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The King's Bedchamber.
CLANG!
A goblet of solid gold hit the floor, and the sound rang off every wall.
"Get out. All of you — get out!"
Joffrey wrenched himself upright in bed, eyes bloodshot, chest heaving.
Everything from last night played through his mind on a loop. Pycelle's blood. His mother's terrified face. And Lynn's black eyes, calm and knowing, missing nothing.
He had killed a man. He had avenged his father. He had learned the secret that could shatter his entire existence.
He had even taken the mother who had spent his whole life looming over him and thrown her at Lynn like something he didn't want anymore.
He had done everything he wanted to do.
So why did his chest feel like someone had stuffed a boulder inside it?
Especially when he thought of Cersei.
She was vicious. She was despicable. But she was still his mother.
And right now she was in the Hand's Tower.
...
Most likely in another man's bed.
The moment that image formed, something savage ignited in Joffrey's gut and shot upward through his ribs, through his lungs, scorching everything in its path.
She was his mother.
Even if he didn't want her. Even if he wanted to kill her himself. It was not Lynn's turn to touch her.
Lynn.
Again, Lynn.
That name sat on his skull like a black mountain he couldn't climb, couldn't move, couldn't escape. The man knew his greatest secret. The man held his life in his hands.
And now the man had his mother.
The worst of it , the part that twisted in him like a blade , was that Joffrey couldn't allow himself even one thought of defiance.
Because Lynn was a loyal subject.
Lynn was protecting him.
That understanding made the humiliation into something uglier. Something with no name.
"Your Grace. It's time for breakfast."
The voice was soft. Liana came through the door like a fawn stepping into a clearing, quiet and unhurried, a tray balanced in her hands.
"I said get out!" Joffrey spun toward her.
Liana didn't flinch. She set the tray down, crossed to his side, and looked at him with those gentle eyes , eyes that reflected every bit of his rage without judgment.
"Are you still troubled over the Queen Mother?"
"Troubled?" Joffrey bristled. "Why would I be troubled? That woman got exactly what she deserved. Handing her to Lynn was doing her a favor."
Liana exhaled slowly, the sound like a feather settling onto restless water.
"Your Grace, I understand your anger. But she is still your mother. Blood is blood."
"And what you've done — it may draw criticism from the nobles of Westeros."
"Let them talk. I'm the king."
"Yes." Her voice stayed gentle. "You are the king."
Something in the way she said it carried weight , not flattery, but direction.
"And a king who is merciful, who is magnanimous, is a king his people will love."
"You don't want the world thinking you can't even suffer your own mother's existence. Do you?"
Joffrey dragged a hand through his golden hair, jaw tight, nothing to say.
He knew she was right. He knew the logic perfectly well.
He just couldn't swallow it.
Then a guard came crashing through the door, skidding to his knees on the stone floor.
"Your Grace!"
"What?!" Joffrey's head snapped up , here, finally, was somewhere to aim his anger.
The guard's voice shook. "The Queen Mother — she's come back."
"What?"
Joffrey was on his feet in an instant, face stripped of every other expression, nothing left but shock and fury.
She was back?
Lynn had one night with her, grew bored, and threw her back like rubbish?
A rage hotter and faster than anything before it punched straight up through his skull.
What did that man think his mother was? A whore he could pick up and discard whenever it suited him?
"Bring her in."
Joffrey moved to the center of the hall. His fists were tight at his sides. He had already thought of a hundred ways to take her apart.
Cersei appeared in the doorway.
She was a wreck.
The same gown she'd worn last night , wine-stained, dusted, creased beyond saving. Her golden hair hung loose and tangled around a face that had been beautiful once and now only looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen and red. She'd been crying all night.
"Well." Joffrey looked at her, and everything he had been suppressing rose to the surface at once. His voice came out sharp as a knife. "Look who it is."
"Our noble, magnificent Queen Mother."
"What happened — did your new master throw you out?"
"Tsk. Pathetic. I honestly thought you'd manage to keep his bed warm for a few more days."
Every word landed. Joffrey watched them land.
In the old days she would have hit him for a quarter of that.
But Cersei just stood there. Head down. Still. She let him say every word, and she did not move.
Lynn's voice ran through her head.
Let him see the most humble, most pitiful mother.
Joffrey read her silence as guilt and rode it.
"Nothing to say? You always had something to say. You were never short of words."
"Is this meant to make me feel sorry for you? It won't work. I promise you that."
"A vicious, lowly woman like you belongs in Flea Bottom, with the lice-ridden beggars , "
He never finished.
THUD
Cersei's knees hit the marble.
No hesitation. No stumble. She simply went down, straight and clean, onto the cold stone floor.
Every word died in Joffrey's throat.
He stared at her. He couldn't help it. He stared at the woman who had spent his entire life with her chin raised, who had looked at every person in Westeros like they existed beneath her , kneeling in front of him like it cost her nothing.
She had knelt. Completely. Without a fight.
"Joffrey."
She raised her face. The tear tracks were still wet, but the resentment was gone. The bitterness he had known since childhood was gone. In their place was something he had never seen there before.
Devotion.
"You were right," she said.
Her voice didn't waver.
"I was wrong. I was wrong from the very beginning."
"I always tried to control you."
"But I forgot , I was foolish enough to forget , that you are a born king."
"You see further than I do. Further than Tywin. Further than Robert." She held his gaze. "Further than any king who has ever sat a throne in Westeros."
Her voice trembled, barely, with something that looked like feeling.
"Yesterday, in that council chamber , I finally saw you for what you are."
"You put Pycelle down without a moment's hesitation. You avenged your father. That courage, that decisiveness , Tywin never had it. Not like that."
"And in that moment I understood. Under your rule, Westeros will know a glory it has never seen."
"I am proud of you."
She looked up at him.
"My king."
Joffrey stopped thinking.
He stood there with his mouth open, and for a moment the world was just a low buzzing hum, like his skull had been filled with warm honey.
She was praising him.
She was in awe of him.
He had broken her.
Something vast and volcanic rose through his chest and kept rising until he felt almost weightless with it, like his feet might leave the floor.
So that's it.
After everything , after last night, after all of it , she had finally looked at him and seen what he actually was.
"I made so many mistakes." Fresh tears came to Cersei's eyes, but these were different. Relief lived in them. Something close to peace. "I only want to stay now. I don't want to be Queen Mother. I don't want titles or power. I only want to be a mother. The most ordinary mother. One who can watch from a distance, in silence, while her great son remakes this kingdom."
She crawled forward two steps on her knees and looked up at him from below.
"Please." Her voice broke, just slightly. "My king. Give me that. Give me the chance to stay."
"Even if you put me in the darkest stable in the Red Keep, I will be grateful."
Joffrey's breathing had gone shallow.
He looked down at her , his mother, on her knees on the cold floor, begging. Not performing. Begging.
He felt like a god.
The only god. The kind who decided who lived and who died, whose will bent the will of others. The kind no one questioned.
He had won.
Completely. Utterly. He hadn't just made her submit , he had reached inside her and made her worship him.
He threw his head back and laughed. It poured out of him, open and unrestrained.
Then he walked toward her.
"Very well."
He said it the way a deity speaks to a supplicant.
"Since you are my mother, I'll be generous. You may stay."
"But." His eyes went cold at the edges. "You don't get to live here. No servants. No jewels. No power. None of it."
"I'm putting you in that derelict tower beside the Great Sept of Baelor."
"You'll stay there. And with your own eyes, you'll watch me become the greatest king this world has ever seen."
Cersei looked up at him. Her face was open, luminous with gratitude.
"Thank you for your mercy, my king. Your light will guide me, always."
Joffrey grunted, satisfied, and waved his hand.
"Take her."
Two Gold Cloaks came forward and hauled Cersei to her feet with the roughness reserved for prisoners, and started dragging her toward the door.
She didn't resist. Docile as a lamb.
They were almost through the doorway when a voice cut across the room.
"Stop."
Everyone froze.
Lynn was standing at the entrance. No one had heard him arrive. His dark silhouette filled the doorway, blocking the light from outside, his expression unreadable.
He walked in, slow and unhurried, his gaze moving past Joffrey, past the guards, landing on Cersei.
The triumph was still bright on Joffrey's face. He saw Lynn and straightened instinctively, chest out.
Lynn didn't look at him.
He only looked at Cersei. The corner of his mouth lifted , not quite a smile, but something that carried meaning.
"Cersei."
His voice was easy, almost conversational. In front of everyone , the guards, the king, all of them , he spoke to the woman who had just lost everything as if the room belonged to him.
"Now why would you sneak out without telling me?"
➤ Next: The Incompetent Joffrey
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