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The king's bedchamber.
Joffrey stood over a massive map of Westeros, jabbing his finger at Storm's End and Dragonstone like he was punishing the parchment.
A trace of morbid pleasure lingered on his face. His brother's "accidental" death. One less heir. The throne a little more secure.
When Cersei walked in, he didn't bother turning around.
"What do you want?"
Impatience dripped from every word.
"Didn't I tell you to stay put and keep Lord Lynn entertained?"
Cersei said nothing.
She walked to the center of the hall and, a few steps short of him, dropped straight to her knees.
"My king."
Joffrey turned, surprised.
His mother was kneeling on the floor. Her face was haggard, worn , but a fire burned in it that he had never seen before.
Grief. Rage. Vengeance.
"Joffrey. My son."
Cersei raised her head. Tears spilled down without restraint.
"I've been awake all night thinking."
"I've figured it out."
"Tommen's death was no accident."
Her voice shook with the force of it.
"It was Stannis. It was Renly."
"It had to be them."
"They envy you. They covet your throne."
"Since they can't reach you, they struck at the weakest person closest to you first."
"They killed Tommen to warn you. To make you suffer."
"And you're next."
Every word was a bucket of oil poured onto a fire that was already roaring inside him.
Joffrey stood motionless.
He stared at his mother, kneeling, sobbing as if her heart were being torn out , and felt something flood through his chest. Satisfaction. Validation. A warmth so deep it was almost unbearable.
She understood.
She finally understood.
Who she truly depended on. Who the only real master of this kingdom was.
"Mother!"
He strode forward and hauled her up from the floor.
"You're right. You're completely right."
His eyes stung. He blinked hard.
This was his mother. The one who would always stand at his side, who would always believe in him.
"They deserve to die. Both of them — Stannis, Renly, those traitors — they deserve to die!"
He stepped back, fists clenched, his face twisting with fury.
"I've wanted to move against them for ages. It was grandfather, it was you — you always stopped me!"
"Not anymore. They killed Tommen. They handed me every reason I need."
"I'll raise an army. I'll take their heads myself. I'll hang their bodies from the walls of King's Landing for the whole city to see!"
"Yes, my king!"
Cersei looked at him with open, shining reverence.
"You should have done this long ago."
"Only you can lead House Baratheon to its true glory."
"Ha. Hahahaha!"
Joffrey threw his head back and laughed.
He felt like a god. Omnipotent. Unstoppable.
His Hand, Lynn, was chained to his mother. His mother had now thrown herself behind him, completely, without reservation.
Who in the entire kingdom could still defy him?
"Guards!" He bellowed at the doors. "Carry my command! Summon all the bannermen! Within three months, I want an army ready to flatten Storm's End!"
He could already picture it , both uncles on their knees before him, begging for their lives.
After drinking in that rush of power, something restless stirred beneath his skin. A dark heat with nowhere to go.
He needed a woman.
"Mother." His tone softened slightly. "Go rest. I'll avenge Tommen. I swear it."
"Yes, my king."
Cersei bowed low, turned, and walked out.
The moment her back was to him, every trace of grief and adoration fell from her face like a mask hitting the floor. What remained was cold, sharp mockery.
As soon as she was gone, Joffrey turned to the attendant at his elbow.
"Fetch the queen."
Liana arrived quickly.
She was as she always was , gentle, modest, her white gown pristine, like a lily that had never touched the dirt.
"My king."
She stopped before him and gave a small curtsy.
Joffrey pulled her into his arms, his hands already moving over her with no patience for pretense.
"Liana. My good queen."
His breathing thickened.
"I'm in a fine mood today. Keep me company."
Liana's body went stiff for just a moment. Then she relaxed , smooth, practiced, natural.
She slipped free of his embrace, a delicate flush on her cheeks.
"Your Grace, don't rush." She moved to the table nearby, lifted a silver wine jug that had been set there in advance, and poured a cup of deep crimson wine. "Drink first. Let yourself unwind."
Joffrey reached for it.
His hand stopped in midair.
Wine.
Wine again.
He had heard something, somewhere.
A voice surfaced in his memory.
Cersei. Weeping. Telling him about Robert Baratheon, that stupid beast, and what she had done.
He wanted to bed me, so I drugged him. Made him think he'd had me.
I felt sick just touching him.
Drugged.
Something shifted in Joffrey's eyes.
The heat drained out of him. In its place, cold alertness.
He looked at Liana again. Really looked.
She was exactly the same as always. Just the right shade of bashfulness. Eyes clear and soft as still water.
Perfect.
Far too perfect.
Perfect the way a mask is , when someone has spent a long time perfecting it.
He didn't move. Just stared at the cup.
"Your Grace?" Liana's voice carried a thread of puzzlement. "Is something wrong with the wine?"
"No. Nothing's wrong."
Joffrey's expression settled back into something pleasant. He took the cup, raised it to his nose, and breathed in. Rich. Fruity. Warm.
"Good wine."
Then he did something Liana did not expect.
He held the cup out to her.
"I'm happy today, my good queen. You should drink with me."
The smile on her face froze.
"Your Grace... that was poured for you..."
"I know."
He cut her off. His smile had turned playful , slow and deliberate.
"But wine this good is wasted on one person. You drink first."
No room for argument. None at all.
Liana's heart dropped.
She searched his blue eyes. The desire and heat she'd seen there moments ago were gone. What looked back at her now was cold, careful, examining.
He knows.
He can't. This drug is colorless, odorless , she'd been careful every single time. There's no way.
She was imagining things.
"Your Grace, I... I'm not much of a drinker."
"Is that so?"
His smile widened.
"Then it's past time you learned."
"Drink it."
Low voice. Quiet words. But the weight behind them left no opening.
Liana's palms were damp.
She couldn't refuse again. Refusing would be the same as confessing.
She took the cup.
The cold silver against her fingers made her flinch.
She looked up at his smiling face, and a wave of pure panic rose through her chest.
She drew a slow breath, closed her eyes, and drank it all in one swallow.
Joffrey watched. Watched her finish it. Watched her set the empty cup down on the table.
"Good."
He nodded and settled back onto his throne.
Liana pressed on, her voice as steady as she could make it. "Your Grace, I'm not feeling well. I think I should lie down and rest..."
A slow, amused smile curved his mouth.
"Your king commands you. Come here. Now."
Liana's thoughts scattered.
It's over.
That was all she had left.
The drug was fast.
Heat bloomed in her lower belly and spread outward, flooding her limbs, her skin, every inch of her. Her body was burning. Her breath came in short, uneven pulls. Her vision doubled, blurring at the edges.
Joffrey's face swam before her.
And then it changed.
It became another face , the one she thought about when she couldn't sleep. More striking. More certain of itself. Dark eyes that seemed to reach straight into her and read everything written there.
Lynn.
"My lord..."
She murmured the words without meaning to, her steps unsteady, drifting toward the throne, toward the man she saw sitting there.
Joffrey watched.
The smile left his face, piece by piece.
Her flushed cheeks. Her unfocused eyes. The way she moved , urgent, wanting, reaching.
He understood.
All of it, at once.
This woman had been drugging him the entire time.
Every soft word. Every admiring glance. Every moment of submission and devotion.
All of it fake.
Every bit of it a performance.
Rage and humiliation slammed through him like a wall collapsing , and his reason went with it.
"My lord... I'm burning..."
Liana reached him. Her hands moved to the fastenings of her gown.
"It hurts... please..."
She fell against him, arms locking around him, her body pressing close and desperate, restless, seeking.
From her lips came sounds that should never have been heard in this room.
"Lynn..."
"Lord Lynn... I want..."
That name.
When it left her mouth, something in Joffrey simply broke.
Lynn.
Again. Always Lynn.
His mother was Lynn's toy.
And now his queen , the one woman he had actually trusted , the name on her lips, the face in her mind, was Lynn's.
Then what was he? King of the Seven Kingdoms?
A joke. One enormous, humiliating joke.
"AHHHH—!"
The sound that tore out of him was barely human.
He shoved her away from him like she was something he'd found rotting in the street.
Liana hit the floor hard. She didn't feel it. The drug had swallowed her whole. She lay there, hands wandering over herself, still moaning that name into the cold air.
"Lynn... come on... give it to me..."
Every image seared itself behind his eyes. Every sound burned into him like iron.
"Whore!" He crossed the room in three strides. "You filthy whore!"
His boot connected with her stomach, hard.
She made a choked sound of pain , and then started moving again.
"Guards! GUARDS!"
He jabbed a finger at the wreck of a woman on his floor and screamed until his voice cracked.
Two gold cloaks burst in, took one look at what was in front of them, and went rigid.
Joffrey pointed at the empty wine cup.
"Find Grand Maester Gellar — the new one! Get him here now! I want to know what was in that cup!"
"Yes, Your Grace!"
They didn't hesitate for a breath. They ran, one to the Grand Maester, another to quietly send word to Lynn.
When they were gone, only Joffrey remained. And Liana, still on the floor, still lost to whatever the drug had made of her.
He moved through the room like something caged and feral. He smashed everything his hands could reach. Vases. Sculptures. Tables. Chairs. All of it , broken, scattered, ruined.
He felt like he was losing his mind.
He had been played.
Lynn had played him, completely, from the beginning.
Liana was a piece on Lynn's board. That was all she'd ever been. A set of eyes placed next to him, watching every move he made.
The loyalty. The counsel. The service.
All of it theater.
Lynn had been laughing at him the whole time.
Grand Maester Gellar arrived quickly , young, sharp-eyed, visibly alarmed. He crouched over the wine cup and examined the residue with careful, practiced hands.
"Your Grace."
His voice was measured, but his face was serious.
"This is a rare compound. A potent aphrodisiac."
"It causes no lasting harm to the body. But it amplifies the user's deepest desires without limit , and produces vivid, overwhelming hallucinations."
The words landed on Joffrey like the last stone on a buried man.
So that was it.
That was it.
That was really it.
Damn it all.
"Get out."
He said it quietly. Then louder.
"GET OUT OF HERE!"
He kicked the nearest table across the room.
Gellar scrambled for the door and didn't look back.
Silence.
Joffrey walked slowly to the window.
He stood there, looking out at the Tower of the Hand rising dark against the sky.
The fury drained from his face. The madness with it.
What settled in its place was something far more dangerous.
Stillness.
He thought about what he had just declared , war against Stannis and Renly, announced not an hour ago.
Had that been Lynn's doing too?
Was that the plan? Let the Baratheons tear each other apart, and then step in to claim whatever remained?
"Lynn."
He breathed the name. Barely a whisper.
The hatred in it was quiet. The kind that doesn't burn out.
"You want to play games?"
"Fine."
"I'll play."
"Let's find out which is stronger , the dragon of the North, or the lion of House Baratheon."
The palace doors swung open without warning.
➤ Next: In That Case, Don't Blame Me for Getting Ruthless
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