The master of coin tower at night was even quieter than the Tower of the Hand.
The air was filled with the scent of old parchment and dried ink.
Sansa Stark sat behind the overly large desk, the candlelight illuminating her focused profile, making it seem a little unreal.
She hadn't, as Lynn suggested, directly used her authority as master of coin to arrest those two parasites.
She knew she was like standing on the edge of a cliff, with an abyss beneath her feet.
Every move she made was being watched by countless pairs of eyes.
A yellow-haired girl from the North, who had just taken the position of master of coin, was already eager to act against the old retainers of the royal family?
To those noble lords, this wasn't establishing authority.
Instead, it was the ugly scramble for power by House Stark.
This would put her, and her father, in an even more passive situation.
Lord Lynn had taught her the art of slaying dragons, but how to wield this blade still required her own wisdom.
She couldn't be the blade.
What she needed to be was the one who handed over the blade.
Someone would do all this for her.
And in all of Westeros, there was no better or sharper blade than Robert Baratheon.
Sansa closed the ledger in front of her, her blue eyes flickering with an unusual light in the candlelight.
She stood up and, from a more cluttered pile of parchments nearby, pulled out several seemingly unremarkable dossiers.
One was the quarterly loss report for the armory, another was the daily procurement list for royal banquets... She carefully organized these dossiers, then walked out of the master of coin tower...
The morning in the Throne Room was always accompanied by King Robert's hungover headache and irritable curses.
"Wine! Give me wine!"
Robert paced back and forth under the iron throne like a wild boar trapped in a cage, agitated.
Just then, Sansa Stark walked in.
She was wearing a proper dark blue gown, holding several scrolls of parchment in her hands, with a perfectly appropriate expression of confusion and helplessness on her face.
"Your Majesty."
Her voice was soft, like a cool breeze, temporarily calming Robert's agitation.
"Oh, it's Sansa."
Robert saw Sansa, and a smile was squeezed onto his face, which was swollen from a hangover.
"What's wrong?"
"Is there a problem you can't handle?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Sansa walked up to Robert and curtsied slightly.
"There are some accounts that I... I really don't understand, and I've come to ask for your guidance."
"Haha! Speak up, whatever the problem, say it all!"
"I want to see which blind bastard dares to play tricks with my money!"
Robert waved his hand, appearing particularly grand.
He liked this feeling.
Especially the feeling of his vanity being satisfied.
This Northern girl looked at him with such worship and dependence.
This made him feel that he was not just a brute who only knew how to drink and fight, but also a wise monarch who could handle important state affairs!
"It's about the armory's expenses, Your Majesty."
Sansa unrolled the first parchment scroll.
"The quartermaster reported that due to damp weather, three hundred sets of soldiers' plate armor were severely rusted and beyond repair, requiring complete replacement."
"Here is the budget for the replacement, a total of three thousand gold dragons."
"Three hundred sets? Three thousand gold dragons?"
Robert's brows furrowed.
"Damn it, I remember Casterly Rock armor wasn't that expensive!"
"Yes, Your Majesty, I also find it a bit strange."
Sansa's face, at the opportune moment, showed an even more confused expression.
"And... I also saw a guard's patrol log."
She handed over another parchment.
"It says that there wasn't much rain last month, and the armory guards would carefully maintain those armors with grease every day..."
Robert's face instantly darkened.
He wasn't stupid; he just didn't bother to think.
When someone laid the clues out one by one in front of him, his boar-like brain could also figure out the trickery.
"Anything else?"
Robert's voice already carried a hint of danger.
"And... there's the banquet hall's procurement list."
Sansa's voice was even lower, as if a little afraid.
"They... they buy fifty gallons of Dornish red wine every day, saying that you... your drinking capacity has improved recently."
"Bullshit!"
Robert's roar exploded in the Throne Room.
"I've been drinking ale lately!"
"Those damn parasites!"
"They dare to use the king's money to drink Dornish red wine themselves!"
Robert's eyes had turned blood red, and the flames of anger burned fiercely in his chest.
He felt betrayed!
Cruelly played by a group of dogs he had fed!
"Barristan!"
Robert roared.
"Give my command!"
"Drag those two fat pigs, the armory quartermaster and the banquet hall steward, out into the courtyard!"
"I will personally flay them alive!"
Sansa watched the thoroughly enraged lion before her, silently stepping back, hiding herself in the shadows.
Soon, piercing screams echoed in the The Red Keep courtyard.
King Robert did not break his word.
After learning that their corruption went even further, Robert truly personally hanged those two greedy parasites on the flagpole, then whipped them to death.
This was more effective than any king's command.
All the officials in the The Red Keep, looking at those two bloody corpses, were as silent as cicadas in winter.
The look in their eyes towards the master of coin tower was no longer contempt or disdain, but only deep fear.
They finally understood that the seemingly delicate Northern girl was not a sheep to be manipulated.
She was a Direwolf in sheep's clothing.
She wouldn't bite herself, but she would smile and lead you to the lion's claws.
For a time, everyone felt insecure.
Everyone was actively filling out bills, and some were even preparing to unite against Sansa.
But surprisingly.
Sansa did not choose to seize the opportunity to expand her gains; instead, she made no further moves.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
At the same time, they all understood.
What they had done before, Sansa had moved past.
She was completely different from Lord Baelish.
Petyr, in order to win their support, didn't bother to manage these matters as long as it didn't involve his own interests.
Anyway, it was King Robert's money, and it wasn't his money being lost; he just needed to gloss over things.
As long as it wasn't too excessive or blatant, Petyr usually turned a blind eye.
But Sansa was completely different.
Now, they shed their contempt for Sansa.
Of course, making them realize that things had changed was only Sansa's first step in her plan.
Constant confrontation would only make everyone rebellious, proving counterproductive.
A lesson, to make them understand that the finances had a new master, was enough.
Now, Sansa needed to give them a sweet treat to taste...
Night.
In Lynn's room.
Lynn was sitting in a chair.
The door was gently knocked.
"Come in."
Sansa walked in.
She had changed out of her dark gown symbolizing power and put on a moon-white silk nightgown.
Her auburn hair was casually draped over her shoulders, losing some of the master of coin's gravitas and gaining a touch of a young girl's naive charm.
Her face was flushed with excitement, and her blue eyes shone astonishingly bright.
"Lord Lynn."
She walked up to Lynn and performed an impeccable curtsy.
Only the curve of her skirt was lower than ever before.
"Did I do well today?"
Sansa's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible coquetry and a desire for praise.
"You did very well, Sansa."
Lynn looked up.
"Better than I imagined."
"You didn't directly use your own power, but borrowed the king's blade."
"That's very clever."
"Now that you've killed the chicken, you need to find a way to make those monkeys grateful to you."
Upon receiving Lynn's praise, Sansa's eyes grew even brighter.
She walked to Lynn's side, naturally took the wine bottle from his hand, and poured him a glass of wine.
Her warm fingertips intentionally or unintentionally brushed against Lynn's hand.
"It's all thanks to your excellent teaching, my lord."
Sansa handed the wine glass to Lynn, leaning forward slightly.
A scent, a mix of sweet lemon cake and crisp winter snow, silently wafted into Lynn's nostrils.
"I'm just an obedient good student."
Lynn took the wine glass, looking at the girl who was rapidly transforming before him.
She was like a blue rosebud about to bloom.
In the dirty soil of King's Landing, she was blossoming into her own beauty with astonishing speed.
"You said..."
Sansa's voice was very low, carrying a hint of seduction.
"A good teacher rewards his best students."
She didn't say another word, just looked at Lynn with her shimmering blue eyes, unblinking.
In her gaze, there was adoration, dependence, gratitude, and a hint of a young girl's purest admiration and possessiveness.
Lynn didn't speak, just quietly watched her.
The atmosphere in the room instantly became somewhat subtle.
The flames in the fireplace cast long shadows of the two, intertwining as if dancing a silent tango.
Sansa's heart beat fast.
She felt her cheeks burning.
She didn't know why she was doing this.
She only knew that she wanted to be closer to the man in front of her.
Even closer.
Sansa mustered her courage and took another small step forward.
The silk skirt gently brushed against Lynn's knee.
She slowly sat on the armrest of Lynn's chair.
This action, for the Sansa Stark who used to blush even when making eye contact with a man, was tantamount to dancing an erotic dance in front of the Sept of Baelor.
But she still did it.
Sansa even reached out and gently traced the outline of Lynn's lips with her fingertips.
"Lord Lynn..."
She leaned down, her warm breath caressing Lynn's ear.
"I... I want my reward."
Just as Lynn was about to say something.
"Creak--"
The door was pushed open without warning.
Myrcella walked in, smiling, carrying a basket of fruit.
"Lord Lynn, I heard you like peaches from the Arbor, I specifically--"
Her voice abruptly cut off the moment she saw the scene in the room.
Lynn was stunned.
Myrcella looked at Sansa Stark, who was sitting on Lynn's armrest, in an extremely intimate posture with him.
She looked at Sansa's face, which had instantly flushed red with shame and panic from being interrupted.
Then she looked at Lynn.
Myrcella gently placed the fruit basket on the table, then elegantly lifted her skirt and curtsied to both of them.
"Excuse me."
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