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The wedding feast began.
The roar of King Robert, the fake laughter of nobles, and the crisp sound of clinking goblets mixed together.
Sansa Stark was holding a goblet of untouched Arbor Gold.
She stood quietly in the shadows of the hall, lifeless.
She looked at the man surrounded by the crowd in the center.
Her Lynn.
He was smiling, dealing with those nobles who came to toast.
His smile was appropriate, impeccable.
But that smile stabbed precisely into Sansa's heart.
He was now Myrcella Baratheon's husband.
This realization made her every breath burn with pain.
That kiss in the sept.
That kiss full of possession and declaration.
Like an indelible brand, replaying repeatedly in her mind.
Myrcella won.
In a way close to humiliation, she won this silent war.
Sansa felt her throat tighten.
The turbid air in the hall mixed with roasted meat, perfume, and sweat made her want to vomit.
She couldn't stay here for another moment.
She put down the goblet, lifted her skirt, silently passed through the noisy crowd, and walked toward the terrace leading to the garden.
The cool night breeze carried a trace of cold rose scent, blowing on her hot cheeks.
This made her chaotic thoughts slightly clearer.
She held the cold stone railing, overlooking the brightly lit King's Landing.
Just lost once.
It didn't matter.
But she couldn't fall.
She was Sansa Stark.
A direwolf from the North!
Also the Master of Coin personally trained by Lord Lynn!
She still had her power, her wisdom.
As long as she still sat in this position, she still had a chance to turn the tables!
She firmly believed this!
"The night wind is still too cold, Lady Stark."
A sweet, yet slightly chilly voice sounded not far behind her.
The familiar voice made Sansa's body stiffen abruptly.
She turned slowly.
Myrcella Baratheon.
No, she should be called Lady Myrcella Lynn now.
She stood under the moonlight.
Wearing a moon-white silk dress, golden hair casually draped over her shoulders.
She held a pure white curly-haired puppy in her arms, stroking its soft fur gently with her other hand.
Myrcella wore a smile identical to the one in the sept.
That smile looked sweet, innocent.
But it carried a show-off that made Sansa feel angry.
"Princess."
Sansa curtsied slightly, her voice so calm not a ripple could be heard.
"Are you out for fresh air too?"
"Yes."
Myrcella smiled.
"By the way, don't call me Princess."
"Please call me Lady Lynn."
Myrcella walked slowly to Sansa's side, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, overlooking King's Landing beneath their feet together.
The puppy in her arms seemed a bit shy, whimpering and shrinking into her embrace.
"Eh?"
"How strange."
"Snowball has a very good temper; why is he afraid when he sees you?"
"This kind of small animal is most intelligent; it can distinguish good people from bad people..."
"Oh, Lady Sansa, I'm not targeting you; I heard these from others too, they don't count."
"Snowball, be good, don't be afraid."
Myrcella lowered her head, rubbing her cheek affectionately against the puppy's head, her voice gentle enough to drip water.
"This is Lady Stark; she is my partner in the soap business, not a bad person."
Snowball.
What a cute name.
Sansa looked at that puppy; it had wet black eyes, looking very cute.
"Very cute dog."
Sansa squeezed out a stiff smile on her face.
"Yes, a wedding gift from my husband, a puppy he personally selected."
Myrcella looked up, her gaze falling on Sansa's face.
In those beautiful green eyes, undisguised triumph flashed.
"He said he knew I would definitely like it."
"Such a considerate man, he even gave me a lute,"
Myrcella continued as if she hadn't noticed Sansa's increasingly stiff expression at all.
"He said he likes to hear me play 'The Last Kiss'."
"It reminds him of the sunset in the Summer Isles."
Sansa's mind went blank.
"The Last Kiss"?
What was that?
Lord Lynn... liked to hear her play the lute?
Didn't he... didn't he hate these boring things of southern noble ladies the most!?
"It seems Lord Lynn has many secrets you don't know, Lady Stark."
Seeing Sansa's confused expression, the smile on Myrcella's face became sweeter.
But her words were like poisoned knives, stabbing straight into Sansa's heart.
"But no wonder, you have to deal with so many complicated accounts every day; presumably you don't have time to understand these."
Myrcella sighed lightly, her tone carrying a high-and-mighty pity.
"It's really hard on you."
"For Lynn, for this kingdom, you really paid too much."
"Unlike me, who can't help him with anything, only play the lute and sing for him when he's tired, letting him have a comfortable sleep."
Sansa's nails almost dug into her palms!
She looked at this girl smiling beautifully before her, looking at her bitchy show-off appearance.
Her partner had changed!
Where did the frail Myrcella from before go?
Sansa suddenly understood.
Myrcella wasn't here to show off to her!
She was here to declare war on her!
She wanted to tell her.
She, Myrcella, was the woman who understood Lynn best, who could walk into his heart best.
And she, Sansa, was just an outsider managing account books, or a tool!
"You jest, my Lady."
Sansa took a deep breath.
She forcibly suppressed the surging sourness and anger in her heart, putting back on the Master of Coin's calm mask.
"It is my honor to share Lord Lynn's worries."
"As for playing the lute and singing, such trivial matters,"
A mocking arc curled the corner of Sansa's mouth.
"There are plenty of professional musicians and singers in the Red Keep; presumably much better than a layman like me."
"Moreover, playing with those unseemly things, in my opinion, is not doing one's job."
"I am more concerned about the armory budget for the next quarter, and that batch of taxes from the Westerlands that has been delayed."
"These, I'm afraid, are not things you, my Lady, can get involved in."
This was a counterattack from Sansa.
It was nakedly telling Myrcella, you can get his favor, but I control his purse.
In the game of thrones, this was far more important than illusory love!
Her weight in Lynn's heart was equally irreplaceable!
The smile on Myrcella's face froze slightly.
But only for an instant.
She laughed again immediately, even more brilliantly than before.
"Lady Stark, you are right."
"Gold dragons are indeed very important."
"After all, they can buy armor, buy grain, buy soldiers' loyalty."
Myrcella put the puppy in her arms down, letting it frolic at her feet.
Then, she looked around, seeing no one paying attention here.
She took a step forward, leaning close to Sansa's ear, whispering in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"But, can gold dragons... buy a man's heart?"
"Can they buy those sweet words he says only to you late at night?"
"Can they buy those... private marks belonging only to you that he leaves on your body?"
Sansa's body trembled violently, her face turning pale instantly.
"You..."
"Lady Stark, you are a smart woman, you should understand."
Myrcella straightened up, elegantly adjusting her skirt.
The smile at the corner of her mouth carried a trace of cruel pleasure.
"You manage the purse for my husband, that's very good."
"But, I manage his person."
"From a strand of hair to the tip of his toe."
"Completely, belonging to me."
With that, Myrcella stopped looking at Sansa's bloodless face.
She bent down to pick up the puppy, turning to leave.
Passing by Sansa, Myrcella stopped.
"Oh, right."
"It's getting late; I should go back too."
Her voice carried a trace of lazy, blush-inducing suggestion.
"After all, the spring night is short."
"I can't let my husband wait too long."
"Tonight, I have a lot of... my husband's exclusive favor to enjoy properly."
"Today must be a crazy night; I have to catch up on sleep first... after all, the night is too long, isn't it..."
"Especially for you, Lady Sansa..."
"Goodbye..."
Words falling, Myrcella didn't stay; holding the puppy, she walked with brisk steps and disappeared at the end of the terrace.
That back, swaying gracefully, was full of the victor's pride and charm.
Sansa stood alone in the night wind, stiff all over.
Enjoy...
Favor...
Those words full of erotic colors were branded ruthlessly on her heart.
She seemed to see, in that wedding room belonging to Myrcella and Lynn, what a charming and crazy scene was about to unfold.
The fire of jealousy mixed with boundless humiliation swallowed her instantly!
Sansa bit her lip hard until she tasted a trace of salty blood!
Myrcella...
You bitch!
Just you wait.
I won't lose.
Absolutely not!
---
Lynn wasn't anxiously waiting for his bride in the wedding room as Myrcella imagined.
He had just extricated himself from the noisy wedding feast when he was stopped by an unexpected person.
Ned Stark.
The face of this Warden of the North lacked the stiffness and humiliation from the sept, leaving only a concern belonging to an elder.
"Lynn."
"Can we talk?"
Lynn nodded, taking Ned into an empty study nearby.
"Sit."
Lynn poured him a cup of water, not wine.
Ned took the cup but didn't drink.
He just stared blankly at the swaying water surface in the cup.
"Today... wronged you, my Lord."
Lynn spoke first.
He knew how agonizing it was for this Northman with a strong sense of honor to personally hand Myrcella over to him.
Ned probably had the heart to kill Robert now.
"I don't blame you."
Ned shook his head.
He looked up, those grey eyes filled with fatigue.
"This is the King's command."
"I just... just feel heartache for Sansa and Arya."
He sighed.
"Especially Sansa."
"That child, since childhood, wanted to be Queen, wanted to marry a handsome prince."
"Seeing Myrcella marry you, she must feel very bad..."
"She lost too much."
Lynn said calmly.
"She is now the Master of Coin."
"What she possesses is far more than an empty title of Queen."
"Hopefully."
Ned smiled bitterly.
He was silent for a moment, seemingly organizing his words.
"Actually, I initially refused your appointment of Sansa as Master of Coin."
"But Sansa's soap business is doing very well."
"She can even turn three silver stags into a gold dragon."
"I finally agreed, didn't stop it."
"Not just because of these, but more because I trust you, Lynn."
"You are like my child."
"I also hope you can take care of Sansa more."
"This child's temper looks very good, but actually like me, she is also a stubborn person."
Just as Lynn was pondering how to respond.
The study door was pushed open gently from outside with a creak.
A fat figure wearing grey monk robes, hands in sleeves, slipped in silently from outside.
It was Varys, the "Spider."
On his face hung that unchanging oily smile.
"Lord Hand, Lord Lynn."
"Sorry to disturb your elegance, especially on this joyous day."
Varys bowed slightly.
Those eyes hidden in the shadows scanned back and forth between the two.
"But my lovely little birds just brought me not-so-good news from the Eyrie."
His voice dropped very low.
"Lady Lysa Arryn of the Vale..."
"She's gone mad."
"She is gathering all the forces of the Vale."
"In the name of the late Lord Arryn, she declared Lord Lynn, who caused Petyr's death, a traitor."
"And called on all bannermen loyal to House Arryn to march on the North."
"She said..."
An appropriate worry appeared on Varys's face.
"She wants to seek justice from Lord Lynn for her dead Petyr."
Lynn was also stunned.
Clearly Robert killed Petyr.
This damned woman didn't dare to attack Robert, but wanted to attack him instead?
Also, attacking Robert directly would inevitably cause turmoil.
Even invite siege from everyone.
Seizing Lynn's Gift, staying away from the Seven Kingdoms was her only way to survive!
And he, a new upstart with no foundation, would be easier to use to quell her anger.
Lynn sneered coldly.
His wildlings' equipment was currently poor, but they weren't something a mere Lysa could easily handle!
Just then, a golden figure wearing gilded armor walked in.
Jaime Lannister.
As soon as he entered, he looked at Lynn.
With a gaze carrying a trace of... complexity?