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'Why did the gods cursed me with a monster for a little brother, and an idiot for a twin?' Cersei wondered out loud, not the first time she had cursed her luck.
She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; she had more power now than she ever had before. Joffrey listened to everything she told him to do, and she knew her little boy would continue to do so even after marrying the little girl. Even after becoming King, she would be the one who truly held the power.
Cersei fought the urge to scoff every time she laid eyes on Sansa Stark; the girl had her head in the clouds; she wasn't surprised that she was raised like that; after all, those from House Tully had the brains of a fish, and Eddard Stark was good at teaching someone how to bury someone's head in the snow, and act like everything was alright.
I guess what they say is true. Ignorance is bliss, she thought as she took a small sip from the goblet of wine. She looked at herself in the mirror again.
I have no reason to be unhappy, she told herself as she looked at her own image. She was beautiful, not just beautiful; she was one of the most beautiful women in Westeros history, and she had power. Robert was king, but the only power he truly had was which whore he would fuck next, not much else; even the children weren't his. No, she would rather throw herself from a tower like Lady Ashara Dayne did than bear his children. She had bared Jaime's children and done so with pleasure, but during the night, when she fell into slumber, her mind went back to her silver prince.
Rhaegar, she said his name; it's been so long since she had said that name, the name of someone who was long gone, the name of someone who should have been her husband instead of the pig that called himself king. That's all he was, a pig wearing clothes, just smart enough to talk and fuck, and wear a crown, while everyone else had to clean after him. First, it was Jon Arryn; now, it would be Ned Stark who would clean after him; knowing their history, she wouldn't be surprised if the Ice Lord was more than happy to clean Robert's shit.
A knock on the door made her escape her thoughts. She knew who it was, and she wondered why she hadn't already told someone else to be her guard; maybe Ser Barristan could do the job; the last thing she needed was to be near her brother.
"Cersei, the feast will start soon." Jaime said from the other side of the door.
Cersei sighed resignedly before drinking the last bit of wine from her goblet. She had made sure to wear her best dress, golden and red threads. Showing the colors of House Lannister, even a place as backwater as Winterfell would understand who was truly in charge the moment they laid their eyes on her.
She gracefully walked towards the door and opened it. There he stood, wearing a stupid grin on his face. She looked back at her twin, but the smile that usually was on her face whenever they were alone like this wasn't there, not this time. Cersei wanted him to understand how much he could have jeopardized with that stunt he pulled on the tower.
"Thank you, good ser. Now off you go. I know how to go there myself," Cersei said dismissively, waving her hand as if he were some servant. The warmth was all gone; instead, there was a bitterness in her words as she walked past a stunned Jaime.
"Cersei." Her brother called her behind as he followed her, but Cersei ignored him as she took a turn to the right. She could already hear the sound of the feasts coming from the Great Hall.
Cersei
She hoped Robert wouldn't act this time like he did last time, but on second thought, she doubted that Brandon Stark's fall would have changed anything. Robert knew no boundaries. After all, he had slept with a whore in Stannis's bed the day he was married to that low-house whore.
Cersei
She walked closer to the door and prepared to open it when a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her and pushing her against the corner near the door's frame.
"Cersei, why are you ignoring me?" Jaime demanded in her face, and Cersei closed her eyes when a bit of his spit landed on her cheek. She was starting to lose it with him. At the very least, the little beast would know when not to talk with her. It seems Jaime was even more stupid than she had thought.
"Why?" she chuckled, but it wasn't out of amusement; it was more like she was mocking him. You pushed that boy from the tower. Have you lost your mind?" She screamed in a hushed tone through clenched teeth, trying to keep her composure, reminding herself that she was a Queen, and she wasn't like the fat pig in the hall who was already stuffing his face with meat and alcohol.
"I did it for us, I did it-" "Do not lie to me, Jaime. I know well enough of your hatred for Lord Stark, you can tell yourself whatever you want, but I-" "That's not true. I did it for us, Cersei. What if he had told someone." Jaime and Cersei interrupted each other back and forth, and they would have continued when Ser Barristand opened the door that led to the hall; he quickly noticed the tension between the two, the way Jaime had cornered the Queen against the wall.
"Your grace, is Ser Jaime bothering you?" The old Kingsguard asked, looking mainly at the Queen but giving his fellow sword brother dirty looks.
Jaime opened his mouth to say everything was alright, but someone was faster than him. "Everything is alright, Ser Barristan, and since you are here, I want Arys Oakheart to be my personal guard from now on. Tell Ser Jaime that he should guard Princess Myrcella from now on." Cersei ordered with a hidden smile of triumph.
Ser Barristan arched an eyebrow; he gave Ser Jaime a look that said, 'We will talk later about this' before turning to look back at the Queen.
"Of course, your grace," the old Knight said respectfully, and Cersei turned to face her brother directly, giving him a triumphant smile, before walking into the hall. The moment she did, the moment she saw what the fat king was doing, she remembered why she felt no happiness.
Robert was too busy burying his face into a woman's chest; the woman looked embarrassed but laughed out loud; many lords and even Lord Stark looked quite uncomfortable by what they were seeing. Cersei knew that many lords of the North had come from wherever part of this frozen hell they lived; they all rode to come and see the King, and before them was a pig. Cersei would have laughed if she wasn't in the hall. Unlike the pig, she made sure to walk gracefully, keeping her head high, making it clear to all the peasants who she was and that she was the one with the real power in Westeros. She was The Queen.
The feast lasted longer than she had wished. Cersei had to endure Lady Sansa talking about her needlework and other useless things. During the feast, for a very brief moment, she saw purple eyes looking back at her, but when she tried to find them again, they were gone. She figured it was just her head playing with her.
She was half-convinced to call for Ser Aerys when she returned to her chamber. She knew the man would do his duty to his Queen. Why wouldn't he? The man had often stared at her during the feast; the lust in his eyes was as clear as day.
Cersei knew her worth; she was a beauty. With long golden hair like a proper Queen and a beautiful body that only grew more body despite having three children, her body remained beautiful, with wide hips, large breasts, and a womanhood that would make any man fall on their knees for her, her lips full, and beautiful. Anyone would be privileged to serve her.
But on second thought, she didn't want to risk anything, so she was alone in her bed despite being in this frozen hell. She had forgotten what it was like to sleep alone since, at the Red Keep, she and Jaime could sleep with each other as much as they wanted, and no one had found out about it for sixteen years. Jon Arryn had been close, but he was busy eating worms.
Cersei tried to close her eyes and fall into slumber, but the slumber wasn't taking her away. As seconds turned into minutes, her eyes remained closed, and her mind went back to the miserable feast, the way Robert embarrassed himself in front of everyone. If his antics didn't affect her children, she wouldn't care, but it did. The way he acted would reflect on her and her children. Soon, he would be gone, she told herself.
As Cersei thought of ways to kill him, her mind went back to someone else. Rhaegar Targaryen.
'You will marry the prince, my daughter, but don't tell this to anyone.' Her father had promised her, but he had been wrong.
The man of her dreams, the man who should have been her King, he never married her; he never even looked at her. Instead, the king married him to the Martell whore, and then the whole mess with Lyanna Stark turned up, and everything was gone. That whore had taken so much from her. She still remembered when Robert lay with her for the first time and whispered 'Lyanna' right to her ear before entering her, despite being married to the most beautiful woman in Westeros. Robert still wanted a rotten corpse over her, and Cersei had promised herself that she would never bear his children.
If only I had married Rhaegar, my father would have crushed Robert, Cersei thought before closing her eyes. In her dreams, purple eyes looked back at her. She couldn't see his face properly, but she knew he was handsome, and his purple eyes were Rhaegar's eyes.
Cersei moaned in pleasure as he entered her; she had never felt this full, so much pleasure; she crossed her legs around his waist, bringing him closer; his lips brushed off against hers, and she looked into his eyes. "Fuck your Queen." She ordered, and the bed shook from the strength of his body as he thrusted into her, driving her to a new level of pleasure that she hadn't known existed.
Tomorrow
'I'm surrounded by idiots,' Cersei had never been more sure about it. Since the incident with Brandon Stark, she had hoped that her husband would decide to cut this visit short, ride back to the South, and escape this frozen hell. Instead, her husband had announced in the morning that a battle would be held in the Training Yard of Winterfell.
Lord Stark's best fighters would challenge the best Kingsguards, and whoever won would be rewarded with a knighthood. If the one who won was already a knight, they would be given one hundred gold dragons.
At least this time, it seems Cersei wasn't the only one who thought this whole thing was a waste of time; when Robert had started talking about it, she had noticed that Lord Stark didn't seem fond of the idea, and tried to change the King's mind, but he quickly realized that Robert's mind could not be changed when he was dead set on something.
Good, Cersei thought. The man had accepted the job to become Hand of the King, and this would be a good lesson for the future, to remind him that despite being Hand of the King and having a piece of fancy metal on his cloth, it didn't mean anything when Robert wanted to do something. If he wanted to do it, then not even Jon Arryn could change his mind.
Four hours after breaking their fast, Cersei looked down at the fighters in the Training Yard. They all had gathered for one reason: Cersei liked seeing people fight, and despite not talking with Jaime, she knew he would be the winner. Ser Barristand was old and wasn't as fast as he used to be.
Jon Snow
"I heard the Queen is watching. Good, I want her to see me as I defeat all of them. I heard the King rarely lies in bed with her. Well, it will change tonight. I will show her what a real man is like." Jon tried hard to ignore Theon's words; the man was like a dog, all bark, no bite. He was sure even a dead dog had more bite than Theon Greyjoy.
"You will show her what a real man is like." Robb scoffed as he wore his boiled leather outfit. "Didn't you pass out with Ross last night," Robb said snarkily as he wore his clothes; the two were ignoring Jon, who was looking down at his own reflection in the steel. His purple eyes looked back at him.
Not like a Northern, he told himself, not the first time. His eyes always reminded him that he wasn't really from The North; despite being the only Stark boy with dark hair in the family, his purple eyes always reminded him that he wasn't from the North. A part of him always felt like it was missing. He didn't know where it was, and his father never wanted to talk about it.
"Jon." He turned around and noticed the weird looks he got from Robb while Theon scoffed.
"What?"
"Theon says that he will warm Queen's bed tonight after he wins this little fight with the Kingsguard. What would you do if you won?" Robb asked curiously while Theon let out a short laugh; he was mocking Jon.
"Him!! Robb, he will be down before he even raises his sword." Theon mocked him more, but Jon wouldn't let him get away with it.
"If I'm so weak that I cannot even raise my sword, then what does that say about you, Theon." The Iron Born lost his smile as Jon walked closer; he wouldn't allow this fish to make fun of him. "Didn't I beat your ass last time? The only time you won was when you cheated." Theon fumed in anger, stepping closer, his hands turning to fists.
"Enough, Jon. We all are friends here." Robb tried to defuse the situation by placing his hand on Jon's chest and pushing him away from Theon.
"At least I'm not some coward who is afraid of girls, you had Ross naked right in front of you, but you ran away like a coward." Theon laughed as he said it, earning a look from Robb for making fun of Jon.
Jon hadn't really run away that day, but he had walked out of the chamber, telling Ross that she was beautiful, but he wouldn't sleep with her; the woman had tried to change his mind, telling him that he was handsome, and there was nothing wrong with feeling pleasure, but Jon had still not done the deed, and instead had decided to leave.
"Boys, the king is waiting. Come outside." The three of them did so and walked outside. Soon, they reached the Training Yard, which was large enough for an audience to gather.
The Northern chosen warriors formed a row before the King, as did The Kingsguards who had decided to participate.
Jon tried not to look at the king; to say that he was disappointed by him would be an understatement. His father had told them stories of Robert, 'The Demon of The Trident,' and before them stood a man who wasn't worthy of being a squire, let alone a King.
"Warriors of the North, and Kingsguards. Today, we shall see which one of you is the strongest. One hundred gold dragons for the winner or Knighthood. I hope you can entertain my friend, Eddard Stark. I'm sure you will show everyone here what a Northern warrior can do." Robert shouted with his booming voice, and the way Ned shook his head made it seem like he wanted to just disappear at that moment.
Jon wondered how this would be done when the Maester at Arms of Winterfell walked up to them with a scroll in his gloved hands. Jon watched as the man spread the scroll and read the first two names.
"Ser Meryn Trant against the Bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow."
He turned around to see who would be his fighter, and before him stood a man he would have mistaken for a private toilet cleaner. Ser Meryn has a dour face, a sour mouth, and pouchy bags under his droopy eyes. He has rusty-red hair spotted with grey and a rust-colored beard. Meryn is tall and somber.
"Ned, it seems your bastard son is the first, if he is anything like you, he will eat Meryn alive." The King's booming voice was heard as everyone else who wasn't part of this fight walked away, giving Ser Meryn and Jon space to fight.
"A bastard." The man scoffed, looking down at Jon, who ignored him. He looked at his pose and the way his legs were moving, and Jon knew the armor he was wearing was quite heavy. "Why don't you drop your sword so I can fight someone else?" the man continued with his taunting.
"Big talk from someone that I can defeat without using my sword." Jon said mockingly, and the man turned red as the King rose to his feat.
"The Fight begins."
As he predicted, the tall man lunged forward with no plan, but Jon quickly side stepped, avoiding him, and despite having his back turned. Jon did not even unsheath his sword, and Meryn only got more angry to see that Jon was not taking him seriously.
"Once I'm done with you, I will find the whorehouse your mother lives in and fuck her until I'm satisfied." The man roared like a wild beast, but Jon didn't allow himself to lose control. This was one of the weakest insults he had heard; it wasn't even that creative.
For five more minutes, Jon did nothing but sidestep and dodge all his attacks, and the audience was getting bored when...
"DIE!!" Meryn shouted as he swung his sword downwards, but Jon sidestepped to his right. Meryn quickly moved to his right to follow him, and a loud SNAP was heard from his leg. The man's screams echoed in the yard, and Ser Meryn Trant fell on one knee, the sword slipping from his fingers. The audience gasped in shock. They couldn't see the wound from the armor around his legs.
"What happened?" The King asked in confusion what everyone else was thinking since they couldn't see the blood trailing down Meryn's kneecap, down to his foot.
"The heavy armor, and moving around like that. His kneecap broke and tear. I'm sure he is bleeding right now under the armor." Jon answered casually, pointing at the man who was still in pain. While many gasped that Jon could defeat a kingsguard without a weapon, the king burst out laughing.
"Did you hear that, Ned? Oh gods. Why did I never think about this?" Robert laughed more, and Ned mumbled under his breath something about him using a heavy hammer for a weapon, making it impossible to move as fast as Jon did.
Cersei watched the fight keenly; she looked at the boy while defeating Ser Meryn, which was no feat; he did it without a weapon, and this was something she had never heard of before. She could see that even her twin brother seemed intrigued by this boy.
As Cersei looked down at him, his eyes looked up at hers, and she saw them again—the Purple Eyes. The sunlight illuminated his face, and she could see them as clear as day. He had the same eyes as Rhaegar, the same eyes as the one from her dreams.
A silent gasp escaped her; she could not look away from him, and she used this moment to look at his face, trying to remember every little thing about it. She hadn't really noticed it until now, but Jon Snow, despite his name, was one of the most handsome men she had seen, even more than her twin brother.
She knew right away the boy didn't take his looks from his father. No, Lord Stark was plain-looking, and there was nothing handsome about him, but he was not his bastard son.
She wondered if the rumors that Lady Ashara Dayne was his mother were true after all. Even after sixteen years, people still talked about her beauty, saying she was a purple star, her hunting violet eyes.
Cersei hummed. The boy left her sight, and the Queen started thinking of ways to approach him. The boy might be inexperienced, but she knew she could easily teach him to please a Queen.
The rest of the fights weren't important to her, and all she did was fantasize about this boy. The rest of the fights weren't as interesting, just boys fighting; then came Jon's turn again; this time, he was fighting Ser Aerys Oakheart.
"Let the best warriors win," Ser Arys said respectfully as he unsheathed his sword, and Jon did the same this time; this quickly caused the audience to shift from excitement.
Jon studied the man before him. Unlike Ser Meryn Trant, who had been wearing heavy armor, this one was wearing light armor, which made it easier to move around. He was larger and taller than Jon, but Jon showed no sign of fear in his eyes as he eyed the man like a hawk.
Ser Meryn attacked first, and Jon once again bid his time with dodges, trying to keep his distance, but he quickly realized this one was faster and stronger than the other knight, so he quickly got on the offensive.
As the weight of the sword burdened his hands, Ser Arys shifted his gaze towards Jon, peering through the narrow opening of his helmet. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, creating an uncomfortable sensation as they clung to his skin. Taking a determined step forward, Ser Arys unleashed a swing with his sword, aiming to strike his opponent. Jon skillfully parried the attack using his own weapon, adding force against Ser Arys. He pushed back, exerting every ounce of strength he possessed. The man swiftly stepped away, intending to unbalance Ser Arys and make him stumble. Reacting swiftly, Ser Arys sideswinged, his blade sliced through empty air, the boy successfully evading his strike.
Jon swiftly retaliated by slashing at his wrist, attempting to force him to drop the sword. A surge of agony coursed through Ser Arys's hand, and he felt his hand getting wet under the armor.
His face was sweating. Ser Arys gritted his teeth and slammed his mailed hand against his forehead. The boy staggered, taking steps back, but Ser Arys allowed him no time to rest; as quick as a cat, Ser Arys swung his sword, but the boy crouched, the blade slashing the empty air one feather above his head.
Ser Arys didn't see it coming, but he felt the blade hit his mailed chest hard, the breath escaping him from the impact. He let out a breath, quickly trying to fill his lungs with air, but Jon allowed him no such luxury; ruthlessly, the boy hit him quickly with his sword at the back of his knee. Ser Arys staggered, falling on his knees. He tried to sideswing, but the boy grasped his wrist with his hand, stopping his hand and forcing it upwards; Ser Arys's face was forced forward, and the man hit him again on the helm, dropping him on the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Ser Arys felt the blood and the dirt in his mouth, his face sweating. He felt like his face was melting off; he turned his head, and in front of him was the sword's tip right at his face, his helm separating him from the pointy end, as sharp as Valyrian Steel, one small thrust, and it would enter his head through his eye socket. Not the worst way to die, Ser Arys thought.
"Yield?"
"I yield." Ser Arys surrendered, raising up his arms. His muscles felt soar and were shaking and burning, and they felt hot to the touch; Ser Arys knew he needed a bath after this.
The audience cheered for Jon Snow, and the boy basked in the glory of their cheers, smiling like never before. Arya, of course, was the loudest one, shouting his name and calling everyone stupid for thinking her brother would lose the fight; even the King clapped for him despite Jon easily defeating the Knight. But when he looked upwards, he briefly acknowledged Lady Catelyn's hateful gaze; no, what caught his attention was the Queen.
Jon never considered himself a man who knew much about women, but being raised a bastard, he was used to noticing things that others couldn't, and now, she could see the lustful look the Queen was giving him; if anything, she was reminding him of Ross, the way she had tried to convince him to stay, but he had refused because he never wanted to father bastards, he knew there were ways to prevent that from happening, Robb had told him as much, but he had still refused, a part of him regretted it.
'Jon, there's nothing wrong with enjoying the company of a woman. I know you don't want to hear this, but you should try it once before you think of joining the Watch.' His uncle had told him when he arrived in Winterfell during the first feast.
Jon looked away from the Queen, not wanting to make it obvious that he was staring at her.
Fight after fight. Robb lost to Jaime, but the Northern Lords who had come to Winterfell to meet the King still praised him, saying his swordfighting was quite good. Some saying he would be better than the Kingslayer within five years.
"Jon Snow against Jaime Lannister 'The Kingslayer'" The Maester At Arms announced, and everyone cheered loudly for this fight.
Jon took a deep breath, knowing he was about to fight perhaps the best swordsman of Westeros; some said he was better than Ser Barristan, but Jon was sure that was true only because of the old Knight's age.
Ser Jaime gave him a snarky smirk as he unsheathed his sword, and Jon did the same. The audience cheered for both of them, the Lannister soldiers cheered for Jaime, every Northern lord cheered for Jon Snow, and somehow, Arya was still the loudest out of all of them.
Sansa looked unsure. She tried to quiet down her sister, but she couldn't understand how her Half-Brother was still in this game and her true brother, Robb, had lost.
"These days they will put anyone in silly fights. If I was there I would have defeated him with a single swing of my sword." Joffrey boasted beside her, and Sansa did not doubt that; her Joffrey was brilliant, handsome, and the best fighter she knew.
.
Cersei watched in silence. She looked at the way he was holding the sword, and she knew this wouldn't be an easy fight for him.
.
"I take it you never saw this day coming bastard, fighting someone like me." Jaime said with a cocky smile as he looked at Jon keenly.
"No. I never thought that I would defeat Jaime Lannister." Jon countered him with a confident smile, earning glares from the Lannister soldiers, while the King laughed, holding his belly like it would fall off.
"Tell me, Bastard. Do you see a single scratch on this armor? No. Do you know why? Because people have been swinging at me for years but they always seem to miss." Jaime said with an arrogant smile as he spread his arms out.
"I take it you choose your opponents wisely then." Jon said as they circled each other.
"I have a knack for it."
"Well, I hope you have a knack for losing, Ser Jaime," Jon said, for the first time speaking with a hint of respect in his voice; this caught Jaime a little off guard.
Jaime was familiar with Jon's pose, as well as how he held his sword and violet eyes. Arthur, he's like a mini version of you, Jaime thought with a bitter smile. Fate sure knows how to mess things up with him.
His grip around the pommel tightened, his feet digging into the ground as he prepared for the fight.
Jon felt his heart pounding in his throat. He was tired, but he hoped to gather enough strength to win this or at least not lose immediately.
The moment his first swing had begun, Jaime Lannister looked ready to deflect, parry, and dodge all the same time, yet what he did not seem to expect was a feint, and that was exactly what Jon performed. Just as he had brought down his weapon, he pulled the sword back and jumped a few feet backward, putting distance between them.
The clash of swords rang throughout the yard. The spectators had gone silent.
Jon deflected a swing before jumping forward, catching the Kingslayer slightly off guard. The Lannister tried to keep his distance by using his sword when Jon swung his sword towards his sword hand. Jaime tried to move his hand away and use his sword to block the attack when Jon used his feet to kick his hand. The Kingslayer winced in pain. The grip around his sword loosened up a bit, but that was enough for Jon to use his hand to punch him in the face, staggering him, before hitting his sword hand again; the sword fell from his fingers, stabbing the ground, but as Jon was trying to finish this...
The audience heard a gasp, and even Lord Stark was astonished by what he saw. He knew Jon was good with the sword, but this wasn't something he had expected. Robert furrowed a brow, a look of disappointment on his face.
"The boy is good," Tyrion mused with a drunken smile, but he was still sober enough to understand everything.
"He almost had him. Is not Fair!" Arya screamed in anger.
Jon's sword was right under Jaime's chin, and Jaime's dagger was right against Jon's throat. Neither moved a muscle but instead looked at each other's eyes intensely.
Now that he was close, Jaime could see that he had been wrong about his earlier assumption. The bastard's eyes weren't violet, not really. They were bright purple, almost like...Jaime quickly stifled such a thought as both he and Jon slowly pulled their blade away.
"A Draw. This fight has ended in a draw." The Maester At Arms announced the audience cheered. The Lannister soldiers did not. Instead, they glared at Jon, but the boy did not care what they thought of him. When he looked at Jaime, ready to shake his hand, the Kingslayer looked at him strangely instead.
"Lord Jaime," Jon called him, and this seemed to make Jaime escape his stupor and quickly noticed Jon's extended hand.
"...Good fight, lad." Jaime said hushedly but walked away, not shaking his hand.
Later
On that same day, another grand banquet was held. Cersei had meticulously prepared her appearance, ensuring her feminine charms were tastefully yet noticeably displayed. Even Tyrion remarked that he'd never witnessed anyone render Jaime as wordless as he'd been all day following the combat's conclusion. Cersei felt pleased that her twin would at least not irritate her this time; whatever occupied his thoughts was likely nothing substantial.
Following the duels, Cersei overheard Robert asking Ned about the identity of his bastard's mother, to which Lord Stark curtly replied to abandon the subject permanently. This response troubled Cersei. If Ashara Dayne was truly the mother, why conceal it from the King? She comprehended the discretion around Lady Catelyn, but couldn't fathom why discussing the boy's mother remained so contentious after sixteen years.
Upon entering the feast, Cersei expected to find him seated among the Stark children, but he was absent. She knew inquiring about his whereabouts would appear suspicious. Fortunately, Lord Stark's untamed daughter loudly explained to Tommen why Jon wasn't present. Cersei resolved to locate him later for a private discussion.
After enduring an hour of Catelyn Stark's endless prattle about Riverrun, she excused herself and departed.
Naturally, she exited with regal poise. Walking unaccompanied through the corridor, she encountered an unexpected sight: Jon practicing swordplay with a training dummy.
"Impressive technique. Where did you acquire such skill?" The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms inquired with a raised eyebrow as she approached him.
"Who goes there?" The youth spun around abruptly, his tone disrespectful. Upon recognizing her, his eyes widened, and he visibly trembled with anxiety.
"Y-Your Grace, I beg forgiveness for my foolishness. I reacted without consideration when I heard someone approach," the dark-haired boy with striking purple eyes stammered before bowing deeply.
Cersei observed him and laughed softly at his response.
"What's your name? Someone with your abilities should serve as Kingsguard, City Watch, or Knight." Cersei said, meeting his gaze. Now closer, she studied his eyes and realized her error. Those weren't Ashara's eyes but unmistakably Targaryen.
"Jon...Snow," he replied softly, yet audibly.
"I'm curious how you managed to best my brother. He was...considered Westeros's finest." Cersei smiled while internally pondering how this boy possessed Targaryen blood. His dark hair clearly indicated Stark lineage.
"I practice in the Godswood when no one watches, Your Grace." She nodded appreciatively. She wondered if there was more to his story, as achieving such proficiency through self-training seemed extraordinary.
"Indeed. You performed admirably today. I believe my husband contemplates knighting you," Cersei stated pleasantly when something unexpected happened. The boy smiled, and her heart seemed to freeze.
She recognized that smile. Despite the years, it was unmistakable. Jon Snow didn't merely have Targaryen blood. Cersei realized she stood before Rhaegar's son. No other explanation existed, but how? His children with Elia were all...Lyanna...
Her blood boiled as though stabbed through the heart. This was Jon Snow—the product of that woman and Rhaegar. She recalled Robert boasting about honorable Ned Stark bedding a woman and raising his son at Winterfell, a story he recounted whenever considering bringing his bastard daughter from the Vale.
Momentarily, Cersei desired vengeance against Lyanna, but reconsidered. This was Rhaegar's son, alive and thriving. What matters if he had a child with another? It explained Jon Snow's handsomeness—he was Rhaegar's offspring.
'You shall marry the prince, daughter, but tell no one.'
Her father's words echoed. He had been wrong; the Prince never belonged to her, but his son would suffice—more than suffice.
Despite his Stark coloring, he resembled a darker Rhaegar—handsome, powerful, talented. Cersei felt desire stir within her, and knowing Jaime might notice the same similarities, she determined to act first. She couldn't predict when Jaime's slow mind might identify Jon Snow's true parentage, but if he decided to finish what happened to Rhaegar's other children, her presence would deter him.
"His Grace is excessively generous, my Queen. I hope to repay somehow." From his tone, Cersei detected subtle contempt when mentioning the King, realizing Jon was perceptive enough to recognize Robert's true nature.
"Hmm, repayment." She hummed pleasantly while advancing closer, invading his personal space. Her gown was designed to showcase her beauty, and she noticed hunger in his eyes before they quickly returned to meet hers. His desire was evident, as was the impressive bulge in his breeches, causing her anticipation to grow.
"You're quite handsome, Jon. Surely women pursue you constantly." Cersei spoke huskily while circling him, her fingers trailing across his chest.
"I...no, Your Grace. I've never been intimate with anyone." He confessed, though eagerness tinged his voice.
"Ohh, perhaps we can remedy that." Cersei paused before him with a seductive smile, cradling his face. Before Jon could respond, her lips captured his, silencing any potential objection.
Her lips were luscious and sweet, unlike anything he'd experienced. Jon followed her lead inexpertly. Her plump lips moved against his as his arms encircled her waist; when her tongue sought entrance, he parted his lips. Cersei moaned into their kiss while Jon explored her mouth, her ample bosom pressed against his chest.
Distantly, he recognized the impropriety, but all rational thought vanished when she palmed his arousal through his clothing.
Jon groaned from the sensation. Their kiss ended, allowing him momentary clarity.
"We-We shouldn't do this," Jon managed weakly, yet his hands remained fixed on her waist. Noticing his hesitation, the Queen guided his hand to her right breast. He cautiously caressed the soft abundance, eliciting a moan from her. She leaned forward, kissing beside his lips before whispering in his ear.
"You wished to repay me. This is how, Jon Snow. Now, follow your Queen." She commanded sensually.
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