Lynn's words stirred tremendous waves in Sansa's heart. Master of Coin? These four words—like a story from another world. Distant, strange, even absurd.
Sansa's face: blank. Those beautiful blue eyes widened. Lips parted. Couldn't speak for ages. Her brain felt stuffed with tangled threads. Completely unable to think. Women could sit in the Master of Coin's position?
"Me?" Sansa finally found her voice. "Lord Lynn... You... you must be joking." She instinctively shook her head. As if this could deny that mad notion.
"I don't know anything... I can't do arithmetic, can't even read ledgers... I only know how to sing, embroider, recite the Seven-Pointed Star..." Sansa's voice grew lower. That confidence Lynn just built crumbled in this moment.
She was a lady. A qualified, perfect lady. Since childhood, taught how to smile, walk, please and serve her future husband, manage a castle's domestic affairs. But those teachings never included a single lesson on managing a kingdom's purse. That was men's domain. A world she could never touch.
"Who told you the Master of Coin needs arithmetic?" Lynn's calm voice interrupted her self-denial. He looked at Sansa. Those deep eyes held no trace of jest.
"Sansa, could Petyr Baelish do arithmetic?"
"Of course he could. He could even count every gold dragon in the realm clearly. Then figure out how to turn them into gold dragons in his own pocket."
Lynn walked before Sansa. Led her to sit. "Power has many forms. Queen Cersei's power comes from her surname and the king's title. Lady Margaery's power comes from Highgarden's granaries and armies. Their power is good—but depends on others. When the king no longer favors Cersei, when Highgarden's armies are defeated, their power vanishes."
Lynn's voice dropped low. Shattered all Sansa's naive fantasies about "power" from the past dozen years.
"But one kind of power truly belongs to you. You don't need to understand complex accounts. I'll bring you the shrewdest accountants from the Iron Bank of Braavos. They'll handle everything. You don't even need to attend those tedious Small Council meetings. Listen to old men argue red-faced over copper pennies."
Lynn's gaze locked on Sansa. As if injecting courage into her. "You only need to sit there. Your name is Sansa Stark. You're the eldest daughter of the Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell. Daughter of the Hand of the King, Prime Minister of the Seven Kingdoms. Your identity is your greatest power."
"You sitting in that position represents House Stark's will. All the North's will. Anyone wanting to touch the realm's purse must have your consent. Who dares question you questions your father. Questions all the North!"
Sansa's breathing stopped. She felt her whole body trembling. She'd never imagined: this identity everyone—including herself—considered a weakness could become the most unbreakable weapon in Lynn's mouth.
"And I—" Lynn's voice dropped lower. Carried irresistible magic. "I'm the King-Beyond-the-Wall beyond the North. I'll fully support you. Anyone opposing you faces my wrath. Anyone might fall. But I won't. As long as I fully support you, with me as your backing, no one can touch you. Understand, Sansa?"
Those last words hammered heavily on Sansa's heart. Her mind roared. Fear, excitement, confusion, and an unprecedented feeling filled her heart.
She remembered Joffrey's handsome yet twisted face. Cersei's green eyes always carrying contempt and scrutiny. Every King's Landing noble who smiled to her face but hid viper hearts behind. She was tired. Tired of being a little bird. Only singing in cages, songs others had already written.
She wanted to fly. Even if flying out meant crashing bloodied, she wanted to see the world outside the cage with her own eyes.
Sansa looked at Lynn before her. This man painting a path she'd never imagined. A path covered in thorns, yet leading to true freedom and power.
Next second, she made a move that even surprised Lynn. Sansa lifted her elaborate gown. Movements elegant yet resolute. She slowly knelt on one knee before Lynn. No longer a lady's curtsy.
Lynn's face finally showed a trace of smile. He extended his hand. Those palms—broad, warm—pulled Sansa up from the cold floor.
"Sansa. Remember. From today, I'll protect you. You're no longer a bird in a cage. You're destined to be an eagle soaring above King's Landing."
Next day. Morning sunlight just bathed the Red Keep's courtyard. Lynn stood on the Hand's Tower balcony. Watched that swaggering figure in the training yard below.
Joffrey Baratheon. This future king—like a child not yet grown. He held a greatsword taller than himself. Laboriously hacked at a straw dummy. Movements clumsy, comical. But his expression—vicious as a bloodthirsty beast.
Beside him, the Hound—Sandor Clegane—held his signature dog helm. Expressionless. Silent. Since the duel date was set, Sandor grew increasingly silent. His violent aura seemed restrained. Like a sharp blade sheathed. All edges pointed toward seven days hence. Toward his nightmare brother.
Lynn's mental chessboard was laid out. Cersei, Margaery, Sansa... Each piece in position. But Joffrey—this most crucial, most unstable piece—still wandered outside the board.
To control a mad dog, the best method isn't putting a collar on it. But becoming the only one who dares feed it raw meat.
"Your Grace, seems you're in good spirits." Lynn's voice clearly reached the training yard.
Joffrey—struggling with the straw man—whipped around. Seeing Lynn on the balcony, his flushed face instantly brightened. He dropped the giant sword. Like a puppy seeing its master. Excitedly ran over.
"Lynn! You came! I was just going to find you! Did you see my dog? He can't wait to pull his brother's guts out! This'll be King's Landing's most spectacular duel ever!"
His words—cruel yet naive. Joffrey secretly tortured small animals. Such cruel, violent nature wasn't surprising.
"Duels are spectacular, but a true king can't only indulge in daytime bloodshed." Lynn descended the stairs. Came before him. Tone casual—like a brother teaching his younger sibling.
Joffrey froze. Confused. "What do you mean?"
"Your father, King Robert—in his youth, a great warrior." Lynn's lips curved mysteriously. He lowered his voice. Leaned to Joffrey's ear. "But you know what your great father likes doing most at night?"
Joffrey blankly shook his head. He only knew Father got blind drunk every night. Then roared and yelled.
"He likes experiencing his subjects' lives." Lynn's tone carried temptation. "Going to the liveliest, most real places. To drink, hear stories, find pleasures a king can't find by day."
Lynn painted Robert's debauchery as a charming kingly bearing. Joffrey's eyes lit up. He'd heard rumors of Father's romantic affairs. But in Mother's and the Hand's mouths, those were shameful, disgraceful. But in Lynn's description, it all sounded... so alluring, full of masculine charm!
"Want to experience it?" Lynn cast the hook. "Like a real man, a real king—see this city's unknown other side."
"I... of course I want to!" Joffrey's chest instantly puffed up. He couldn't wait to prove he was already a man.
"Then change out of that ridiculous prince's robe. Dress like a commoner." Lynn satisfiedly patted Joffrey's shoulder. "Tonight, I'll show you King's Landing's true face."
Night fell. King's Landing shed its daylight disguise. Revealed its truest, ugliest side. Two figures wrapped in dark cloaks slipped out a secluded Red Keep side door.
Joffrey trembled with excitement. More thrilling than any hunt. He felt like a hero on a secret mission from songs. Full of adventurous pleasure.
Lynn led him. Expertly navigated filthy, winding alleys. Passing Flea Bottom, that stench mixed with poverty, filth, despair made Joffrey cover his nose.
"The king comes to places like this?" Joffrey asked with disgust.
"Kings rule all subjects. Whether silk-clad nobles or naked beggars." Lynn's voice—especially calm in the night. "You must understand them to better rule them. Or..."
Lynn paused. Lips curved with inexplicable smile. "...destroy them."
Those last four words stabbed Joffrey's heart. Made him shiver uncontrollably, yet feel strange dark pleasure. Destroy. What beautiful words.
They finally stopped before a stone building hung with red lanterns on the Street of Silk. Unlike the dilapidated brothels along the way, this place seemed exceptionally elegant. Music and women's silvery laughter drifted from inside. The air thick with expensive spice fragrance.
"Where's this?" Joffrey nervously swallowed.
"Your Grace, this is my property. You needn't worry anyone will know you came here. You can enjoy yourself tonight."
Lynn smiled. Pushed open the carved wooden door. The scene beyond made Joffrey freeze instantly.
Warm air mixed with wine fragrance, powder scent, ambiguous smell hit him. The hall had thick Myrish carpets. Walls hung with Volantene tapestries depicting carnal pleasures. Several women in sheer silk, graceful figures, teased a pot-bellied merchant. Their laughter—seductive to the bone. Eyes soul-stealing.
This was originally one of Petyr Baelish's highest-end properties. A gilded den providing top-tier pleasures for princes, nobles, wealthy merchants. Now Lynn not only took it over but perfected it beyond Petyr's work.
Every woman taught modern professional techniques. Some even studying pole dancing. They learned flirtation. Not just stripping, lying on beds like dead pigs. And they learned using soap. Made themselves cleaner. Just their scent made these natives intoxicated.
Joffrey felt blood rush to his head instantly. He'd seen Red Keep servants. But those humble women compared to these beauties—like potatoes in mud.
Everything here shocked him. Frightened him. Yet gave him mad excitement.
A woman in red silk dress, fiery curls, swayed her serpentine waist over. Seeing Lynn, her eyes brightened. Face instantly filled with fawning smiles.
"Lord Lynn, it's been days since you visited." Her voice—sickeningly sweet. "And this is?" Her gaze fell on Joffrey. Despite the plain cloak, that handsome yet childish face and unconcealable arrogance still exposed his identity.
Lynn's hand rested on Joffrey's shoulder. Could clearly feel Joffrey trembling slightly. Fear and anticipation.
"My brother. First time out seeing the world." Lynn flashed the woman a meaningful smile. He lowered his head. Lips to Joffrey's ear. Voice only they could hear: "Welcome to power's other playground, Your Grace."
Joffrey's pupils contracted sharply. He looked at the debauched men and women in the hall. Those beauties casting flirtatious glances. Shock and fear of misbehaving rapidly fading. Replaced by curious eyes. A child discovering a new toy's gaze.
Lynn smiled. Good. Lesson one for the little mad dog—now begins.
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