A few weeks after the tourney ended, Robert proposed a hunt at the royal hunting grounds.
"I need to get out of this gods-forsaken city for a few days; it reeks of Lannister everywhere," he said to Eddard. "You come too, Ned. Just the two of us, like we used to back in The Vale, plus a few guards."
But Eddard refused; he had too many matters to handle now—Jon Arryn's death, the issues with the accounts, and searching for evidence.
On the night before the party's departure, Cersei summoned her cousin Lancel Lannister. The young royal squire arrived at the Queen's chambers trembling, unsure of what Cersei wanted with him.
"Lancel," Cersei said, wearing a silk nightgown with her golden hair cascading over her shoulders. "How long have you served the King?"
"Three years, Your Grace," Lancel replied, lowering his head. He did not dare look directly at Cersei, who wore only a nightgown. The fabric was so thin that it traced her alluring curves under the candlelight.
"Come closer, Lancel," Cersei beckoned him, the neckline of her gown opening slightly with the movement.
He did as told, but every step was cautious. He finally stopped a few paces away from her, his head still bowed.
"The King will be in high spirits during tomorrow's hunt," Cersei said bluntly, her voice kept very low. "He will drink a lot of wine. I need you to add something to his wine."
She reached out, revealing a small glass vial containing an unknown liquid.
Lancel's face turned pale, and he recoiled sharply, nearly tripping over himself.
"No, I cannot. That is plotting against the King; it is regicide." His voice trembled, filled with terror.
"Be quiet." Cersei stood up and approached slowly, like a lioness closing in on a startled cub, her presence imposing.
"This is not regicide, Lancel. This is merely something to help him enjoy himself more—a bit of fortifying spice, a specialty from the East. It will make him feel happier, nothing more." Her lie flowed smoothly and naturally.
"Then why... why me?" Lancel's voice was tinged with confusion.
"Because you are a Lannister." Cersei was now standing right in front of him, so close that he could clearly smell the fragrance of her recent bath.
"In this cold castle, I only trust those who share the same blood." Her hand gently brushed his cheek, feeling his body tremble.
"You are afraid, I can see that. But you are also brave. I have always noticed you, Cousin Lancel."
Lancel felt the spot where her hand touched burning like fire. He had admired this dazzling cousin since he was a child.
At this moment, under his cousin's rare intimacy, his longing for her even temporarily overrode the fear in his heart.
"I..." His mouth was dry, and his eyes involuntarily fell toward the neckline of her gown.
Cersei caught the struggle and desire in his eyes; she knew that look all too well.
"You are loyal, Lancel. And loyalty requires reward." She smiled slightly, a smile heavy with suggestion.
"The King has many squires, yet I summoned only you. Why? Because we are family. And family can share so much more."
She guided his hand—not to take the vial, but to rest upon the sash of her gown. Lancel felt as though he had been struck by lightning, his whole body stiffening, but his fingers betrayed his will and gripped the silk tightly.
"Cersei," he breathed her name unconsciously, filled with yearning.
"I am right here," she whispered, her breath brushing against his ear. "No one will disturb us. Let me see how much you want to be near me."
The defenses of his reason collapsed entirely. Forbidden desire, mixed with the privilege granted by the Queen herself, overwhelmed Lancel. He kissed her clumsily and urgently. Under her guidance, they moved together toward the wide bed.
Throughout it all, she spoke in low whispers, talking of family, and of the glory of Lannister.
When the passion subsided, Lancel lay bare-chested beside Cersei, his face a mixture of lingering flush and satisfaction. Cersei slowly sat up, making no effort to cover herself, instead looking directly at the young man who had just become her accomplice.
Cersei got out of bed, picked up her gown from the floor to drape over herself, and then produced the glass vial.
She held it out before him once more.
"Now you understand, Lancel." Her voice was no longer tender, but carried an unquestionable authority. "We are already conspirators. You are not just doing this for me; you are doing it for our family. And to protect this little secret of ours."
She looked at him with a sharp gaze. "If the King returns unscathed, perhaps someone might accidentally mention that a young squire left the Queen's chambers late at night. What do you think Robert would do then?"
Lancel's face turned deathly pale. He felt the warmth and intimacy Cersei had just provided vanish instantly, replaced by coercion. He had not only tasted forbidden fruit but had also handed her a fatal leverage over him.
"But if you complete this small task," Cersei's tone softened slightly, "you will be a true hero of the family, and the person I trust most. We will guard this secret together and share everything that the Lannisters deserve. You and I are of the same blood, Lancel, always."
She took his hand and pressed the vial into his palm.
"Take it. You know what to do." She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "For Lannister."
Lancel looked at the vial in his hand, then at Cersei's expectant face. Finally, he nodded, clutching the vial tightly in his palm.
"For Lannister."
The next day, a hunting party consisting of Robert, Renly, several nobles, and the Kingsguard set out for the Kingswood. Robert was in high spirits, laughing loudly and drinking constantly along the way.
Lancel faithfully carried out Cersei's orders; every time the King's cup was empty, he immediately refilled it.
The hunting camp was set up deep within the Kingswood.
On the first day, Robert caught a stag and several pheasants, and his mood improved significantly. That evening, everyone gathered around the campfire to drink wine and eat meat.
"Another cup, Your Grace." Lancel smiled as he handed over the cup. "This is golden wine from Highgarden, specially sent by Lady Olenna."
Robert refused no one, drinking cup after cup. Renly tried to dissuade Robert, but the King wouldn't listen at all.
"Don't be a spoilsport, brother." Robert laughed and slapped Renly on the back. "I was sick to death of those troubles in King's Landing; I'm going to relax properly here."
By the time the night grew late, Robert was too drunk to stand steadily. Lancel and another squire helped him back to his tent to rest.
The next morning, Robert felt a splitting headache, but he simply assumed it was the aftereffect of drinking too much and insisted on continuing the hunt.
"What's a little headache? In the past, I could crush Rhaegar's chest even while gravely wounded," he boasted loudly. "Today, I'm going to hunt a boar."
Shortly after the hunt began, the scouts ahead found traces of a boar—a massive tusker with razor-sharp fangs.
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