the drink? Had she sipped too much? Or was it simply the night itself…stars shining kindly overhead and the breeze gentle in its caress- as if the gods were in on the game?
Her face was close to his now. Too close. His breath touched her lips… sweet and warm, cinnamon and mint. Her mind tipped forward, lured by the deep pull of his eyes, blue like the sea at dusk, and just as impossible to leave once you looked long enough.
Then-
A spear clattered somewhere down the hall. Footsteps.... the sharp cadence of duty.
The moment shattered.
Caspian stepped back, slow, as if it pained him to do so. He shook his head.
"The devil lays his traps so sweet," he murmured. "It'd be worth all the pain just to taste it. But alas… this isn't meant to be."
He laid the distance between them himself.
"And I know better than to come between two lions," he said, tone light, but it was a tired kind-of joke.
He turned to her, and though he was still smiling, there was something raw in his eyes.
"Lord Jason's a clever man," he said softly. "Cunning as a fox. But even he should've known better than to try taming a lioness like you."
Joanna turned, hearing the soft approach of boots, a Lannister guard.
"My lady?"
She looked to her side, but it was empty. Only her shadow remained, dancing in the torchlight where he'd once stood.
Caspian was gone