Myrcella's head felt like countless golden wasps were frantically crashing inside, buzzing loudly.
She scrambled up from the cold floor almost on hands and knees, fleeing back to her own bed rolling and crawling.
She plunged headfirst into the cold velvet quilt, covering her head tightly.
As if this could shut out the truth that made her soul tremble.
It was useless.
That scene, like a red-hot branding iron, was branded mercilessly on the inside of her eyeballs, branded deep into her mind!
No matter how she curled up, how she trembled, that image burned her incredibly clearly!
That Queen who was always high and mighty, who valued Lannister honor and dignity more than life...
That Queen proud as the midday sun, radiant, inspiring not a shred of profanity...
She actually...
In such a humble posture, kneeling at...
Myrcella didn't dare think further.
She felt her stomach seized and twisted by an invisible hand, a violent nausea mixed with last night's dinner rushing up her throat.
She curled up under the quilt, like a chick soaked by a storm.
Fear, disgust, confusion...
Finally, all emotions converged into an overwhelming shame.
Why?
Why did she do that?
For her?
That man... was it Lord Lynn?
It must be him.
Besides him, who else in this world could make that golden lioness retract her claws and lower her noble head...
Myrcella's heart spasmed, pain making her almost unable to breathe.
This feeling was thousands of times stronger than discovering the ambiguity between Lynn and that wildling girl in the North.
Just then.
That strange sound came from next door again.
This time, it was no longer that disgusting sound.
But a kind of sobbing pant mixed with extreme suppression, yet still unable to be completely stifled.
The sound was intermittent.
Like a slippery little viper, penetrating the thick wall and soft quilt, drilling viciously into Myrcella's ears.
Myrcella covered her ears tightly.
But the sound seemed to ring directly in her mind, intertwining with the lingering image, playing a demonic tune from hell.
She felt her body becoming incredibly strange.
Clearly the quilt was biting cold, yet her body felt thrown into a furnace.
A strange heat surged uncontrollably from the deepest part of her body, climbing up along her spine.
Burning Myrcella dry-mouthed, body hot.
Cheeks, neck, ears...
Every inch of skin seemed about to ignite, revealing a sickly pink.
The sound continued, the rhythm faster and faster, crazier and crazier.
Like the most depraved lullaby, brutally dismantling all the etiquette and morals Myrcella had built over fourteen years.
Also awakening some instinct that had slept too long in her body.
Myrcella tossed and turned uncomfortably under the quilt.
The smooth silk nightgown was soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to her body, outlining the girl's unripe yet beautiful curves.
She felt like a fish thrown onto a scorching beach, longing for the nourishment of cool seawater, yet not knowing how to return to the water.
That heat grew stronger and stronger, more and more impossible to ignore.
Finally, as if finding an outlet, it stubbornly gathered at a certain...
Myrcella's breathing became rapid and hot.
Those green eyes, usually carrying a trace of melancholy, were covered with a layer of blurred mist in the darkness, completely losing focus.
Her hand seemed to have its own consciousness, uncontrollably sliding down the smooth nightgown...
Myrcella's body trembled violently, like being struck by lightning!
Scared, she wanted to withdraw her hand immediately.
But her fingertips seemed attracted by a magnet.
That increasingly clear sound from next door, mixed with Cersei's humiliated whimper on the verge of collapse, like an invisible devil's hand, forcibly held her wrist down.
And with an irresistible force, forced her to continue downward.
This night was incredibly long.
Long enough for an innocent princess to be forced to glimpse the filthiest, most primitive, and truest corner of the adult world.
Long enough for the heavy door closed for fourteen years in her body to be pried open a crack in the crudest way by a key stained with Cersei's humiliation and strange desires.
When that maddening sound finally ceased...
The eastern sky also showed a sickly pale light.
Myrcella's eyes were still wide open.
She was covered in sweat, as if just fished out of water.
Golden hair stuck wetly to her cheeks and neck.
On the sheet.
A wet sweat stain was left.
She stared blankly at the ornate patterns on the ceiling.
In those beautiful green eyes, there was no longer the clarity and innocence of the past.
Only a void remained.
She felt truly broken.
---
The next morning.
When Cersei pushed open Myrcella's door, this was the scene she saw.
Her most cherished golden rose was sitting quietly at the dressing table.
She wore a plain white dress, her golden hair combed neatly by the maid.
Meticulous.
Everything was the same as usual.
Elegant, proper.
But Cersei, relying on her intuition, keenly felt that Myrcella seemed different.
An unsettling silence permeated the air.
"Myrcella?"
Cersei's voice carried a trace of caution and ingratiation she hadn't realized herself.
"Did you... sleep well last night?"
Myrcella didn't turn her head.
She just looked through the mirror, quietly watching the familiar yet strange self in the mirror, her voice calm as a pool of dead water without ripples.
"Very well."
"But I had a very long dream."
Cersei's heart sank abruptly.
She walked behind Myrcella, looking at Myrcella's overly calm face in the mirror, and those green eyes so hollow they made her panic.
"Dream... dreamed of what?"
"I dreamed..."
Myrcella turned her head slowly.
No longer through the mirror, but raising her eyes, looking directly at Cersei with those green orbs.
That gaze, cold, sharp.
Easily cut open the fragile armor Cersei had piled up with pride, lies, and disguise, the armor used to cover up a night of humiliation.
Cersei felt guilty under this gaze, instinctively wanting to look away.
"I dreamed of a very proud lioness, locked in a cage by a more brilliant hunter."
Myrcella's voice was soft, but every word was clear.
Her fingertips tightened almost imperceptibly the moment she spoke, digging into her palms.
"The hunter fed her the most delicious meat every day, yet also tortured her, humiliated her, pulled out her claws, broke her pride in the cruelest ways."
"Until one day, the lioness was thoroughly tamed."
"She knelt at the hunter's feet, like a docile pet, wagging her tail, licking her master's toes, begging for mercy."
Boom——!
Cersei's face turned pale as paper in an instant, the last trace of blood fading completely.
She looked at Myrcella, at the faint yet sharper-than-a-blade mocking arc at the corner of her mouth.
She knew.
Myrcella knew everything!
This realization was like a loud slap, slapping Cersei's face ruthlessly.
Boundless shame, embarrassment, and the despair of having her most unbearable side seen through by her most cherished person.
This feeling made her legs weak, almost unable to stand.
Cersei wanted to explain, to argue.
She wanted to scream and tell Myrcella it wasn't true, it was all for her!
But meeting Myrcella's eyes that seemed to see through everything, all words were stuck in her throat, not a single one coming out.
The two just stared at each other like this.
One was a prisoner who had just crawled out of hell, still bearing the cold marks of chains.
One was a cold spectator who stood at the gate of hell and watched indifferently all night.
An insurmountable abyss quietly cracked open between them.
Amidst this suffocating silence, a rapid knock sounded abruptly.
"Your Grace, Princess."
A Kingsguard's voice came from outside.
"His Grace summons Lord Lynn in the Throne Room, inviting both of you to attend the ceremony."
The King's summons.
Cersei grabbed it like a life-saving straw, shifting her gaze wretchedly.
"I... I need to change."
Dropping this sentence, Cersei fled this room that made her ashamed to show her face.
Myrcella watched Cersei's panicked back, the expression on her face unchanged.
She stood up slowly, elegantly adjusted her skirt, and followed out.
The Throne Room.
Robert Baratheon sat crookedly on the Iron Throne, holding a huge drinking horn.
He was pouring ale into his mouth.
His face carried the fatigue of a hangover and a sickly excitement.
Lynn stood calmly in the center of the hall, as if the center of the world.
Ned Stark stood in the Hand's position, face sinking like water, like a stone statue from the North.
Lord Renly and Varys were also present, everyone's expression intriguing.
Everyone's eyes focused on the young man about to become the King's son-in-law with the most power in the realm.
When Cersei and Myrcella walked into the hall, Robert's eyes lit up.
"Haha! Myrcella, come here quickly!"
Robert waved to Myrcella.
That tone, as if Myrcella was his most cherished treasure.
Myrcella's steps paused.
She looked up, her gaze crossing the crowd, landing precisely on Lynn.
Eyes met.
Lynn's expression was as usual, as if everything last night was just a farce unrelated to him.
Myrcella's heart felt stabbed fiercely by something, sharp pain making her fingertips cold.
Lecherous bastard...
Myrcella looked at Lynn.
Just you wait... I won't be like her!
The always ladylike Myrcella swore secretly in her heart.
Then she withdrew her gaze, walked to the pale-faced Cersei, and stood quietly.
"Lynn!"
Robert drained the ale in the cup, smashing the horn heavily onto the floor, making a harsh loud noise.
"I've decided!"
"Your wedding with Myrcella will be held in three days!"
"I want all of King's Landing, no! All of Westeros to know!"
"I, Robert Baratheon, marry the most beautiful princess to my most loyal subject!"
Robert's roar echoed in the empty Throne Room, full of showing off and demonstration.
He wanted to use this grand wedding to demonstrate his power.
And to tell everyone, whether Stark or Lannister, they must submit under his Baratheon iron hoof!
"I will personally preside over your wedding!"
Robert stood up from the throne, his fan-sized hand slapping heavily on Lynn's shoulder.
"At that time, I will have Ned Stark personally hand Myrcella over to you!"
Robert's gaze turned sharply to Ned.
The malice and humiliation in that look were undisguised.
Letting the Warden of the North, Arya's father, personally marry a Baratheon princess to the man who was supposed to marry his daughter?
This was ten thousand times more humiliating than making him kneel in that filthy pool of blood!
Ned's body trembled violently.
The hand wearing the Hand's seal ring clenched into a fist under his sleeve, nails digging deep into his palm.
But finally, he said nothing, just lowering his head further.
His heart loyal to Robert for twenty years had long died.
Now, he was a father first.
A father who could endure any humiliation for his daughters' future.
"Hahahaha!"
Robert burst into manic laughter again.
He enjoyed this pleasure of stepping on everyone, enjoyed their expressions of daring to be angry but not daring to speak.
He was the King!
He was the only ruler of Westeros!
The Small Council meeting ended in Robert's manic laughter.
The crowd filed out.
Ned Stark walked to Lynn's side, pausing his steps.
He looked at this young man who was about to become his son-in-law, and also the husband of his other daughter.
Those grey eyes were filled with unprecedented complex emotions.
He opened his mouth, but finally, it only turned into an almost inaudible sigh.