The surrounding lords and knights plastered stiff, artificial smiles on their faces, tripping over themselves to agree with the King's "brilliant" decision.
Nobody dared breathe a word of dissent.
The colossal beast that had just slammed into the courtyard was sweeping its three mismatched, predatory eyes over the crowd with absolute indifference.
One stupid comment, and they'd all be incinerated in a blast of dragonfire.
Lynn watched Joffrey with cold calculation.
The little psychopath was turning out to be an even better puppet than he'd hoped.
A grand tourney thrown exclusively for the new Hand of the King.
Joffrey was broadcasting Lynn's arrival—and his absolute dominance—to the entire Seven Kingdoms in the loudest way possible.
The welcome feast dragged on, drowning in fake cheers and hollow toasts, until it finally mercifully ended.
Lynn was escorted to his new official residence.
The Tower of the Hand.
It was a seat that had belonged to Jon Arryn, briefly to Ned Stark, and then to Tywin Lannister.
Now, Lynn owned it.
The master bedroom was massive and sickeningly opulent, the walls lined with heavy tapestries depicting the bloody conquests of House Targaryen.
Lynn waved off the attending servants, dismissing them without a word.
He stood alone by the heavy window, staring out at the sprawling, flickering lights of King's Landing.
The city was a massive, festering swamp.
Choking on lust, conspiracies, and rotting ambition.
And he was going to be the apex predator swimming in it.
The night deepened.
Inside the chamber, the fire in the hearth crackled quietly, casting long shadows across the floor.
Lynn stripped off his heavy leather armor and tunic, leaving only his dark trousers.
The firelight danced across his bare chest, highlighting the flawless, violently cut lines of his musculature. Every inch of him radiated a coiled, terrifying physical power.
Suddenly, the faintest rustle of fabric whispered from the shadows.
A slender silhouette slipped noiselessly out from behind one of the heavy tapestries.
Lyanna.
She had ditched her heavy, suffocating royal gowns for a razor-thin, white silk nightgown.
Her raven-black hair spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall. Her face played the perfect, innocent maiden, but her eyes held a sharp, calculating ambition that didn't belong to a girl her age.
"My Lord."
Her voice was a whisper, floating through the dead quiet of the room like a feather.
Lynn didn't bother turning around. He just kept wiping down his gear.
"You out of the drops?"
A faint flush crept up Lyanna's neck.
She stepped up right behind him. Her eyes traced the massive, corded muscles of his back as they flexed and shifted with every movement, her gaze turning hazy and feverish.
"Yes, My Lord."
A tiny, almost imperceptible tremor slipped into her voice.
"It works perfectly."
"Every time Joffrey wakes up, he's completely convinced we actually... consummated the marriage. He's absolutely addicted to the illusion."
Lyanna's eyes ravenously devoured Lynn's physique.
She stared at the sharp taper of his waist and the crushing power of his lats. Her mouth went dry.
This man was a god compared to that screaming, pathetic excuse for a King.
He was the real lion in the room.
"He's only going to get more addicted."
Lynn finally turned around, casually tossing his cleaning rag onto a nearby chair.
He walked over to a heavy oak cabinet in the corner, popped a hidden lock, and pulled out a tiny crystal vial.
The glass held a pale pink liquid.
It was the exact same narcotic Cersei had used for years to drug Robert Baratheon and avoid his bed.
But Lyanna wasn't looking at the vial. Her eyes were glued to Lynn's chest.
From the front, the visual impact was even more overwhelming.
The slabbed chest, the violently defined eight-pack...
Her face burned white-hot, and her breathing hitched.
She knew she was crossing a line just looking at him like this.
But she couldn't tear her eyes away.
Lynn closed the distance, the crystal vial in his hand.
He towered over her by a foot and a half.
He stared down at her, his pitch-black eyes cutting straight through her skull, reading every dirty secret she was trying to hide.
"Pace yourself with it."
Lynn shoved the vial into her hands.
"That stuff isn't cheap."
Lyanna instinctively gripped the glass. The freezing temperature of the crystal snapped her out of her trance.
She looked up, locking onto Lynn's bottomless gaze, and her heart skipped a beat.
"My Lord... I..."
She desperately wanted to say something, but the words died in her throat.
"You're doing a good job."
Lynn's tone dropped a fraction of its icy edge.
"Relax. I haven't forgotten the deal we made."
Lyanna bit down hard on her lower lip.
She knew damn well Lynn saw right through her pathetic attempt at seduction.
"I just... I want to make myself useful to you," she murmured, dropping her gaze to the floor.
"Good."
Lynn gave a short nod.
"Remember that."
"Now get out of here."
"Go back to your King and play the perfect Queen."
Lyanna didn't move.
Her eyes drifted uncontrollably back to his bare torso.
The flickering firelight cast deep, shifting shadows across his chest and abs. He looked like something violently carved out of marble—a brutal, mythic warlord ripped straight out of the old legends.
Her skin felt like it was on fire.
"Is there a problem?"
Lynn's voice slashed through her thoughts, snapping her back to reality.
"No... no, My Lord."
Lyanna shook her head frantically, burying the crystal vial deep in the folds of her robe.
"I'll take my leave."
She dropped into a hurried curtsy and practically fled toward the door, her steps clumsy and chaotic.
Right as her hand hit the iron latch, she stopped. She summoned every ounce of nerve she had left and threw one last look over her shoulder.
Her eyes raked over his body one final time, a chaotic storm of raw desire and ambition swirling in her gaze.
Then, she yanked the door open and vanished into the pitch-black hallway without another word.
Lynn stared at the heavy oak door as it clicked shut, a microscopic twitch pulling at his eyebrow.
The girl's appetite was getting out of hand.
He strolled over to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a heavy measure of Dornish red, and sank into the leather chair by the fire.
The board in King's Landing was shaping up to be a lot more entertaining than he'd anticipated.
Joffrey was the ultimate meat-shield. Lyanna was smart enough to pull his strings without getting caught.
Sansa was quietly and methodically sinking her claws into the Crown's finances.
And Varys had his spiderwebs strung across the entire city, funneling every whisper directly into Lynn's ear.
Every single piece was falling perfectly into place.
Except for one.
Lynn swirled the blood-red wine in his glass.
The Lannisters.
Tywin—the old, ruthless lion—had slunk back to Casterly Rock and gone completely off the grid. He was playing dead, hiding like a sick cat.
And that didn't fit Tywin's psychological profile at all.
Just as Lynn was running the tactical variables, the heavy oak door rattled.
Someone was knocking. Hard, desperate, and totally devoid of the caution you'd expect from a midnight visitor.
"Who is it?"
"It's me."
A woman's voice bled through the wood, thick with barely restrained panic.
Cersei Lannister.
Lynn didn't even bother getting up.
"It's unlocked."
The door violently slammed open, and Cersei blew into the room like a hurricane.
She looked like absolute hell.
Her ridiculously expensive silk gown was stained with spilled wine, and her spun-gold hair was a tangled, chaotic mess.
The face that was supposed to be the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms was currently a mask of raw, unfiltered anxiety.
She locked eyes with Lynn the second she crossed the threshold. Her emerald-green eyes were a swirling vortex of desperation and rage.
"You're finally here."
Her voice shook.
Lynn leaned back in the heavy leather chair, taking a slow, deliberate sip of his wine.
"I expected you to come crawling a lot sooner."
Cersei's chest heaved violently.
She marched right up to him, slamming both hands down on his desk and leaning in. A wave of stale wine and expensive perfume washed over him.
"You have to stop Joffrey!"
"He's completely out of control. He won't listen to anyone!"
Lynn slowly lowered his glass. He looked up, his face an absolute blank slate.
"Why the hell would I stop him?"
"Because..." Cersei's aggressive tone instantly faltered.
Yeah, why would he stop him?
"Is that really all you came here to say?" Lynn asked smoothly.
"No..."
Cersei stumbled back a step. The arrogant, dominating Queen act shattered into a million pieces, replaced by something dangerously close to begging.
"Lynn, I know we didn't honor our arrangement."
"My father... he's too damn stubborn."
"But House Lannister is still the most lethal force in Westeros!"
"If you back me up—if you help me take the throne back from that little psycho—I swear to God, I'll open the Casterly Rock gold mines to you! The entire Westerlands army will march on your command!"
She was frantically throwing all her family's chips on the table, desperately trying to buy his loyalty.
"I don't need it."
Lynn's voice severed her last lifeline like a guillotine.
"I don't need an 'ally' who sits on a mountain and watches me do all the bleeding."
Lynn slowly rose from his chair. He towered over her, his presence utterly suffocating.
"I gave you the shot, Cersei."
"While my men were neck-deep in the meat grinder, you handed me an empty envelope."
"Tywin tucked his tail between his legs and ran back to his rock like a beaten dog."
"And you? The great Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? You sit in the dark like a miserable, dumped housewife, drowning in wine and crying yourself to sleep."
"Is this how a Lannister pays their debts?"
Every single word hit Cersei like a physical backhand across the jaw.
The blood drained completely from her face.
"I..."
She tried to defend herself, but her throat clamped shut.
He was dead right.
"I honestly thought you had a brain in your head."
Lynn closed the gap. He reached out, his hand snapping out to grip her jaw in a vise. He jerked her head up, forcing her to look straight into his eyes.
"But you're a massive disappointment."
"Your value, Cersei, isn't in your face. And it sure as hell isn't in your Lannister last name."
"Your value is in what you can put in my hand."
"And right now? You're completely bankrupt."
Lynn let go of her jaw. He picked up a linen cloth from the table and meticulously wiped his fingers, acting like he had just touched something rotting in the gutter.
"Get out."
He didn't yell. The command was quiet, flat, and absolute.
Cersei swayed on her feet. She stared at him, completely paralyzed by shock.
Get out?
He was telling her to get out?
Who the hell did he think she was? She was Cersei Lannister! The Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms!
A psychotic cocktail of humiliation, fury, and disbelief exploded in her chest.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his eyes out. She wanted to smash his wine glass into his arrogant face.
But the second she locked eyes with him, the fire died in her throat.
There was no anger in his eyes. No lust. No hatred.
Just total, crushing apathy.
He was looking at her like a piece of broken furniture that needed to be thrown in the trash.
Cersei started to shake uncontrollably.
The reality of her situation finally hit her. She had pushed him too far.
To this man, she was officially worthless.
She staggered backward, spinning around like a puppet with its strings cut. She stumbled blindly toward the door, her spirit completely broken.
Just as her hand grabbed the iron handle, Lynn's voice hit her in the back of the head.
"Tell Tywin something for me."
"My patience has a hard limit."
"If he doesn't put something on the table that I actually want, I have zero issues wiping the Lannister name off the map entirely."
Cersei froze dead in her tracks. She didn't dare turn around.
She ripped the door open and bolted down the hall like she was running for her life.
Lynn stared at the empty doorway for a long second, then casually picked his wine glass back up.
If the Lannister lion didn't wake up soon, he was just going to put it down for good.
He knocked back the rest of the blood-red wine in one smooth pull.