The Red Keep. Small Council Chamber. Night.
Oppressive as always.
Dragon skulls hung on the walls. Cast grotesque shadows in the firelight. Loomed over the realm's most powerful men seated below.
But tonight, the air held something new.
Blood.
The smell seemed to seep through the tourney's stone floors. Through thick walls. Into this chamber—symbol of the kingdom's highest power. Clinging to everyone's nostrils.
Robert Baratheon slouched on the Iron Throne reserved for the king.
He'd changed clothes. But the reek of wine and post-slaughter euphoria still clung to him like grease.
He toyed with a gold cup studded with rubies. Cloudy eyes swept over everyone present. Suspicion and impatience in every glance.
Eddard Stark sat in the Hand's seat. Spine straight. His face was expressionless. Gray eyes revealed nothing.
Renly Baratheon. Master of Ships. Robert's youngest brother.
He wore his usual exquisite velvet doublet. But his face—usually graced with an elegant smile—was now shadowed by undisguised disgust.
He looked at his brother like he was staring at a filthy, hopeless boar.
Varys. Master of Whisperers.
The rotund eunuch wore his usual flowing silk robes. Hands tucked in sleeves. A gentle, humble smile on his face. But his small eyes—hidden behind folds of fat—were sharp as a hawk's. Missing no detail on anyone's face.
Grand Maester Pycelle. Ancient and slow.
He hunched in his seat. Long white beard nearly touching the table. Looked like he'd fall asleep any moment.
But everyone knew: this old dog's ears were sharper than anyone's.
Finally—Lynn.
He sat calmly beside Ned. As if the suffocating tension had nothing to do with him. Just waiting for this scripted play's final curtain.
"Cough..."
Robert hacked loudly. Drew everyone's attention.
"Petyr Baelish. That vile traitor. He's in hell now. Being judged by the Seven."
Robert's voice was brutal.
"But the realm can't go without a Master of Coin. Today, we choose someone new to manage my purse!"
His gaze swept the room. Landed on Ned. The challenge and warning in his eyes were naked.
Ned remained expressionless. As if he hadn't noticed.
"Your Grace."
Queen Cersei spoke.
She wore a black gown tonight. Golden hair pinned back. Exposed her long, pale neck. Her beautiful face held just the right amount of concern.
"The Master of Coin position is critical. I believe the new candidate must be someone we trust absolutely."
Cersei's voice was still melodious. Like a clear stream. Briefly cutting the room's oppressive atmosphere.
"I recommend my uncle. Ser Kevan Lannister. He's assisted my father managing the Westerlands' finances for years. Experienced. Utterly loyal to the crown. He's the perfect choice."
Kevan Lannister.
Tywin's younger brother. A capable man. Forever in Tywin's shadow.
Making him Master of Coin meant handing the realm's purse directly to Casterly Rock.
Clever.
Lynn's peripheral vision flicked to Cersei. This woman never missed a chance to seize power.
As Cersei spoke, Lynn felt something soft and warm brush his calf. The sensation—like slippery silk. A barely perceptible tickle.
Lynn didn't move. Didn't even lift an eyelid.
He knew who it was.
Cersei's foot.
The table was narrow. Cersei had long legs. If she leaned forward slightly, easy to reach.
That foot—clad in delicate silk slippers—now slithered up his leg like a serpent. The shoe's curve traced his muscle lines through the fabric. Drew circles.
The pressure—not light, not heavy. Teasing yet maintaining noble restraint.
She was seducing him. Testing him.
Cersei needed Lynn's support. If Lynn agreed with her proposal, given his current weight in Robert's mind, the matter was practically decided.
In return, this noble queen wouldn't mind letting him taste what only the king should taste. Some deep night.
Lynn's face remained calm. He almost found it funny.
This foolish woman still thought such crude body transactions could move him. Cersei didn't understand: real power was never fucked into existence.
The foot grew bolder. It circled his knee. Reached his inner thigh. The most sensitive area.
The toe spun at the crease of his leg. Every touch heavy with suggestion.
Cersei's beautiful face now wore a confident, contemptuous smile. She thought no man could resist this.
Lynn finally moved.
He didn't pull his leg back. Just leaned forward slightly. Picked up his empty wine cup. Made a silent toast toward Cersei.
His gaze was calm. Deep.
Cersei's foot stopped.
She read his eyes.
No desire. No greed. Not even rejection.
Watching a performance.
Lynn was telling her: he wouldn't interfere. He'd sit like an audience member. Quietly watch her perform. Watch everyone perform.
Cersei's heart sank.
Why? Isn't House Lannister's friendship—and the queen's body—enough to tempt him? If Lynn wanted, she'd let him ride her however he pleased. What more does he want?
Cersei withdrew her foot subtly. Raised her wine cup. Masked the shock and resentment in her eyes.
"Ser Kevan is indeed a fine choice."
Varys's oily voice chimed in.
"However, summoning him from the Westerlands will take considerable time. The treasury can't wait that long."
He seemed to agree. But was actually opposing.
Lynn and Varys were currently on the same side. He couldn't let the Lannisters dominate unchecked.
"Then who do you think is suitable?" Robert snapped impatiently.
"Your Grace, in my view, the new Master of Coin needs one thing above all: cleanliness."
Varys bowed humbly.
"He must be a blank slate. No stains. No baggage. Only then can he serve Your Grace wholeheartedly. Without answering to anyone else."
This fat bastard and his watertight nonsense again!
"Enough!"
Robert slammed the table. Wine sloshed from his cup.
"I don't want to hear your bullshit! Do you all think I'm a fucking idiot?! There's no such perfect person in this world!"
Robert's roar echoed through the chamber. He'd lost control again.
Ned ignored the raving king. Renly's face flashed undisguised disgust and worry. Cersei's lips curved into an imperceptible sneer.
She loved watching Robert like this. The madder he got, the faster he'd die.
Just as everyone thought this meeting would end in another pointless shouting match—
Robert's manic face suddenly broke into a smile.
That smile made everyone present feel a chill down their spines.
Robert remembered what Lynn had told him earlier. That genius idea that made him tremble with excitement!
Yes! Exactly!
"I found him."
Robert spoke slowly. Voice tinged with morbid euphoria.
"I found someone absolutely loyal. Who can be the trump card in my hand. The perfect Master of Coin!"
Everyone froze.
Robert slowly rose from the throne. He savored this moment—everyone staring at him with confusion and awe.
He was the king! He decided everything!
"I declare—"
Robert's voice rang like a bell.
"From today, the realm's new Master of Coin is..."
He paused deliberately. Enjoyed their tense expressions.
Then his gaze landed on Eddard Stark.
"Sansa Stark!"
The words detonated in the silent chamber.
BOOM.
Cersei's sneer froze instantly. Her beautiful green eyes widened. Filled with disbelief.
She thought she'd misheard.
Robert said what? Sansa Stark? That Northern girl who only dreamed of being a lady? Master of Coin?! He's insane! Completely, utterly insane!
Renly Baratheon's mouth fell open. For the first time, his elegant face showed such loss of composure. He stared at his brother like he was a monster from another world.
Grand Maester Pycelle's drowsy eyes snapped open. His long maester's chain rattled violently as his body shook.
Is this right?
Varys. The eunuch who always wore a mysterious smile—his smile vanished. His small eyes showed undisguised shock.
He thought he controlled all of King's Landing's secrets. Thought he could see through everyone's minds. But this scene completely exceeded his comprehension.
This makes no sense!
Eddard Stark already knew everything from Lynn on the way here. But to avoid suspicion, he still looked "shocked."
"HA... HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Robert erupted in manic laughter at their expressions. He pointed at Ned. At his former brother.
"How about it, Ned? This is my compensation to you! And my warning to you and Catelyn!"
"Let your daughter manage my purse! Let her report every gold dragon's movement to me daily! Let her spend the rest of her life proving House Stark's 'loyalty'!"
Robert's laughter echoed through the empty chamber. Filled with cruel delight.
The entire Small Council had erupted into chaos.
[END CHAPTER 201]
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