Everyone froze. Even breathing became cautious. Ned Stark's face turned from red to blue, then blue to white. He looked at Joffrey—slapped to the ground, mouth bleeding, yet still desperately protecting that girl. Then at Cersei beside him—already trembling with rage.
Finally, his gaze fell on the furious Robert. He wanted to say something. Seek justice for his daughter. Question why the king tolerated the prince humiliating House Stark like this. But all words ultimately became a heavy sigh.
Regardless, at least the betrothal would definitely be dissolved. His precious daughter Sansa—finally wouldn't have to marry this moody, cruel, violent madman. Wasn't this a kind of liberation for him, for Sansa, for all House Stark?
"Your Grace, please calm down." Finally, Jaime Lannister stepped forward. He supported his sister—swaying with rage. Glanced complexly at Joffrey on the ground. Spoke steadily to Robert: "Joffrey's still just a child. He..."
"A child?" Robert sounded like he'd heard the world's greatest joke. He pointed at Joffrey's nose. Spittle spraying Jaime's face. "Fuck, he's still a child? When I was fifteen, I was already smashing enemy skulls with my warhammer! And him? He only knows how to publicly humiliate his future queen!"
Cersei's body stiffened sharply. Those green eyes instantly filled with humiliation. "Robert! Watch your words! Joffrey is your son! The heir!"
"I'd rather not have this son!" Robert roared back mercilessly. Those turbid eyes—undisguised disgust. He turned away. No longer looking at that nauseating Lannister mother and son.
He strode before Ned. Fan-like hand heavily patting Ned's shoulder. "Ned, my best brother." Robert's voice full of guilt and sincerity. "I've wronged you. I'll give you an explanation for this!"
Robert took a deep breath. Turned facing all the hall's silent nobles. His bell-like voice once again echoed through the banquet hall.
"I, Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby declare! The betrothal between Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark—from this moment—is officially dissolved!"
Final verdict! The hall filled with suppressed gasps. Cersei's face turned ugly. While Joffrey—as if all strength drained—sat dumbly on the ground.
He looked at Lyana—held down by Kingsguard, watching him with "terrified despair"—the rebellion flames just ignited in his heart instantly half-extinguished. The betrothal was dissolved... He was free! But why didn't he feel happy at all? He felt like he'd lost a toy—though hated, yet incredibly important.
"As for you..." Robert's gaze fell on Joffrey. "Get back to your room! For one month, don't step outside! And that woman!" Robert pointed at Lyana. Eyes full of disgust. "For Joffrey's sake, I'll spare her life. From today, she's a Red Keep servant. Never allowed to leave this castle. And never..."
Robert's voice suddenly rose. Full of warning. "...have any possibility of marriage with the prince! A future king can never marry her as queen! This is House Baratheon's final bottom line!"
The king's decree was law. These words completely severed all Joffrey's fantasies. He could keep Lyana. But could never give her status. She could only be his shadow lover. A plaything that couldn't see daylight...
"No... Why is this happening?" Joffrey shook his head dejectedly. However, Kingsguard already lifted him. Forcibly dragged him from the banquet hall.
"Let me go! You dogs! I'm your prince! Believe it or not, I'll whip you with steel! Damn it!" Joffrey's mad roars grew distant. Finally disappeared at the corridor's end.
Lyana was roughly pulled up by two guards. Her tear-stained face full of terror and helplessness. A farce seemed to end here. But everyone knew—this was just the beginning. The Baratheon-Stark alliance showed its first crack.
Robert obviously realized this too. He irritably scratched his messy beard. Gaze swept the hall. Finally fell on that man who—from start to finish—like an outsider, calmly drank wine. Earl of the Gift, Lynn.
"Lynn!" Robert beckoned. "Come here!"
Lynn put down his cup. Under everyone's complex gazes, slowly walked before the throne. "Your Grace."
"Now, Stark's betrothal is ruined." Robert's tone carried unquestionable command. "Your marriage to Myrcella can't be delayed! Immediately send people to bring Myrcella back! I want to see a grand wedding within half a month! I want all Seven Kingdoms to know—House Baratheon's alliance with the North is unbreakable!"
He needed a new marriage. To mend the crack just created. To continue stabilizing his throne. And Lynn—this nouveau riche holding heavy troops, owning dragons—was undoubtedly the best choice.
"As you command, Your Grace." Lynn answered calmly.
"As for Sansa..." Robert's gaze turned to Ned. Face showing guilt again. "Ned, I know—an apology is far from enough. I'll compensate her." Robert pondered briefly. Waved his hand. "Tell Sansa—whatever she wants, as long as I can give it, I won't be stingy!"
Lynn's eyes flashed briefly. The king's compensation... This came at just the right time.
Night deepened. Joffrey was locked in his room. Like a caged beast. Madly smashing everything smashable. Gold plates, silver cups, statues... The luxurious room instantly became a mess.
But no matter how he vented, that humiliation and helplessness in his heart grew stronger. He hated Robert—hated his most-worshipped father publicly humiliating him! He hated Cersei—hated her only watching him with that suffocating gaze! He hated his own incompetence more! He couldn't even protect his beloved woman!
Just then—the door gently opened. A petite figure carrying a basin of warm water carefully entered. It was Lyana.
She'd changed into a plain servant's gown. The purple-blue bruises on her face made her look more pitiful. "Your Grace..." She spoke timidly.
"Get out!" Joffrey roared without looking back. Lyana trembled in fright. But didn't leave. She set down the basin. Walked behind Joffrey. Extended her soft hands. Gently hugged his waist.
"Your Grace, don't be like this... You can hit me, scold me—it's all my fault for dragging you down. But can you please stop sulking? Seeing you angry breaks my heart..."
Her voice carried sobs. Hot tears soaked Joffrey's back clothing. "It's all my fault... I brought you trouble... I'm not worthy... not worthy of your love... If my death can make you regain His Grace's favor, I'd rather die!"
Lyana reached for the small knife on the table. Pretended to stab her own heart. But Joffrey—quick-eyed, quick-handed—snatched away Lyana's "suicide" knife.
The more Lyana acted this way, the hotter Joffrey's rage burned. This rage no longer targeted others—but this unjust world! Why?! Why—as a prince—couldn't he marry his beloved woman?! Why could those sanctimonious nobles point fingers at his Lyana?!
"You're not wrong." Joffrey pulled Lyana tightly into his arms. That force almost kneading her into his bones and blood. For a woman willing to die for him, Joffrey swore to treat her well!
"They're wrong! This world is wrong!" Joffrey lowered his head. Looked at Lyana's tear-blurred face. Even after all this, those blue eyes still held that pure "worship and adoration" without any impurities.
A strong rebellious psychology exploded in Joffrey's heart. You won't let me marry her? You look down on her? Then I'll treat her well! Better than anyone! I'll give her the world's best things! I'll let everyone know! She, Lyana, is Joffrey Baratheon's most cherished woman!
"From today, you don't need to do anything." Joffrey's voice carried unquestionable obsession. "Just stay by my side. I'll protect you. Anyone daring to bully you—I'll kill them!"
He cupped Lyana's face. Kissed heavily down. No longer last night's gentleness and testing. But possession and venting plunder. Lyana obediently closed her eyes. Let him do as he pleased.
Only—beneath her lowered lashes—a barely perceptible gleam flashed and vanished.
Hand's Tower study. Sansa was writing something with a quill. While Lynn stood by the window. Watching sleeping King's Landing outside. Fingers lightly rubbing a gold dragon.
Everything—unfolding according to his written script. Joffrey this little mad dog—completely leashed by the collar named "Lyana." And King Robert's compensation also paved the final path for Sansa to sit in that position.
Knock, knock, knock. Light, rhythmic knocking sounded. Sansa also raised her head. Lynn spoke directly. "Come in."
The door opened. A figure in servant's gown flashed in. Then quickly locked the door from inside. She turned around. Exactly Lyana—just playing the weak white lotus in Joffrey's room.
Now—all weakness and terror had faded from her face. Even those pitiful tear marks vanished without trace. Those clear blue eyes no longer held worship and adoration. Only cold calm and competence remained.
She walked before Lynn. Knelt on one knee. Movements standard as the most elite Unsullied. "My lord." Her voice—steady, clear. "Mission complete."
"Good." Lynn turned. Looked down at her. "Your performance was spectacular. I'm very satisfied."
"You taught well, my lord." Lyana's face showed no pride. As if that explosive-acting person in the banquet hall and Joffrey's room wasn't her at all.
Lynn drew a money pouch from his coat. Tossed it before her. "This is your payment." Lyana glanced at the bulging pouch. But didn't pick it up.
She raised her head. Those blue eyes—for the first time in candlelight—showed emotions belonging to herself. A flame mixed with ambition and desire.
"My lord, I don't want gold dragons."
"Oh?" Lynn's brow slightly raised. "Then what do you want?"
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