Yoriichi sighed, a soft, humanizing sound that he reserved only for his immediate family. "Very well."
He reached out and took the black cloth mask. He pulled the heavy, dark hood of his traveling cloak over his head, shadowing his two-toned hair. Then, with practiced ease, he tied the mask over the lower half of his face. It covered his nose, his mouth, and his jaw perfectly, leaving only his deep, piercing burgundy eyes and the jagged, flame-like mark on his brow visible in the dim light of the carriage.
He turned his face toward her, showing her the complete ensemble.
Cersei stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. He looked terrifying. He looked like an ancient, lethal assassin ripped straight from the legends of old Valyria.
"It works very well," Cersei murmured, her eyes drifting upward to the jagged mark on his forehead. "With the hood up and the face covered, if you keep your head angled down, the others cannot easily see the mark. They will not stare."
As soon as the words left her mouth, a sudden, suffocating tension filled the carriage. Cersei physically recoiled, realizing what she had just implied. She felt she had touched upon an incredibly uncomfortable, taboo topic. She worshipped his mark; she believed it was a divine brand. She didn't want him to think she was ashamed of it, or that she wanted him to hide his face because he was deformed. She opened her mouth to backpedal, hesitating nervously.
Yoriichi saw the sudden panic in her eyes.
He didn't speak immediately. Instead, he reached across the small space of the carriage. He gently took her trembling, ring-adorned hand in his own calloused palm.
"Talk freely, Mother," Yoriichi said, his voice muffled slightly by the mask, but vibrating with a deep, absolute sincerity. "I do not mind anything from you. You do not need to walk on eggshells around me."
Cersei stared at their joined hands. The sheer, overwhelming relief that washed over her was intoxicating. She nodded silently, taking a deep breath to steady her racing heart. After a long minute, the tense atmosphere shattered, and her natural, haughty confidence returned.
She offered a genuine, beautiful smile, squeezing his hand. "The design of the mask is actually very unique," she noted, looking at the intricate, crimson thread woven into the edges of the black cloth. "It is a very... cool look for you. Very imposing."
Yoriichi's burgundy eyes crinkled slightly at the corners—the only visible sign that he was smiling beneath the mask. His eyes turned strange, filled with a warm, sibling amusement.
"Your daughters told me the exact same thing," Yoriichi replied. "They made this mask for me, very thoughtfully."
Cersei's eyes widened in genuine surprise. "Oh? Myrcella?" She let out a bright, bell-like laugh. "I had no idea she possessed this specific talent. I thought she only embroidered flowers and direwolves."
"Yes. She and Jeyne sometimes try their hands at different, highly unique clothing designs," Yoriichi sighed, shaking his head in mock defeat. "And I am always drafted as the victim in their experiments. I am their living mannequin."
Cersei laughed again, the sound light and joyous, completely erasing the dark morbidity of the Sept they had just left. For a few beautiful, uninterrupted minutes, they were just a mother and a son, chatting warmly in the safety of the royal carriage.
But as the carriage rounded a sharp, narrow corner near the Street of Steel, the playful atmosphere vanished in a fraction of a millisecond.
Yoriichi froze.
His casual, relaxed posture instantly turned to rigid steel. Beneath the mask, his nostrils flared. His superhuman senses, honed beyond the limits of mortal men, caught something riding the evening wind.
It cut right through the stench of raw sewage, stale ale, and baked mud. It was not of any human origin. It was completely unfamiliar—a suffocating, concentrated wave of raw blood intertwined with the cold, heavy essence of pure darkness. It was the undeniable scent of a massive, apex predator.
His instincts screamed a dangerous, deafening warning. Every fiber of his being, driven by a primal compulsion he could not explain, reacted instantly. He felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to draw his blade and completely eradicate this unnaturality from the world.
"Mother, wait," Yoriichi commanded abruptly, his voice dropping into a deadly, freezing baritone.
Before Cersei could even register the change in his tone, let alone ask what was wrong, Yoriichi moved.
He didn't bother to open the carriage door. In a blur of impossible, physics-defying speed, he threw himself out of the open window of the moving carriage.
"Yorion!" Cersei shrieked, lunging forward, her hands grasping empty air.
Outside, the Red Cloaks marching alongside the carriage shouted in bewilderment as a dark blur shot past them.
Yoriichi hit the cobblestones in a perfect, silent crouch, his momentum carrying him forward. He didn't wait for the guards to react. With his heavy black cloak billowing behind him like bat wings, he launched himself toward the nearest building—a three-story blacksmith's forge.
He leaped onto a stack of heavy wooden crates, using them as a springboard to vault onto a high stone stairwell. From there, his legs coiled with supernatural strength, and he launched himself directly upward, clearing fifteen feet of vertical space in a single bound. His boots touched the edge of the slanted, terracotta roof for a fraction of a second before he pushed off again, completely vanishing into the encroaching darkness of the King's Landing skyline.
Down in the street, the procession ground to a chaotic, panicked halt.
"Seven Hells!" the captain of the guard roared, his horse rearing up. "Where did the Prince go?! Secure the perimeter! Protect the Queen!"
The guards were utterly baffled, staring up at the empty rooftops with open mouths. A few commoners, late-night merchants, and smiths who had witnessed the display dropped their wares, staring in sheer terror and awe. The whispers began instantly, spreading through the street like wildfire. They had just witnessed a boy fly up a wall like a shadow cat.
The door of the carriage slammed open. Cersei Lannister stumbled out, her emerald eyes wide and frantic. She ignored the mud soaking the hem of her expensive gown, pushing past a heavily armored guard as she stared desperately up at the dark, empty rooftops.
"Yorion!" she screamed into the night, her voice echoing off the stone walls.
Only the wind answered her. He was gone, swallowed entirely by the shadows of the city.
Cersei stood trembling in the street for a long, agonizing moment. She was terrified, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. What could have possibly made him move like that? What was he hunting?
But as she stared at the empty roof, a reluctant, awe-struck sigh eventually escaped her lips. He was the sun. He was a god. If he needed to hunt in the dark, nothing in this world could stop him.
"Form up!" Cersei ordered, turning back to the terrified captain, her voice cracking like a whip. She gathered her muddy skirts and climbed back into the empty carriage. "We proceed to the Keep! Move!"