Myrcella's head felt as if countless golden-tailed bees were crashing and buzzing wildly inside it.
She practically scrambled to her feet from the cold floor, stumbling and crawling back to her bed.
She buried her head in the cold velvet quilt, covering her head tightly.
As if that could block out the truth that made her soul tremble.
It was useless.
That image, like a red-hot branding iron, mercilessly seared itself onto the inside of her eyelids, deep into her mind!
No matter how much she curled up, how much she trembled, that image burned her with terrifying clarity!
The Queen who was always high above, who valued the Lannister glory and dignity more than life itself... The Queen who was as proud as the midday sun, radiant, inspiring no thought of blasphemy... She actually... in such a humble posture, knelt before... Myrcella dared not think further.
She felt her stomach being squeezed and twisted by an invisible hand, and a violent wave of nausea, mixed with last night's dinner, rushed up her throat.
She curled up in the quilt, like a chick drenched in a downpour.
Fear, nausea, confusion... Finally, all emotions converged into an overwhelming shame.
Why?
Why did she do that?
For herself?
That man... was it Lord Lynn?
It must be him.
Besides him, who else in this world could make that golden lioness retract her claws, and lower her noble head... Myrcella's heart throbbed with such pain that she could barely breathe.
This feeling was a thousand times more intense than when she first discovered the intimacy between Lynn and that wildling girl in the North.
Just then.
That strange sound came from next door again.
This time, it was no longer that sickening sound.
Instead, it was a sobbing gasp, deliberately suppressed to the extreme, yet still unable to be completely stifled.
The sound was intermittent.
Like a slippery little venomous snake, it pierced through the thick wall and soft quilt, viciously burrowing into Myrcella's ears.
Myrcella covered her ears tightly.
But the sound seemed to echo directly in her mind, intertwining with the lingering image, playing a demonic tune from hell.
She felt her body begin to become incredibly strange.
Although the bed was ice-cold, her body felt as if it had been thrown into a furnace.
A strange, uncontrollable heat surged from the deepest part of her body, climbing up her spine.
It burned Myrcella, leaving her parched and feverish.
Her cheeks, neck, earlobes... every inch of her skin seemed to be on fire, radiating a sickly pink hue.
The sound continued, its rhythm growing faster and more frantic.
It was like the most depraved lullaby, brutally dismantling all the etiquette and morals Myrcella had built up over fourteen years.
It also awakened a certain instinct that had been dormant in her body for too long.
Myrcella tossed and turned uncomfortably in the bed.
Her smooth silk nightgown was soaked with sweat, clinging to her body, outlining the girl's fresh and beautiful curves.
She felt like a fish thrown onto a scorching beach, craving the nourishment of cool seawater, yet not knowing how to return to the water.
The heat grew stronger, more and more impossible to ignore.
Finally, as if finding an outlet, it stubbornly gathered at a certain... Myrcella's breathing became hurried and hot.
Her green eyes, always tinged with melancholy, were now clouded with a hazy mist in the darkness, completely losing focus.
Her hand seemed to have a will of its own, uncontrollably sliding down her smooth nightgown, slowly reaching... Myrcella's body suddenly trembled, as if struck by lightning!
She was so frightened she wanted to retract her hand immediately.
But her fingertips seemed to be drawn by a magnet.
The increasingly clear sound from next door, mixed with Cersei's near-breakdown, humiliated whimpers, was like an invisible devil's hand, forcibly holding her wrist down.
And with an irresistible force, it compelled her to continue downwards.
This night was incredibly long.
Long enough for an innocent princess to be forced to glimpse the dirtiest, most primitive, and most real corner of the adult world.
Long enough for the heavy door in her body, which had been closed for fourteen years, to be brutally pried open a crack by a key stained with Cersei's humiliation and unknown desires.
When that maddening sound finally ceased... the eastern sky was now tinged with a sickly, fish-belly white.
Myrcella's eyes were still wide open.
She was drenched in sweat, as if she had just been pulled from the water.
Her golden hair was wet, clinging to her cheeks and neck.
On the bedsheet.
A damp sweat stain was left behind.
She stared blankly at the ornate patterns on the ceiling.
In her beautiful green eyes, there was no longer the clarity and innocence of yesteryear.
Only emptiness remained.
She was truly broken... The next morning.
When Cersei pushed open Myrcella's door, this was the scene she saw.
Her most cherished golden rose was sitting quietly in front of the dressing table.
She wore a simple white gown, her long golden hair neatly combed by her handmaidens.
Impeccable.
Everything was as usual.
Elegant, proper.
But Cersei, relying on her intuition, keenly sensed that Myrcella seemed different.
An unsettling silence permeated the air.
"Myrcella?"
Cersei's voice carried a hint of wariness and appeasement that she herself didn't notice.
"Last night... did you sleep well?"
Myrcella didn't turn around.
She merely looked through the mirror at her reflection, both familiar and strange, her voice as calm as still water.
"Very well."
"But I had a very long dream."
Cersei's heart sank.
She walked behind Myrcella, looking at Myrcella's overly calm face in the mirror, and her empty green eyes that made her uneasy.
"Dream... what did you dream of?"
"I dreamed..."
Myrcella slowly turned her head.
No longer through the mirror, but raising her eyes, she looked directly at Cersei with those green eyes.
Her gaze was cold, sharp.
It easily sliced through Cersei's fragile armor, built of pride, lies, and pretense, the armor used to conceal a night of humiliation.
Cersei felt a pang of guilt under that gaze, and she instinctively wanted to avert her eyes.
"I dreamed of a very proud lioness, trapped in a cage by a more cunning hunter."
Myrcella's voice was soft, yet every word was clear.
As she spoke, her fingertips imperceptibly tightened, digging into her palms.
"The hunter fed her the most delicious meat every day, but also tortured and humiliated her in the most cruel ways, pulling out her claws, shattering her pride."
"Until one day, the lioness was completely tamed."
"She knelt at the hunter's feet, wagging her tail like a docile pet, licking her master's toes, begging for mercy."
Boom—!
Cersei's face instantly turned ashen, the last trace of color draining away completely.
She looked at Myrcella, at the faint, yet more cutting than any blade, curve of mockery on her lips.
She knew.
Myrcella knew everything after all!
This realization was like a deafening slap across Cersei's face.
Boundless shame, embarrassment, and the despair of having her most cherished person see her most shameful side.
This feeling made her legs weak, almost unable to stand.
Cersei wanted to explain, to argue.
She wanted to scream and tell Myrcella that it wasn't true, that it was all for her!
But when she met Myrcella's eyes, which seemed to see through everything, all words caught in her throat, not a single one could be uttered.
The two of them stared at each other like this.
One, a prisoner who had just climbed out of hell, still bearing the cold marks of chains.
The other, a cold observer standing at the gates of hell, watching indifferently all night.
An insurmountable chasm quietly opened between them.
Just in this suffocating silence, an urgent knock suddenly sounded.
"Your Majesty the Queen, Your Royal Highness the Princess."
A Kingsguard's voice came from outside the door.
"His Majesty the King has summoned Lord Lynn to the Throne Room; please both of you attend the ceremony."
The King's summons.
Cersei clutched at it like a drowning man, miserably averting her gaze.
"I... I need to change my clothes."
Cersei dropped these words and fled the room that made her feel so humiliated.
Myrcella watched Cersei's flustered retreating figure, her expression unchanged.
She slowly stood up, elegantly straightened her skirt, and followed her out.
Throne Room.
Robert Baratheon sat askew on the iron throne, holding a large horn cup.
He was guzzling ale.
His face showed the fatigue of a hangover and a sickly excitement.
Lynn stood calmly in the center of the hall, as if he were the center of the world.
Ned Stark stood in the Hand's position, his face as still as water, like a stone sculpture from the North.
Lord Renly and Varys, among others, were also present, each person's expression intriguing.
All eyes were focused on the man who was about to become the most powerful son-in-law of the King.
When Cersei and Myrcella entered the hall, Robert's eyes lit up.
"Haha! Myrcella, come here!"
Robert waved to Myrcella.
His tone implied Myrcella was his most cherished treasure.
Myrcella's steps paused.
She looked up, her gaze sweeping over the crowd, landing precisely on Lynn.
Their eyes met.
Lynn's expression was as usual, as if everything from last night was just a farce unrelated to him.
Myrcella's heart felt as if something had sharply pierced it, the acute pain chilling her fingertips.
'Lecherous bastard...'
Myrcella looked at Lynn.
'You just wait... I won't be like her!'
Myrcella, always a Lady, swore silently to herself.
Then she withdrew her gaze and stood quietly beside the pale-faced Cersei.
"Lynn!"
Robert drained the ale from his cup, smashing the horn cup heavily on the ground with a deafening crash.
"I've decided!"
"Your wedding with Myrcella will be held in three days!"
"I want all of King's Landing, no! All of Westeros to know!"
"I, Robert Baratheon, have married the most beautiful princess to my most loyal subject!"
Robert's roar echoed in the empty Throne Room, full of boastfulness and defiance.
He intended to use this grand wedding to display his power.
And to tell everyone that no matter if it was Stark or Lannister, they must submit to his Baratheon iron heel!
"I will personally preside over your wedding!"
Robert stood up from the iron throne, his large, fan-like hand clapping heavily on Lynn's shoulder.
"Then, I want Ned Stark to personally give Myrcella to you!"
Robert's gaze sharply turned to Ned.
The malice and humiliation in his eyes were undisguised.
To make the Warden of the North, Arya's father, personally give a Baratheon princess in marriage to the man who was supposed to marry his own daughter?
This was ten thousand times more humiliating than making him kneel in that dirty pool of blood!
Ned's body trembled violently.
The hand wearing the Hand's signet ring clenched tightly into a fist beneath his sleeve, his fingernails digging deep into his palm.
But in the end, he said nothing, only bowing his head lower.
His heart, which had been loyal to Robert for twenty years, was already dead.
Now, he was first and foremost a father.
A father who could endure any humiliation for the future of his daughters.
"Hahahahaha!"
Robert burst into maniacal laughter again.
He reveled in the pleasure of trampling everyone underfoot, enjoying their expressions of suppressed anger.
He was the King!
He was the sole ruler of Westeros!
The small council ended amidst Robert's frenzied laughter.
Everyone filed out.
Ned Stark walked to Lynn's side, pausing for a moment.
He looked at this young man who was about to become his son-in-law, and also the husband of his other daughter.
His gray eyes were filled with an unprecedented complexity of emotions.
He opened his mouth, but in the end, it only turned into an almost inaudible sigh.
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