The night in the Master of Coin's tower was even quieter than the Tower of the Hand.
The air was filled with the smell of old parchment and dried ink.
Sansa Stark sat behind the overly large desk, candlelight making her focused profile look somewhat unreal.
She hadn't taken Lynn's advice to directly use the Master of Coin's power to arrest those two parasites.
She knew she was standing on the edge of a cliff, with an abyss below.
Her every move was stared at by countless eyes.
A young girl from the North, just sitting in the Master of Coin's seat, impatiently acting against the old retainers of the royal family?
In the eyes of those noble lords, this wasn't establishing authority.
It was the ugly eating manners of House Stark rushing to grab power.
This would put her, and her father, in an even more passive situation.
Lord Lynn taught her dragon-slaying skills, but how to wield this blade still required her own wisdom.
She couldn't be that blade.
What she had to do was become the person handing over the blade.
Someone would do all this for her.
And in all of Westeros, there was no blade more useful or sharper than Robert Baratheon.
Sansa closed the ledger in front of her, her blue eyes flashing with a strange light in the candlelight.
She stood up and, from a messier pile of parchments nearby, pulled out a few seemingly unremarkable dossiers.
One was the quarterly loss report of the armory, another was the daily purchase list for royal banquets...
She carefully organized these dossiers, then walked out of the Master of Coin's tower.
---
The morning in the Throne Room was always accompanied by King Robert's hungover headache and irritable cursing.
"Wine! Give me wine!"
Robert paced back and forth under the Iron Throne irritably like a trapped boar.
Just then, Sansa Stark walked in.
She wore a proper dark blue dress, holding a few scrolls of parchment, her face wearing just the right amount of confusion and helplessness.
"Your Grace."
Her voice was soft, like a cool breeze, temporarily soothing Robert's irritability.
"Oh, it's Sansa."
Seeing Sansa, Robert squeezed out a smile on his face bloated from hangover.
"What is it?"
"Is there some difficult problem you can't handle?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
Sansa walked up to Robert and curtsied slightly.
"There are some accounts I... I really can't understand, and I wanted to ask for your advice."
"Haha! Speak up, whatever problem, say it all!"
"I want to see which blind bastard dares to play tricks on my purse!"
Robert waved his big hand, appearing exceptionally heroic.
He liked this feeling.
Especially this feeling of having his vanity satisfied.
This Northern girl looked at him with such worship and dependence.
It made him feel he wasn't just a boor who only knew how to drink and fight, but a wise monarch capable of handling state affairs!
"It's about the armory expenses, Your Grace."
Sansa unrolled the first parchment scroll.
"The master of the armory reported that due to humid weather, three hundred sets of soldiers' plate armor are severely rusted and irreparable, needing complete replacement."
"Here is the budget for replacement, a total of three thousand gold dragons."
"Three hundred sets? Three thousand gold dragons?"
Robert frowned.
"Damn it, I remember armor from Casterly Rock isn't even this expensive!"
"Yes, Your Grace, I also found it somewhat strange."
Sansa's face appropriately showed a more confused expression.
"And... I also saw a patrol log from the guards."
She handed over another piece of parchment.
"It says there wasn't much rain last month, and the armory guards carefully maintain those armors with oil every day..."
Robert's face darkened instantly.
He wasn't stupid; he was just too lazy to think.
When someone laid out the clues one by one in front of him, even his boar-like brain could figure out the trickery.
"What else?"
Robert's voice already carried a dangerous tone.
"Also... is the purchase list for the banquet hall."
Sansa's voice dropped lower, as if somewhat afraid.
"They... they purchase fifty gallons of Dornish red wine every day, saying Your Grace... your alcohol tolerance has improved again recently."
"Bullshit!"
Robert's roar exploded in the Throne Room.
"I've been drinking ale recently!"
"Those damned parasites!"
"They dare use the King's money to drink Dornish red wine themselves!"
Robert's eyes had turned blood red, the fire of rage burning in his chest.
He felt betrayed!
Ruthlessly played by a pack of dogs he raised!
"Barristan!"
Robert roared.
"Pass my order!"
"Drag those two fat pigs, the master of the armory and the chief steward of the banquet hall, to the yard!"
"I will peel their skin myself!"
Sansa watched this thoroughly enraged lion, took a silent step back, and hid herself in the shadows.
Miserable screams soon rang out in the courtyard of the Red Keep.
King Robert didn't break his word.
After learning their embezzlement went beyond this, Robert truly personally hung those two greedy parasites on the flagpoles and whipped them to death.
This was more effective than any King's order.
The officials of the entire Red Keep, looking at those two bloody corpses, were silent as cicadas in winter.
The look in their eyes toward the Master of Coin's tower no longer held contempt or disdain, only deep fear.
They finally understood that the seemingly weak Northern girl wasn't a sheep to be manipulated at will.
She was a direwolf in sheep's clothing.
She wouldn't bite personally, but she would smile and lead you under the lion's claws.
For a time, everyone felt in danger.
Everyone was actively filling in bills, and some were even planning how to unite against Sansa.
But surprisingly.
Sansa didn't choose to expand her victory while the iron was hot; instead, there was no movement.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
At the same time, they all understood.
Sansa had turned the page on what they had done before.
She was completely different from Lord Baelish.
To win them over for support, as long as his own interests weren't involved, Petyr couldn't be bothered to manage these things.
Anyway, it was King Robert's purse; the loss wasn't his money. He just needed to whitewash the peace.
As long as it wasn't too excessive or blatant, Petyr generally turned a blind eye.
But Sansa was completely different.
Now, they put away their contempt for Sansa.
Of course, making them realize the change of weather was only the first step of Sansa's plan.
Blind confrontation would only make everyone rebellious, achieving the opposite effect.
Giving a lesson to make them understand finance had a new master was enough.
Now, Sansa needed to give them a sweet date to taste properly.
---
Night.
In Lynn's room.
Lynn sat on a chair.
A gentle knock sounded on the door.
"Come in."
Sansa walked in.
She had changed out of the dark dress symbolizing power and put on a moon-white silk nightgown.
Her auburn hair draped casually over her shoulders, lessening the majesty of the Master of Coin and adding a bit of maidenly charm.
Her face carried a flush of excitement, those blue eyes amazingly bright.
"Lord Lynn."
She walked to Lynn and executed an impeccable curtsy.
Only the arc of the hem was lower than ever before.
"Did I do well today?"
Sansa's voice carried a trace of imperceptible coquettishness and fishing for credit.
"You did very well, Sansa."
Lynn looked up.
"Better than I imagined."
"You didn't use your own power directly, but borrowed the King's blade."
"This was very clever."
"Now that you've killed the chicken, you need to find a way to make those monkeys grateful to you."
Receiving Lynn's praise, Sansa's eyes brightened even more.
She walked to Lynn's side, naturally taking the wine bottle from his hand and pouring him a glass.
Her warm fingertips intentionally or unintentionally touched the back of Lynn's hand.
"It was all taught well by you, my Lord."
Sansa handed the goblet to Lynn, leaning forward slightly.
A scent mixed with the sweetness of lemon cakes and the coolness of winter snow quietly drilled into Lynn's nose.
"I'm just an obedient student."
Lynn took the goblet, looking at this girl undergoing a rapid transformation.
She was like a budding blue rose.
In the filthy soil of King's Landing, blooming her own beauty at an astonishing speed.
"You said..."
Sansa's voice dropped very low, carrying a hint of seduction.
"A good teacher rewards his most outstanding student."
She didn't say another word, just looking unblinkingly at Lynn with those shimmering blue eyes.
In that gaze, there was worship, dependence, gratitude, and a trace of the purest maidenly admiration and possession.
Lynn didn't speak, just watching her quietly.
The atmosphere in the room became somewhat subtle instantly.
The flames in the fireplace elongated the shadows of the two, intertwining as if dancing a silent tango.
Sansa's heart beat fast.
She felt her cheeks burning.
She didn't know why she was doing this.
She only knew she wanted to be closer to this man before her.
Closer.
Sansa plucked up her courage, taking another small step forward.
The silk hem gently brushed Lynn's knee.
She slowly sat on the armrest of Lynn's chair.
This action, for the Sansa Stark who once blushed even at eye contact with a man, was tantamount to dancing seductively in front of a sept of the Seven.
But she did it.
Sansa even reached out, tracing the outline of Lynn's lips gently with her fingertip.
"Lord Lynn..."
She leaned down, warm breath spraying on Lynn's ear.
"I... want my reward."
Just as Lynn was about to speak.
Creak——
The door was pushed open without warning.
Myrcella walked in smiling, carrying a basket of fruit.
"Lord Lynn, I heard you like peaches from the Arbor, so I specially..."
Her voice stopped abruptly the moment she saw the scene in the room.
Lynn was stunned.
Myrcella looked at Sansa Stark sitting on Lynn's armrest, in a posture extremely ambiguous with him.
Looking at Sansa's face flushing red instantly due to the interruption, written with shame and panic.
Then looking at Lynn.
Myrcella placed the fruit basket in her hand gently on the table, then elegantly lifted her skirt and curtsied to the two.
"Excuse me."