The King's bedchamber.
Joffrey stood over a massive map of Westeros spread across a heavy table, aggressively stabbing his finger down onto the markers for Storm's End and Dragonstone.
A sick, twisted thrill of satisfaction clung to his face, courtesy of his little brother's recent "accidental" death.
One less heir meant his absolute grip on the Iron Throne was that much tighter.
When Cersei walked into the room, he didn't even bother to turn around.
"What the hell do you want?"
Joffrey's voice was laced with heavy, arrogant impatience.
"Didn't I tell you to stay put and keep Lord Lynn entertained?"
Cersei didn't say a word.
She walked to the center of the chamber, stopped a few paces behind Joffrey, and dropped straight down to her knees on the hard stone floor.
"My King."
Joffrey turned around, visibly caught off guard.
He looked down at his mother kneeling on the floor. Her exhausted, haggard face was burning with a completely unfamiliar, raging fire.
Grief, raw fury, and an absolute thirst for vengeance!
"Joffrey, my sweet boy."
Cersei looked up, tears pouring uncontrollably from her eyes.
"I stayed awake the entire night."
"And I finally figured it out."
"Tommen's death was not an accident!"
Her voice violently shook with emotion.
"It was Stannis! It was Renly!"
"They ordered the hit!"
"They are jealous of you! They covet your absolute right to the throne!"
"They know they can't kill you directly, so they targeted the weakest, most vulnerable person around you!"
"They murdered Tommen to send you a message! To make you suffer!"
"And you are absolutely their next target!"
Every single word out of Cersei's mouth acted like a bucket of highly volatile wildfire, violently poured straight onto the roaring inferno of Joffrey's ego.
Joffrey stood completely frozen.
He stared down at his mother, who was sobbing hysterically, prostrated at his feet.
An unprecedented, colossal wave of supreme validation and megalomaniacal satisfaction completely flooded his chest.
She got it!
She finally understood!
She finally realized exactly who her true master was, and who the sole, undisputed ruler of this entire kingdom was!
"Mother!"
Joffrey rapidly closed the distance and hauled Cersei up from the floor.
"You're right! You are absolutely right about everything!"
He actually felt his own eyes getting a little misty.
This was his real mother!
A mother who would permanently stand by his side and fiercely support his every single command!
"They deserve to die! Stannis and Renly are both filthy traitors, and they deserve to die screaming!"
Joffrey released Cersei, his fists clenched tight, his face warping into a psychotic, over-excited grimace.
"I've been wanting to wipe them off the map for months! But my grandfather and you were always holding me back!"
"Well, look where that got us! They murdered Tommen! They just handed me the absolute perfect justification!"
"I'm going to march my armies south! I'll chop their fucking heads off myself and mount them on the spikes above the gates of King's Landing!"
"Yes, my King!"
Cersei stared at him with an expression of absolute, fanatical worship.
"You should have crushed them a long time ago!"
"You are the only man alive capable of leading House Baratheon to its ultimate, unparalleled glory!"
"Haha! HAHAHAHA!"
Joffrey threw his head back and laughed in absolute, arrogant triumph.
Right now, he felt like a literal, omnipotent god.
His terrifying Hand of the King, Lynn, was securely chained down by his mother's body.
His mother had officially mutated into his most fanatical, obedient follower.
Who the hell in the entire realm would ever dare to defy him again?
"Guards!" Joffrey roared toward the heavy wooden doors.
"Issue my royal decree! Summon all the bannermen! Within three months, I want a massive army assembled that is fully capable of flattening Storm's End into dust!"
He was practically foaming at the mouth, completely desperate to see his two arrogant uncles groveling in the dirt before him.
After gorging himself on the ultimate peak of absolute power, Joffrey felt a dark, filthy surge of lust boiling in his gut with nowhere to go.
He needed a woman.
He needed a woman who could help him completely let loose.
"Mother, you should return to your chambers and rest."
Joffrey offered Cersei a highly patronizing pat on the arm.
"I swear to you, Tommen will be avenged."
"Yes, my King."
Cersei offered a perfectly executed, subservient curtsy and turned to leave.
The absolute split second her back was turned to him, the grief and worship completely vanished from her face, instantly replaced by a mask of freezing, lethal mockery.
The moment Cersei was gone, Joffrey immediately barked an order to his attending servant.
"Go. Bring the Queen to my chambers."
A short while later, Lyanna glided into the room.
She played her role to absolute perfection—the gentle, modest, submissive maiden. Wearing a pure white gown, she looked like an utterly spotless, uncorrupted lily.
"My King."
She stopped in front of Joffrey and offered a graceful, shallow curtsy.
Joffrey aggressively grabbed her, yanking her hard against his chest, his hands immediately beginning a highly inappropriate, wandering exploration over her body.
"Lyanna, my perfect little Queen."
His breathing was already turning heavy and ragged.
"I'm in an exceptionally good mood today. Keep me company."
Lyanna's body stiffened for a fraction of a second, but she seamlessly recovered her natural composure.
She smoothly slipped out of Joffrey's aggressive embrace, offering a perfectly calculated, coy blush.
"Your Grace, there is no need to rush."
She walked over to a nearby table and picked up a highly polished silver flagon that had already been prepared, pouring a cup of dark, blood-red wine.
"Have a drink first. Relax your mind."
Joffrey stared at the goblet of crimson wine and reached out to take it.
But right before his fingers touched the silver, his hand suddenly froze dead in mid-air.
Wine.
Spiked wine.
He had just heard a story about this exact scenario.
A specific voice suddenly violently echoed inside his skull.
He remembered!
It was Cersei!
It was exactly what she had confessed when she was screaming about how she used to handle that fat pig, Robert Baratheon!
Whenever he wanted to fuck me, I drugged his wine so he'd pass out in his own sick fantasies, thinking he actually had me.
The mere thought of him touching me made me want to vomit!
Drugged!
Joffrey's eyes instantaneously shifted.
The boiling lust in his gut was instantly violently doused, replaced entirely by a freezing, highly paranoid vigilance.
He slowly raised his head, thoroughly re-evaluating the girl standing in front of him.
Lyanna still looked perfectly gentle and submissive. She wore the exact right amount of coy shyness, and her eyes were as crystal clear as a mountain spring.
Perfect.
She was way too goddamn perfect.
So perfect, she looked exactly like a meticulously painted mask.
Joffrey didn't move a muscle. He just stared dead at the goblet of wine.
"Your Grace, is something wrong?"
Seeing his hesitation, Lyanna let a perfectly measured hint of innocent confusion slip into her voice.
"Is there an issue with the vintage?"
"No. It's fine."
Joffrey's arrogant smirk slid right back onto his face as he finally took the silver goblet from her hands.
He brought the rim right under his nose and took a slow sniff. A rich, heavy, fruity aroma drifted up.
"Excellent vintage."
Joffrey offered a casual compliment.
And then, he made a move Lyanna completely failed to anticipate.
He didn't take a sip.
Instead, he thrust the silver goblet directly back into Lyanna's face.
"My sweet Queen, I am celebrating today. You should share a drink with your King."
Lyanna's flawless smile completely froze for a split second.
"Your Grace... this was poured specifically for you..."
"I know."
Joffrey brutally cut her off, his smile warping into a dark, predatory sneer.
"But it would be a total waste for me to enjoy such fine wine all by myself."
"You drink it first."
His tone was an absolute, ironclad command that brokered zero argument.
Lyanna's heart violently plummeted straight into her stomach.
She stared into Joffrey's pale blue eyes. The raging lust and arrogant high were completely gone, leaving nothing but an intensely cold, calculating interrogation.
Did he figure it out?
Impossible!
The drug was completely colorless and totally odorless. She had been incredibly meticulous every single time she used it. There was no way he could have noticed!
She had to just be overthinking it.
"Your Grace, I... I'm really not accustomed to strong wine."
Lyanna frantically tried to manufacture a believable excuse.
"Is that so?"
Joffrey's smile widened, showing teeth.
"Then there's no better time to learn."
"Drink it."
He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer, crushing psychological pressure radiating off him was absolutely suffocating.
Lyanna actually felt a cold sweat break out across her palms.
She knew with absolute certainty that she couldn't refuse again.
Refusing a second time was equivalent to a full confession that the wine was spiked.
She had absolutely no choice but to bite the bullet and take the goblet back from Joffrey's hand.
The freezing touch of the silver metal made her physically shudder.
She looked up at Joffrey's grinning face, a massive, suffocating wave of pure panic swallowing her whole.
She took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and downed the entire goblet in a single, desperate gulp.
Joffrey just stood there in dead silence, watching her swallow the liquid, watching her place the empty silver goblet back down onto the heavy table.
"Excellent."
Joffrey gave a slow, highly satisfied nod and casually strolled back over to sink into his royal seat.
Lyanna forced herself to speak, her voice tight.
"Your Grace, I'm suddenly feeling a bit unwell. I'd like to go rest..."
A highly toxic, mocking smirk hooked the corner of Joffrey's mouth.
"Your King commands you to come here. Right now!"
Lyanna's brain completely short-circuited.
I'm dead!
It was the only coherent thought left in her skull.
The drug hit her system with terrifying speed.
A massive, boiling wave of unnatural heat violently erupted deep in Lyanna's lower abdomen, rapidly surging through her bloodstream and saturating every single nerve ending in her body.
She felt like her skin was literally on fire. Her breathing instantly turned ragged and desperate.
Her vision rapidly began to blur, heavily overlapping into chaotic, hallucinogenic double-images.
Joffrey's handsome face began to warp and shift in her drug-addled vision, slowly mutating into the one face she obsessively thought about day and night.
A face that was infinitely more rugged, infinitely more dominant. Those pitch-black, bottomless eyes that felt like they could effortlessly strip away every single filthy secret in her soul.
Lynn.
"Master..."
Lyanna moaned unconsciously, her legs turning into weak jelly as she blindly stumbled toward the "Lynn" sitting on the throne.
Watching her completely degrade, the cruel smile on Joffrey's face slowly, permanently vanished.
He watched her heavily flushed cheeks. He watched her completely glazed, intensely lustful eyes. He watched her throw away every ounce of her dignity, completely desperate to throw herself into a man's lap.
He understood.
He understood absolutely fucking everything!
This venomous bitch had been actively drugging him the entire goddamn time!
Every single ounce of submissive devotion, every single adoring look she had ever given him—it was all completely fake!
It was all a meticulously acted, absolute lie!
A towering, apocalyptic wave of pure, unfiltered rage and absolute, castrating humiliation violently detonated inside his brain, entirely vaporizing his sanity!
"Master... I'm burning up..."
Lyanna had reached his feet.
She reached her trembling hands up, desperately trying to rip off her own cumbersome white gown.
"I need it so bad... please..."
She violently threw herself directly into Joffrey's lap, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, actively and aggressively grinding her feverish body against him.
A series of filthy, highly explicit, wet moans spilled uncontrollably from her lips.
"Lynn..."
"Lord Lynn... I want it..."
The absolute second that name rolled off Lyanna's tongue...
Joffrey felt his entire reality violently and permanently shatter into a million pieces.
Lynn!
It was fucking Lynn again!
His own mother was Lynn's personal plaything!
And now, his Queen—the one woman in the entire world he actually thought he could trust—was desperately hallucinating and begging for Lynn's cock!
What the fuck did that make him? The King of the Seven Kingdoms?
He was the biggest, most pathetic fucking joke in the history of the world!
"AAAAAAAAGH—!"
Joffrey let out an ungodly, completely inhuman roar of absolute psychological agony.
He violently shoved Lyanna off his lap, throwing her away like she was a bag of rotting, disease-infested garbage.
Lyanna hit the hard stone floor, but she didn't feel an ounce of physical pain.
The aphrodisiac had completely hijacked her entire nervous system.
She writhed on her back on the marble floor, her hands desperately and explicitly roaming all over her own body, continuing to moan that man's name in a filthy, degrading haze.
"Lynn... hurry... give it to me..."
That absolute, total slut-like degradation. Those filthy, sickening moans. Every single sight and sound was like a red-hot branding iron, violently searing itself permanently into Joffrey's retinas and his brain.
"You whore! You fucking whore!"
Joffrey lunged forward and delivered a brutal, full-force kick directly into Lyanna's stomach.
But Lyanna just let out a muffled, breathless groan of pain before immediately going right back to writhing and grinding against the floor.
"Guards! Get the fuck in here!"
Joffrey pointed at the utterly humiliated woman thrashing on the floor, screaming at the top of his lungs like a rabid animal.
Two Gold Cloaks violently kicked the doors open and charged into the room. Seeing the graphic scene playing out on the floor, they completely froze in absolute shock.
Joffrey aggressively pointed a trembling finger at the empty silver goblet on the table.
"Go find the new Grand Maester! Drag him here right now! Have him figure out exactly what the fuck is in that cup!"
"Yes! Your Grace!"
The Gold Cloaks didn't dare hesitate for a fraction of a second. They bolted to fetch the Grand Maester, simultaneously knowing they needed to somehow secretly relay this absolute disaster straight to Lynn.
Within seconds, the King's bedchamber was empty again, leaving only Joffrey and the completely debased, writhing Lyanna on the floor.
Joffrey paced the room like a rabid, cornered predator, completely losing his mind and violently smashing absolutely everything in sight.
Priceless vases, heavy sculptures, tables, and chairs—he completely obliterated it all into scattered debris.
He felt like he was having a total psychological breakdown.
He had been played.
He had been played for an absolute, pathetic fool by that bastard Lynn!
Lyanna was definitely Lynn's planted spy!
He had been using this whore to monitor Joffrey's every single move and thought!
His so-called "loyalty," his supposed "political backing"—it was all complete, utter bullshit!
He was just treating Joffrey like a dancing monkey for his own sick entertainment!
A short while later, the newly appointed Grand Maester Gylbert rushed into the decimated chamber.
He was a younger man, sharp and highly perceptive.
He meticulously examined the trace amount of crimson liquid left at the bottom of the silver goblet.
"Your Grace."
Grand Maester Gylbert's face turned incredibly grave.
"This is an exceptionally rare, highly potent aphrodisiac."
"It doesn't cause any permanent physiological damage, but it violently amplifies the consumer's deepest carnal desires and induces intense, overwhelming hallucinations."
The Grand Maester's clinical diagnosis was the final, devastating blow that completely broke the camel's back.
It was exactly what he thought.
It was exactly what he fucking thought!
IT WAS ALL TRUE!!!
FUCK!!!
"Get out!"
"Get the fuck out of my sight!"
Joffrey violently kicked over the heavy oak table right next to him.
Grand Maester Gylbert practically scrambled out of the room on his hands and knees in pure terror.
Joffrey slowly, mechanically walked over to the heavy balcony window, his dead eyes locking onto the towering silhouette of the Tower of the Hand in the distance.
All the rabid, screaming fury and psychotic madness completely drained from his face.
Replaced entirely by an incredibly terrifying, suffocating, dead calm.
He suddenly remembered his grand declaration of war against Stannis and Renly just moments ago.
Was that... was that Lynn's master plan too?
He wanted the Baratheon bloodline to massacre itself in a brutal civil war, so he could comfortably sit back and sweep the board clean?
"Lynn..."
Joffrey whispered the name under his breath, pitching his voice so low only he could hear it.
The single word was absolutely saturated in pure, bone-deep hatred.
"You want to play a game, do you?"
"Fine."
"I'll play your fucking game."
"Let's see who truly reigns supreme... your Northern dragon, or my Baratheon lion!"
Right at that exact, lethal second, the heavy doors to the King's bedchamber were violently shoved open without warning.