King's Landing – The Red Keep
When the figure by the bookshelf slowly turned around, Pierce's eyes flashed with genuine surprise. It was Cersei Baratheon.
He'd half-guessed it might be her, but he never expected the queen herself to arrange a private meeting inside the Red Keep.
She looked like she'd just come from a small court gathering, still wearing her lavish gown. Her golden hair still gleamed even in the dim light, but her face carried a faint trace of fatigue… and something like triumph?
"Lord Celtigar," Cersei spoke first, her voice carrying that lazy, honeyed drawl that said she owned every room she entered. "It seems our plan is moving along quite smoothly."
Pierce quickly steadied himself and gave a respectful bow. "Your Grace! I didn't expect to find you here."
"This place is quiet—perfect for discussing things… we'd rather not have too many ears hear." Cersei stepped closer. Her gaze flicked to Pycelle. The old maester instantly took the hint, bowed silently, and slipped out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Now it was just the two of them. The musty smell of old books was quickly overpowered by the expensive rose perfume drifting from her skin.
"You've already heard the Small Council's decision, I assume."
Cersei settled into a dusty armchair with queenly grace, as if she were sitting on the Iron Throne itself. "I had to pull quite a few strings to get your 'comprehensive market' idea approved. That stubborn old Jon Arryn only cares about balance—he's terrified you'll get too close to that rigid Stannis. And Renly… that fool just wants to hand the glory to the Tyrells."
She gave a soft snort, pure disdain in her tone. She knew exactly what the Tyrells were after. They'd lost big after backing the wrong side in the rebellion and had been trying to worm their way back into King's Landing affairs ever since—mostly by cozying up to Renly.
Pierce understood instantly: Cersei wanted all the credit for herself.
He put on a perfectly grateful expression. "I see. Without Your Grace working behind the scenes, none of this would have happened. Crackclaw Point will remember your kindness."
Cersei clearly enjoyed the flattery. She waved a hand dismissively, voice dripping with the generosity of a queen granting favors. "Since you've chosen to serve me, I'll naturally clear the path for you. For the Dragonpit renovation, I'll mobilize some of the organization's resources in King's Landing to assist you."
"I can also pull a few skilled architects and engineers from Casterly Rock and Lannisport to make sure everything runs smoothly."
Pierce's mind clicked. He saw her plan immediately and politely but firmly declined, voice sincere yet resolute.
"I'm grateful for Your Grace's concern, but I already have the manpower arranged for the construction. As you know, I spent years traveling in Essos. Thanks to the slave trade there, I gathered a group of genuine experts in architecture, hydraulics, and planning. They're already on their way to King's Landing. It's easier to work with people I know and trust."
Cersei raised an elegant eyebrow, mildly surprised. She opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it and let it go. "You're certainly well prepared."
She changed the subject, leaning forward slightly, voice dropping. "Now that you're a prospective core member of the organization, there are things you should know. How much do you actually understand about the other Gem Lords operating in Essos? For example, are they mainly active in Braavos, or Volantis?"
Pierce's internal alarm bells rang softly. Was she testing him… or trying to pump him for information on the others?
He kept his face thoughtful and answered carefully. "Your Grace, I was recruited in Braavos by a keyholder of the Iron Bank named Bessaro Ryaan—he's the head of House Ryaan. As for the other Gem Lords' true identities and bases… forgive me, but I've only been a member a short time and my rank isn't high enough to know the details yet."
He neatly pinned the source on a real Iron Bank figure who was actually part of the Rising Tide—his built-in smoke screen.
"Bessaro Ryaan…" Cersei repeated the name softly, committing it to memory.
She herself had been brought into the organization by a mysterious man who called himself "Zero." His vision, wealth, and deep understanding of power had captivated her and eventually pushed her into the "chair" position.
She had always wanted total control of this mysterious, powerful group. Recruiting rising stars like Pierce and quietly investigating the other lords was part of her long game.
"Not knowing isn't a problem," Cersei recovered her haughty tone. "Your immediate task is to finish building up Golden Port and complete the Dragonpit renovation—show your value. After that, I'll arrange an introduction to the 'Amethyst Lord' in the North. I have… some connection with her, but I've never learned her real identity."
"Once you're established, I need you to find out who she truly is—and see if we can bring her over to our side."
She used "we." Clearly she already saw Pierce as a core member of her own faction.
Then Cersei rose gracefully and walked straight up to him.
She was close enough that Pierce could smell the heavy rose perfume and see the dangerous spark dancing in her emerald eyes.
Her gaze slid over his young, handsome, powerfully built body. For a moment she seemed to see another silver-haired, violet-eyed shadow—the Prince Rhaegar she had dreamed of as a girl but could never have.
Robert's crudeness and indifference had left her humiliated and empty. Pierce—this young man with the same violet eyes, proven ability, and apparent "obedience" to her—stirred something strange and hungry inside her.
"Pierce…" Her voice turned husky and sweet. She struck a pose she clearly thought was irresistible. "You said… you would carry out my will with everything you have? Any… will?"
Pierce was caught off guard by the sudden, wild, and brazen advance.
Cersei's beauty was undeniable—and in the flesh she was even more stunning than the actress from his old world. Right now, with that special, dangerous allure radiating off her, the effect was almost overwhelming.
In that split second he understood why Old Cao back in Yi Ti loved collecting other men's wives so much.
A wild thought flashed through his mind: Putting horns on that drunkard Robert… honestly wouldn't bother my conscience at all. He even briefly considered taking things further right here.
But just as the air between them crackled and the moment teetered on the edge, Pycelle's panicked voice came from outside the door: "Your Grace! Ser Jaime, he—"
BOOM!
The study's flimsy wooden door was kicked open with a crash. Jaime Lannister stood in the doorway, face thunderous, green eyes burning like a raging lion. One hand was already on his sword hilt, ready to draw.
"Cersei!" he growled, his glare slicing across Pierce like a blade. "What the hell are you doing in here?! With this… upstart?!"
Cersei's reaction was lightning-fast. Instead of panicking, she stepped between Pierce and her brother, instantly regal and visibly offended.
"Jaime! Mind your rank and your tongue! I am discussing important realm business with Lord Celtigar! Who gave you permission to barge in? Get out!"
Jaime stared at his sister defending Pierce, jaw muscles twitching with fury he couldn't unleash.
He shot Pierce one last murderous glare full of warning. "You'd better stay the fuck away from her, Celtigar. Or I won't mind giving Crackclaw Point a new lord."
With that threat hanging in the air, he spun on his heel and stormed out, leaving the broken door swinging on its hinges.
Pierce watched the scene, the brief storm of heat in his blood cooling instantly. In its place rose a spark of competitive fire and a cold, calculating assessment of the messy situation.
Cersei's madness and boldness were beyond anything he'd expected. Jaime's possessive rage and impulsiveness were just as dangerous.
Pycelle poked his head back in, trembling. Cersei waved him away impatiently to close the damaged door.
The moment the door shut, Pierce looked at the still-furious yet strangely excited queen, stepped forward without warning, and slid one arm around her waist…
Cersei froze, stunned by his boldness. Her body stiffened for a heartbeat—then she stopped resisting.
Pierce released her almost immediately, a wild little smile tugging at his lips as he murmured, "Your Grace… this place isn't convenient. Next time, choose somewhere safer."
He'd only meant to test how far she was willing to go. But after Jaime's little tantrum, Pierce's interest was officially piqued. He'd already decided: he was absolutely going to put horns on Robert's head.
Cersei's cheeks flushed. Her emerald eyes shimmered with a mix of offended anger and secret, thrilled surrender. She didn't answer—just shot him a glare that was clearly permission.
Pierce didn't linger. He straightened his slightly rumpled clothes, opened the broken door, and walked out.
Outside, Grand Maester Pycelle stood awkwardly, clearly torn between eavesdropping and pretending he hadn't.
"Grand Maester," Pierce said, face perfectly calm as if nothing had happened, "Her Grace and I have finished our discussion. Good day."
Pycelle bowed hastily, not daring to meet his eyes.
A Red Keep guard escorted Pierce out of the rookery toward the main gate.
This "dessert" that had literally dropped into his lap was too sweet to ignore—but it was clearly going to be nothing more than a dangerous, calculating fling.
When he finally left the Red Keep, the setting sun had turned the rooftops of King's Landing gold and crimson. Rosco and Benard Blount, along with Melisandre, were waiting at the entrance.
The moment he appeared, Rosco stepped forward. Melisandre's sharp red eyes, however, locked immediately on Pierce's lips—where a faint trace of vivid red lingered that definitely didn't belong to him or any food.
Pierce noticed her gaze and met it calmly. A new idea suddenly sparked in his mind.
Cersei's hunger for mysterious power was obvious. Melisandre was a red priestess skilled in seduction and fire magic… What would happen if he introduced the two women?
Perhaps he could use Melisandre's hand to influence and control this dangerous queen even more effectively.
As they climbed into the carriage heading back to Rhaenys's Hill, Pierce looked at the red priestess across from him and spoke first, voice carrying a deliberate note of temptation.
"Lady Melisandre, you've always wanted the Lord of Light's faith to spread across this land so more people can feel the true god's warmth, haven't you?"
Melisandre lifted her gaze instantly, red eyes blazing with fiery zeal. "Of course, my lord! The Lord of Light is the one true god—His flames will illuminate the darkness of Westeros!"
"Then," Pierce leaned forward slightly, voice low, "what if I told you I have an opportunity to introduce you to the most powerful woman in the realm—Queen Cersei Baratheon—giving you the chance to personally explain the Lord of Light's greatness to her? How would you feel about that?"
Melisandre's breath caught. Her eyes exploded with brilliant light. Converting the queen herself would be the dream of any red priest's lifetime!
She remembered the red priest Thoros had been preaching in King's Landing for years with zero success. If she could reach the queen and through her influence the entire city… the achievement would be unparalleled.
"My lord… you're serious?"
But then her gaze drifted once more to the faint red mark on his lips. A bold suspicion rose in her mind.
Her expression turned strangely complicated—part scrutiny, part hidden turmoil. She tried to glimpse Cersei's fate threads in the flames, but as always, anything connected to Pierce turned the visions into chaotic, contradictory fragments.
On one hand, the Lord of Light's guidance had told her to stay at Pierce's side—he was key. On the other, her prophetic sight kept failing around him, leaving her frustrated and uneasy.
Her face shifted between shadow and light in the dim carriage. Finally she drew a deep breath and spoke in a meaningful, slightly dazed tone:
"Cersei Baratheon… her fate threads were once clear and blazing, colored with gold and blood… but now they seem stirred by some invisible force. My lord, your involvement has already bent many fixed paths."
She sounded half statement, half question.
Pierce watched her internal struggle and understood perfectly. He leaned back against the carriage wall, closed his eyes, and said nothing more.
The seed had been planted. What kind of flower it would grow into—what kind of fruit it would bear—would depend on how these two extraordinary women collided inside King's Landing's deadly arena of power.