Joffrey watched this vivid, sensual scene. Felt his breathing turn scorching. Those women Mother called filthy—how could they be like this? Was this right?
Their skin—whiter than the Red Keep's noblest ladies. Their smiles—sweeter than honey. Their eyes... like little hooks. Could steal away souls!
This was completely different from his imagination. This wasn't a filthy den. This was heaven forged from desire and gold.
"Rose." Lynn spoke lightly to the approaching redhead. "This is my best friend." Lynn's hand still rested on Joffrey's shoulder. That steady strength calmed Joffrey's wildly beating heart considerably.
"He's of noble status. His standards... very high." Lynn's gaze swept Rose's shrewd yet seductive face. Words carrying unquestionable command. "Find the cleanest, gentlest, most sensible girl. Make her understand: tonight she's not serving an ordinary customer. But a future lion."
Future lion. Rose's heart jumped. She could run this gilded den successfully—not just on beauty. She instantly understood Lynn's deeper meaning. This "friend" Lynn brought—looking somewhat young, yet eyes showing innate arrogance and cruelty—his identity was absolutely extraordinary. Perhaps even...
Rose didn't dare think further. Her smile grew more fawning. Those expressive eyes full of "I understand."
"Rest assured, my lord." Rose cast Joffrey a flirtatious glance. That amorous manner made Joffrey's cheeks heat. Instinctively puffed his chest. "My women have no other skills—just know how to pamper people. I guarantee your friend will experience kingly pleasure."
She swayed her waist. Led them through the noisy hall up velvet-carpeted stairs. To the third floor's most secluded, luxurious suite.
The room burned expensive incense. Warm air thick with bone-melting ambiguous scent. "Please wait, gentlemen." Rose curtsied. Tactfully withdrew. Closed the door behind her.
Only Lynn and Joffrey remained. Joffrey seemed somewhat uneasy. Like a young beast entering a hunting ground for the first time. Excited yet nervous. He walked to the window. Watched the pleasure-seeking men and women below. His Adam's apple rolled uncontrollably.
"Lynn..." Joffrey spoke uncertainly. "Here... is it really safe?"
"My property. What do you think?" Lynn poured himself Dornish red wine. Leisurely sat on the soft sofa. "Besides, here you're not a prince. I'm not a lord. We're just two men looking for fun. Your only concern: whether you can walk tomorrow morning."
Lynn's words carried that tacit teasing between adult men. Made Joffrey's pitiful self-esteem instantly inflate.
"I... of course I'm fine!" He retorted with false bravado.
Just then—gentle knocking on the door. A soft female voice from outside. "My lord, may I enter?"
"Come in." Lynn spoke lightly.
The door opened. A figure gracefully entered. Joffrey instinctively looked back. That instant—his breathing stopped.
Entering was a girl in pale purple sheer silk. She looked barely sixteen or seventeen. Golden hair cascaded like a waterfall over her shoulders. Shimmered softly in candlelight. Features exquisite as a statue. Skin white, nearly transparent. Sky-blue eyes—like summer's purest lake. Crystal clear.
She had no body odor. No cheap perfume scent of common powder. Only fresh fragrance like grass after rain. More like a sheltered noblewoman. Ignorant of the world. Setting aside identity—she even looked more beautiful than Sansa Stark. Purer than Myrcella.
"My lord." The girl walked before Lynn. Elegantly curtsied. Voice like a clear spring flowing over stones. Pleasant to hear.
"Her name is Lyana." Lynn pointed to Joffrey beside him. "Tonight, he's yours."
"Yes, my lord." Lyana raised her head. Gaze turned to Joffrey. When she saw Joffrey's face clearly, those clear blue eyes instantly bloomed with incredible surprise and worship. Her small mouth parted slightly. Like seeing an unbelievable miracle.
"Gods..." Lyana uttered a dreamy gasp. Instinctively covered her mouth with her hand. "You... you are..." Her voice trembled. Of course, so did her body. Those beautiful eyes brimmed with undisguised admiration and infatuation.
Joffrey felt somewhat at a loss under her gaze. He was used to people fearing him, flattering him. But no one had ever looked at him with this... almost pilgrimage-like gaze. Like those fools looking at Seven Gods statues!
"What? Do you have other thoughts?" Lynn chuckled from the side.
"No... no..." Lyana quickly shook her head. Her cheeks flushed with an attractive blush from excitement. She looked at Joffrey. Stammered: "I... I've seen you... At the tourney, you sat beside His Grace... You were dazzling as the sun... I... I never imagined I could... could see you this close..."
Her voice full of girlish shyness and sincerity. That heartfelt worship—no acting could fake. Joffrey's heart—in that instant—felt gently caressed by a warm hand. His heart—hardened and twisted from years of neglect and mockery—actually cracked slightly.
"Alright, my task is done." Lynn stood. Drained the last sip of red wine. Lynn walked to the door. Looked back at Joffrey—completely captivated by Lyana. Lips curved imperceptibly.
Then Lynn nodded slightly to Lyana. "Enjoy yourself, Your Grace. Tonight's on me."
Finished speaking, Lynn pulled open the door. Walked out. Left the entire world to the two people in the room.
The moment the door closed, Joffrey felt his heart beat faster. He looked at Lyana before him. This dreamlike girl—gazing at him with worship and adoration. "You... you must be Prince Joffrey, right?" Lyana's voice carried uncertainty. Like confirming a beautiful dream's reality.
Joffrey cleared his throat. Tried making his voice sound more authoritative. "That's right. I'm Joffrey."
"Seven Gods above!" Lyana sighed happily. She carefully walked before Joffrey. Movements gentle as a butterfly. "May I... may I touch your hand?" She asked in an almost pleading tone. Those blue eyes full of expectation.
Joffrey froze. Still inexplicably extended his hand. Lyana reached out her soft, boneless hands. Gently held Joffrey's hand. Her fingertips traced the calluses in his palm—marks from recent sword practice.
"Your hand... so strong..." Lyana's face showed an intoxicating blush. "This... this must be from years of sword training, right? I've never seen a warrior as handsome and powerful as you... Heroes in minstrels' songs would pale before you."
Her voice—light, soft. Every word like magic. Precisely hammering the place in Joffrey's heart most craving recognition.
Powerful? Warrior? Joffrey felt dizzy. His father Robert always called him a coward who only played with crossbows. His swordsmanship teacher—Kingsguard Ser Meryn Trant—only taught him perfunctorily. No one had ever used such words to describe him.
"I... of course I'm a warrior!" Joffrey's chest puffed higher uncontrollably. "I practice swordsmanship every day! And someday, I'll be stronger than my father!"
"I believe you!" Lyana nodded vigorously. Those blue eyes shone with firm light. "You're a born king. The Seven Kingdoms' rightful heir. The lion destined to rule the Seven Kingdoms!"
She released Joffrey's hand. Walked behind him. Used her soft hands to gently massage his shoulders. That pressure—just right. Carried strange magic. Made Joffrey's tense body instantly relax.
"Your Grace, you must be tired, right? Let me serve you—bathe and dress you, alright?" Her voice like a bewitching spell. Made Joffrey unable to refuse.
He became a puppet. Let Lyana remove his plain cloak. Unbutton his clothes. When he stood naked in the warm bath. Felt those soft hands gently washing him—Joffrey felt like he was floating on clouds.
He'd never had such an experience. Red Keep servants serving him always carried fear and distance. His mother Cersei—though she loved him—that love carried suffocating control. Only Lyana.
Her gaze held no fear. No calculation. Only pure, unreserved worship and adoration. She praised Joffrey's "strong" body. Praised his "handsome" face. Praised his innate "kingly aura."
In her mouth, Joffrey was no longer that wayward prince disdained by Father, looked down upon by ministers. He was a god about to rule the world.
Joffrey completely fell. He began boasting endlessly about his "heroic deeds." He told her how he "bravely repelled" rioters on King's Landing streets. How he precisely shot commoners a hundred paces away with his crossbow. He gilded all his cruelty and stupidity as decisiveness and wisdom.
And Lyana remained the most faithful audience. She watched him with the most worshipful eyes. Praised him with the most beautiful words. Satisfied all Joffrey's innermost fantasies about heroes and power.
That night. Joffrey felt he truly lived for the first time. He was no longer someone's son, someone's prince. He was a man. A conqueror. A true king!
Next morning. When first sunlight shone through the window on his face, Joffrey slowly opened his eyes. Hangover headache didn't appear. Instead—unprecedented refreshment. He felt his body full of strength. As if one punch could kill a lion.
He turned his head. Saw Lyana sleeping beside him. The girl lay on her side. Golden hair covered the pillow. Long lashes cast quiet shadows in morning light. She slept deeply. Lips still held a satisfied sweet smile.
Looking at her pure, flawless sleeping face, Joffrey felt strong possessiveness surge. This woman was his. The first woman in this world who truly appreciated him. Worshipped him.
He carefully sat up from bed. Didn't want to wake her. He dressed. Walked outside. Lynn already waited there.
"Your Grace, did you sleep well last night?" Lynn's face held a knowing smile.
"Good... very good!" Joffrey answered instinctively. Cheeks somewhat hot.
"This is a king's life, isn't it?" Lynn patted his shoulder. "The Iron Throne is responsibility. Here is enjoying power's fruits. Only kings who truly know how to enjoy power can better exercise it."
Joffrey nodded half-understanding. But completely agreed with Lynn's words. Wasn't power meant for enjoyment? Otherwise what's power for?
Last night's experience—more satisfying and joyful than sitting on the Iron Throne receiving ten thousand people's worship.
"Lord Lynn... my best friend..." Joffrey hesitated. Still couldn't help asking. "When... when can I come again?"
He couldn't wait to see Lyana again. Experience again that feeling of being worshipped. Looked up to. Served like a god. He'd tasted the marrow. Completely addicted.
Lynn smiled. Little fish—hooked.
"Of course, Your Grace." Lynn's eyes deepened. He looked at Joffrey's face full of longing. Slowly spoke. "As long as Your Grace wishes, you can come every day."
Lynn's tone shifted. Said somewhat regretfully: "Lyana's parents died when she was young. Alone and pitiful. A poor girl forced onto this path to survive. If Your Grace wants to see her, you'll need to book in advance. After all, she still has to receive other customers."
Watching Joffrey's face gradually darken, Lynn knew his goal was achieved. He chuckled lightly. Then turned and left.
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