4 Chapter 4: Redheads & Crisis

Boom!

"Wonderful!" Joffrey clapped at the marvelous demonstration of the newly inducted weapon in the armory of the King. Scorpions but with jars of Wildfire at the tips of the large arrow. Each arrow was meant to cause utter chaos and destruction.

"We are flattered, Your Grace." Wisdom Hallyne, commonly called Hallyne the Pyromancer, smiled with his rotten teeth on display, his back hunched. "We, the Alchemists' Guild in King's Landing, are always delighted to serve you."

Joffrey agreed, wanting to use the Alchemists to make the city stronger. Just in case his plans derailed and the mother of dragons decided to burn the city down.

"I am giving you access to the Dragon's Pit. It will be turned into a restricted zone where no one can enter without my permission. You're to develop enough Scorpions that all of King's Landing's walls can be covered—one at every hundred yards. Furthermore, try to invent more weapons like these Scorpions and ways to make it safer to store Wildfire."

There was no end to Hallyne's happiness, "We will follow your orders, Your Grace. We wi—"

"You will receive the funds, but without my written and stamped order, not a single jar of Wildfire must leave the Dragon Pit. If it does, I will hold you accountable," Joffrey took on the old, threatening, scary persona again. "You must be aware of what happened to the previous Wisdom of the Alchemists' Guild."

"You may leave," Joffrey dismissed him and lazily stretched his back, tired from working so much. It was less related to actual physical work but more about processing the information. He hoped to keep the edge with his knowledge of the future, hoping his actions wouldn't change anything too much.

Thankfully, the issue with the North seemed to be going his way. Hoster Tully had died, and Robb Stark had executed Rickard Karstark for killing two useless Lannister boys. It was to his benefit to see Robb Stark lose favor from other Northern Houses.

Arya Stark must be brought back. Without the Hound out there, she won't survive for too long. Perhaps a letter from Sansa will help. I do know her location, after all.

But what worried him more was the coming Red Wedding. He still wondered how to go about it. He wanted to pacify the North but, at the same time, didn't want to let Robb live.

Ugh, why isn't Sansa expecting my child by now? Only through her can I control the North.

Of course, there was also the worry that something might be wrong with him. And if this was true, it wasn't something that would just ruin his plans but also his life as the King.

"Ser Clegane, are there any trustworthy men you know that I can hire for a personal task?" he asked his most loyal Kingsguard at the moment. It wasn't easy, but earning Sandor's respect was monumental for him. And the greatest thing about him was that Cersei couldn't control him, and he held hatred for Tywin.

Sandor hummed in agreement, "You should speak with your uncle regarding that, Your Grace."

"Fantastic idea. That Bronn is quite dependable as long as he gets the money. Uncle should be helming the cleaning of the sewers—we'll finally be breathing some clean air soon," Joffrey said, clapping his hands and heading out to the entrance of the sewers, with Sandor following behind.

There were also six more Kingsguard, but he didn't trust them and always kept them at bay. Not to mention, he didn't feel as scared in the city anymore since the smallfolks admired him after the Battle of Blackwater.

Seven! This stench! Joffrey found himself pinching his nose shut the closer he got to the sewers.

"We're here, Your Grace."

He fixed his clothes and stepped out of the royal carriage. They had stopped somewhere close to Flea Bottom, the famous slums of King's Landing. It was filled with maze-like narrow streets where one person was poorer than the next. Food was a luxury; a roof wasn't a necessity. Filth was the way of life, and honor was a mythical subject.

"Here comes my favorite nephew."

Joffrey saw as Tyrion appeared from one of the streets, his face covered with a silky cloth, as were the guards behind him. They looked dirty and sweaty.

"How is the cleaning going, Uncle?"

"Don't worry, Your Grace. Hand of the King won't shy away from getting his hands dirty to finish this minor job. As you had suspected, the sewers were in utter need of repair and cleaning. I'm afraid none since King Jahaerys the first bothered maintaining it," Tyrion briefed him, feeling somewhat shocked that Joffrey had come to such a lowly place.

But again, ever since that night, nothing about him was normal. Although he had confronted him softly, a plausible answer was yet to be found.

Joffrey frowned when he noticed the lack of activity behind Tyrion, "How long will it take at this pace?"

"A long time, I'm afraid. You see, the Crown is as rich as Flea Bottom, perhaps even worse. We can't pay people to clean the sewers, nor are there any interested in volunteering to do such work."

"Did you offer free food?" Joffrey asked.

"I did, but still no luck."

"Then offer them better food, not just some watery stew a wee bit better than bowls of brown. Fresh bread and stew filled with real meat, enough that the entire Flea Bottom smells the scent. Furthermore, call the people to the sewers. It's time I use my fame to better use," Joffrey suggested and began to take off his regal cloak, then the sword tied around his waist, and finally his vest.

Tyrion dumbly stared at the young King, "You can't be thinking what I think you're thinking."

"I am doing exactly what you are thinking, Uncle."

"You're going to enter the sew—"

"WE are going to enter the sewers, Uncle."

"..."

Could he deny the king as the King's Hand? Absolutely not. Did he want to enter the sewers? Never. Was he impressed by Joffrey's cynical and yet just ideas? No doubt.

"Pick up a shovel, and let's go, Uncle," Joffrey hated it and felt like vomiting. But he really feared being killed in a rebellion by the people. So, he wanted to be seen as a kind King. "You too, Ser Clegane."

"Shit." That was all the mighty Kingsguard could say.

####

Joffrey spent almost half a day luring smallfolks into working to clean and repair the sewers. At first, they only spectated their King getting himself dirty, but soon, the word spread about the magical stew that would be rewarded for lunch and dinner.

As the King, he ate lunch with the smallfolks, and once it was proven that the stew was indeed rich and filled with meat, it took no time to gather a large workforce. More than a thousand smallfolks came to work in return for food, and Tyrion was a happier man.

But the stench was so strong that Joffrey couldn't sleep that entire night. He had taken a bath after returning from work and another before sleeping, and now it was morning, and he took one more bath.

In the tub filled with warm water in his room, he scrubbed his skin harshly, his developing muscles aching against his firm touch.

The things I do to live. I sometimes feel it would have been better if I had died at that time.

But now he was alive, and all he could do was do things differently than that time.

He cleaned his teeth, used various perfumes on his clothes, and even threw away those he had worn the previous day. He washed his hair fervently and finally got out of the tub and donned his regal clothes. He was supposed to hold court today as many matters had piled up. However, most were petty, just smallfolks bringing their grievances.

Sniff! Sniff!

Come on! Why do I still smell it? Is the stench in my nose now? He groaned after getting dressed and smelling himself.

Knock! Knock!

"Your Grace, Lady Margaery wishes to see you."

Joffrey sighed, moistening his lips before responding to the Kingsguard, "Let her in."

The door opened, and Margaery walked in. She was wearing her usual thin, silky brown dress, which was regal, and had a deep-cut neck that showed plenty of skin. Her long, untied hair fluttered as she walked, swaying those hips more than usual. Her face had the usual ever-present smile, which hid a lot of things.

Joffrey noticed it. He checked her out from top to bottom. That thin waist, her ripe mounds, and that sultry face with the smile from her thin lips. Undoubtedly, she was one of the most beautiful women in the realm.

I can't wait to shove this cock in that mouth.

But he had made plans, and he had to go by them for the most optimal result. Over the past month or so, he had avoided her, given her a cold shoulder, and never even spoke more than a greeting. The desperation and tension were evident in her attempts to get close to him. There was no doubt the old Queen of Thorns must have reprimanded Margaery for playing hard to get with the man who would be her husband.

"I heard a great many things about you, Your Grace," Margaery voiced softly and amorously, getting closer to him, knowing the risks. "I heard the smallfolks talk so much about you. They adore you."

Joffrey didn't need to know that from her. Getting famous in the right way was the entire fucking point of entering the filth. But he didn't mind playing with this beauty with brown eyes and a slender body he desired to pin down and savor.

"Is that so?" He replied and stepped closer to her as well, surprising her since he never responded like that since that 'incident.' "What else do they say?"

He awaited her response and decided to tease her a bit. Stopping right at her face, he gently caressed her neck with his thin fingers, feeling the silky smoothness of her skin. He could see her twitch in fear, and once he cupped her thin neck with his palm, he noticed the fear and the persistent pumping pulse.

Like a little rabbit in a lion's jaw. Hah, I love playing the villain.

"Y-Your Grace, they speak great things. That you are the greatest King who cares for them and fights for them. They call you brave as the Warrior," she still answered, despite feeling like running away.

"Really?" Joffrey inched his face closer to hers, his lips reaching just a finger's length away from hers. His breath was felt by her and hers by him. The scent of her perfumes was quite exciting, and he decided to tease her more.

Joffrey let go of her neck but only caressed his palm to her collarbone, then down her front, and finally rested on her perky breast, not too big nor too small, but big enough to feel soft in her regal dress.

Interesting. She'd have reacted negatively if it was the Margaery from before. But now… She's probably rejoicing.

He cupped her mounds one after another while staring at her flushed face, and her lips parted open to release some steam of warmth. He smirked and caressed his hand down further and wrapped his arm around her waist before pulling her onto his body, his palm reaching her ass. The thin dress didn't leave much to his imagination as he perfectly felt the softness.

Warm and smooth with that silk covering her, he even noticed the lack of her smallclothes. Ah, she came prepared to be fucked.

He lowered his face beside her ear while feeling her body nicely pressed against him. Both his palms had cupped her rear, spread them apart, and pulled her onto him so his girthy bulge would press against her stomach.

"And what do you think about this King?"

Aroused, scared and breathless. Margaery never knew such a combination of feelings could possibly be felt simultaneously. His hands on her rear almost made her quiver, knowing how hard his aroused flesh was against her stomach.

She tried to reply as confidently as possible. "I… I am blessed to be your betrothed, Your Grace. I would love to show you my appreciation in any way possible, however you want it, whenever and where—"

She paused when Joffrey's lips touched her neck, sending intense tremors across her body. Having given him permission to do whatever he wanted, she expected to be manhandled and abused on the bed.

"You are truly beautiful, Lady Margaery," Joffrey whispered into her ears. "But you lost my embrace by your own actions. A woman who merrily spread her legs wide for a fucking traitor but not for her King, her husband—I may feel lustful, but I feel no love. My forgiveness is not so easy to earn."

And just like that, Margaery gasped at the sensation of his fleeting touch. His body stepped away, and his hands left her rear. He walked by her side and reached for the door.

"What must I do then… Your Grace?" She asked, feeling lost and out of any solution to the whole debacle. "I have surrendered my body to you… I hav—"

"Even whores surrender their bodies to me. But I don't need a whore. I need a woman who is intelligent yet knows her place. Who entertains me and yet knows her boundaries," Joffrey replied and opened the door. "Have a good day."

Bam!

Just as the door slammed shut, Margaery found her knees going limp. She fell down, utterly lost and confused, regretting her high-handedness from that day. Regretting thinking she could control the young, impulsive King with her beauty. Everything she had been informed by her grandmother turned out to be false.

Joffrey was no fool. There was a master of the game hidden inside that mind that almost all seem to underestimate.

Beyond my flesh, what can I even give you?

She wondered, but there was no answer.

####

As planned, the court began, and he started hearing the pleas of the various smallfolks. Some traders also came, and a few nobles as well. But things were mainly dull and pointless. He felt like sleeping on that throne, but the fear of being pricked by one of the swords kept him awake. The last thing he wanted was to die from those rusted swords.

It was a regular day, so only a few spectators were there in the throne room. They didn't even want to be there and only came to show their faces to the King, hoping to be remembered.

"Your Grace," whispered Tyrion, who sat beside the Iron Throne as the Hand of the King. "There's a special guest outside. It's the Red Woman who served Stannis."

Joffrey scowled, "Let her in."

Why would she come to me if she was able to escape? Shouldn't she be going to the North now? But I wish I could use her fire magic… It seems impressive.

As the woman walked in, the murmurs became audible. On one hand, it was her status that struck fear in many. On the other hand, her beauty was worth appreciating. The hair cascading down her back, rich and deep red, seemed to embody the essence of fire. They flowed around her face and down her back in waves.

Her eyes were like two polished garnets, deep and enigmatic. Her skin was pale like alabaster, a stark contrast to the vivid red of her hair and the rich scarlet tone of her attire. The delicate curve of her lips, her body, and the hips in her attire of red shades with body-hugging luxurious fabrics aroused many minds in an instant.

However, the woman never removed her gaze from the King on the Iron Throne. As if reading the young royal's thoughts, she greeted before anyone could speak.

"Melisandre of Asshai greets the great King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Ugh, I don't like that look in her eyes. She's going to do something dumb, isn't she? He reckoned, since her appearing there meant a significant deviation. Will Jon Snow die for good now?

"You are supposed to be dead, Melisandre of Asshai."

"The Lord of Light guides my way, and I walk the path. My end simply did not come yet, Your Grace."

"And why did your Lord bring you here?"

"To you, Your Grace. You are the Chosen One," Melisandre said with a bit of fanaticism in her voice. "You are the light that shall vanquish the darkness. The one whose blade will spear through the cold, dark night that creeps closer. You are the King with a glorious purpose!"

I knew it! She wants to recruit me to her filthy religion. Has she gone senile? To come and challenge the Seven so openly.

"I only believe in the Seven, Melisandre of Asshai. I do not believe in your Lord of Light!"

"Nor do I want you to. As long as I can serve you in accomplishing your glorious purpose, I will have fulfilled my duty, Your Grace."

I can't bring this meeting to an end here. I should be killing her right away. But her help was monumental in the visions I saw. Fire kills the dead who live.

Joffrey tilted to his side and whispered to Tyrion, "Uncle, lead her to my solar. I will speak with her privately. I don't want rumors to spread."

"Ah! I just remembered something, Melisandre of Asshai," Tyrion said as he jumped from his seat. "Since you are from Asshai, I hope you can confirm a few things for me. Please follow me."

Melisandre got the message and followed Tyrion. All the way until she left the throne room, her eyes remained fixed on Joffrey.

She's too unpredictable for me to make a plan for her.

"Bring the next one in," he resumed the court after that little interaction. But one thing was sure, he didn't feel sleepy anymore.

####

It took almost an entire day to finish his royal duties. Holding the court, meeting with the Small Council, and dealing with Tywin and Cersei's ever-so-increasing schemes. There was no end to his worries, especially when he was the only one who understood the dangers in the north and believed that the Targaryen Princess had hatched dragons.

But alas, he found time and returned to his solar as the redhead priestess waited for him there. It was dark outside, but the breeze was soothing as it came through the open window with the curtains fluttering. It was a small room he used to sit in alone and work, so it felt airy.

"Your Grace," the Red Woman greeted him, still looking impeccable from head to toe despite having waited for so many hours.

"Have you eaten?" Joffrey asked and took his seat behind the table.

She nodded and walked closer to the table, "The servants brought me supper, Your Grace."

So stiff. It's going to be hard to deal with her. Or maybe not?

"What do you want from me? Be as precise as possible."

"I desire nothing from you, Your Grace. I was merely shown guidance towards a path that I must take to ensure you achieve your life's purpose. You are the chosen one, and I am here to help you achieve your goals in any way possible." She said those last words with a little more hint of emotion. Her hand trailed the table's surface with her fingers as her feet moved to walk closer to him.

Joffrey glanced up at her face. Her utterly pale skin was a sight to behold, akin to the moon itself. Her red hair and lips were inviting and wild. But then, his eyes fell on her necklace.

Ugh, I know what she looks like. Do I really want to put my cock in her? He asked himself, trying to be rational.

But I know Margaery will look like that old bitch OIenna one day, and I still want to ravish Margaery. As long as beauty is intact, does it matter if there can be another variation of the same person?

Still, he could not bring himself to take her to his bed.

"So I can order you to do anything I want?" He asked.

"Anything, Your Grace. To assist you is my duty."

Joffrey stared at her seriously to see her reaction to his following words. "Then, get down on your knees and pleasure my cock."

The room was dimly lit, so there wasn't enough light to see everything. But still, he could see her face clearly. When his words left his mouth, before he even finished speaking, she was already getting down to her knees as if she expected it.

She's actually doing it. I expected some repulsion at that command.

But he needed it since the run-in with Margaery in the morning had left him wanting a release. So, he pushed his chair back to give her space and, on his own, lowered his breeches as well as the smallclothes. His shaft, which was already semi-erect, tossed out.

Knock! Knock!

"Must be Tyrion!" Joffrey quickly held onto Melisandre's shoulders and pushed her while she remained on her knees. He made her move under his table as he fixed his chair's position as well, neatly spreading his knees apart while Malisandre remained kneeling with his straining erection resting vertically on her face.

He could feel her hot breath, and it didn't take long before her thin and cold fingers clasped his girth tightly. The strokes came not long after. The sudden movement of her fingers left him aroused, hardening to the fullest.

"Come in."

"Ghk!" Slimy, slippery gulping sound of Melisandre's mouth suddenly came as she plunged his cock into her mouth, her red slutty lips parting while her eyes, with a tinge of deep red, stared at him the entire time.

He felt his feet press onto the ground in an attempt not to groan in pleasure.

The feeling of her mouth was just too different, too heavenly. Her tongue was like a burning furnace, and the inner walls of her cheeks contracted so hard that he felt his cock would bleed before releasing his seeds.

Her one hand continued to rub his length and stroke him while her face moved up and down vigorously, uncaring of the mess that was being made. She even used her other hand to caress his balls and inner thighs, a sensation he couldn't help but love.

"Uncle Tyrion, I nee—"

All of a sudden, Joffrey felt his manhood going limp. There stood Tywin Lannister, the old lion at the door. The man entered at a slow pace and stopped after closing the door. "Your Grace."

Such great timing! Those bastard Kingsguard didn't announce the name of the visitor. I'll have their fucking skin!

"Grandfather. What brig-nghs… You here?" He almost moaned there as Melisandre started licking harder, forcing it to stand up once again. Her tongue slid from base to head, widely caressing every inch, covering his rapidly growing erection with her spit.

In no time, he was rock hard again, twitching for more.

Melisandre seemed to be feeling excited from the risky situation and sucked him harder than before. Using the tip of her tongue, she trailed it around the edge of the swollen knob of his driving need. She pulled the entire foreskin down and teased him on the most sensitive spot.

She parted her lips and allowed him to enter fully with one thrust, sending him deep into her throat. Joffrey almost jolted in his chair from the sudden thrill surging through his body.

"I came here wanting to know if Your Grace has forgotten the duties of a King. You went to Flea Bottom and entered the sewers yourself? The realm will laugh at you." Tywin looked highly annoyed.

As if wanting to give him the strength to fight against the old lion, Melisandre shoved his cock even deeper into her mouth, letting her throat coat him with her thick saliva, hungrily slobbering around him.

Her hands firmly held his thighs from the side as she didn't gag despite his sizable cock resting all the way in her throat. Her tongue kept pressing his shaft from below like a scorching, slithering snake. Every part of his length was pleasured, flicked, and stroked.

"The realm laughs at me and the Crown already, Grandfather. The realm has been laughing at us since my Father's days. They don't respect us anymore, nor do they trust our rule. What I did was merely the first step to winning back the trust," Joffrey replied with newfound confidence. The warmth around his shaft seemed to play an unknown but significant role.

The old lion squinted his eyes, obviously seeing how different Joffrey had become. "As long as you aren't naive enough to believe the smallfolks can be won over, you can continue these theatrics. Other than a few days of praises, they won't earn you anything."

"Then I will take those few days of praise. It's better than brooding over the crippling debt that the Crown faces," Joffrey talked back, waiting for him to leave as he felt his release inching up in her masterful mouth.

Tywin, in his usual manner, scoffed while keeping his arms behind him. "I hope you know what you are doing. Sometimes, confidence can mislead one to a false sense of high self-worth. The Mad King did, as did many others before him."

"Don't worry, Grandfather. I won't allow that madness to return."

The old lion and Joffrey stared at each other for a good few moments.

Go away now, old man! I'm about to burst here. Joffrey wanted to shout at Tywin. But he curled his toes, grabbed Melisandre's hair harshly with one hand, and the other rested as a clenched fist on the table. His balls twitched uncontrollably as she pleasured with her throat. She kept him sunken deep into her and only bobbed her head enough to squeeze his knob up and down.

"Then I will see you tomorrow. Have a good night," Tywin finally turned around and walked to the door.

Every moment felt like an eternity.

In desperation to feel her tight warmth, Joffrey leaned forward on the table, bringing both his hands under the table, and held Melisandre's head firmly. He grabbed her hair and slammed her face onto his pelvis so his iron-hard rod went in as deep as possible. Her eyes, still looking at him, naturally teared up. Her harsh and uneven breath came from her nose as well, tickling his wet skin.

The mess of saliva at the base of his shaft formed a sputtering froth as she attempted to stroke him with her face and pouting lips, aiming to utterly please her lord like none other and rule his mind through carnal pleasure.

Thud!

At last, Tywin closed the door, and right then, another opened under the table.

"I'm coming!" He warned and let go. He didn't give a damn about Melisandre and kept her firmly stuck on his cock while his wild tremors came that shook the chair, as well as her body. With strong spasms and his molten member pulsating, he felt his veins clench and, at last, released everything with an uncontrollable flood.

His thick white seeds sprayed deep into her throat, bringing Joffrey the greatest pleasure. He eased his hands on her silky hair at that time and let his staff slowly inch back while pumping a few more sprays, coating her throat.

Then, at last, he loosened himself out of her face hole that lay between his legs, ruined. Tendrils of his white seeds stretched from her lips as his cock left her in deep gasps. The view was wild, her red hair like fire, and her eyes filled with burning desire.

"Cough!" She finally coughed when the thick cum irritated the depths of her throat. But she quickly closed her mouth and gulped everything down, swallowing every last drop of him.

Fuck! I think I'm into redheads. Joffrey found the possibility plausible.

Melisandre's mature looks were also something that aroused him. But he was still not sure about doing her in the true sense. He just watched her sniffle and try cleaning her mouth by herself.

"That was quite something," he muttered and pushed his chair back to allow her space to get out.

But instead of walking away, she got up from under the table and stood in front of Joffrey, still between his legs. She beckoned her hips on the table and began lifting her dress from below to give him access to her aroused depth.

"You can satisfy yourself further, Your Grace."

She wants me to fuck her? No, no, no! I don't want any shadow demons or whatever coming out of her now.

Cautious because he knew her well, he denied it quickly and stood up to head to the bed chambers. "Thank you for the offer, but I am satisfied."

He pulled his breeches, tied them up, and moved to the door.

However, before he opened it, he looked back, "Always be prepared from now on. Whenever I require, I will summon you for your pleasing services. Under my table, that shall be your place whenever I am at my solar."

At least I got an anytime pleasuring tool.

"As you command, Your Grace," not even questioning him, she readily agreed. "No matter what, no matter when, I will serve you with all I have."

Thud!

Joffrey left right after she finished speaking as his mood knew no lows for the night. He knew it was going to be a great slumber.

Sansa must be in my room. I hope she's already asleep because I sure can't go another round after what that witch did to me. He told himself while walking. But perhaps I can use my finger. She's too easy to pleasure.

"Your Grace."

Alerted, he stopped in his tracks and glanced back. The hallway was utterly empty, as it was secured for his personal use. "Lord Varys?"

The eunuch appeared from a corner, hooded with an oversized cloth. He walked carefully and only stopped before Joffrey for a few moments.

"Your Grace, Lord Lannister has called the Small Council to meet tomorrow without you. Your mother gave the royal approval," Varys briefed quickly. "I don't know the details. But your mother plans to deal with Lady Sansa."

Fury burned through Joffrey. His elated mood was now spoiled and turned into unbridled anger towards Cersei. "She holds no authority over the Small Council. Neither does my grandfather."

"But they do, Your Grace," Lord Varys said, looking a bit worried himself. "The one who holds the might is always on the right."

"She is mine," Joffrey grunted. "Sansa is mine!"

"She is, Your Grace. But your grandfather and mother have other ideas. They fear the Tyrells calling off the betrothal if nothing is done," Varys warned and looked behind with worry. "I must go now. By the way, the guest you invited will be arriving discreetly in two nights."

Joffrey simply nodded and saw Lord Varys leave.

His mood was spoiled, and he returned to his bed chambers, ignoring the two Kingsguards who stood outside. Inside the dimly lit room, he glanced and noticed Sansa sleeping on his bed, wearing her thinnest cotton nightgown, likely in wait since he always tore them apart when making love.

She loved it, as he was gentle with her body but wild in other shows of affection. The careless smile on her lips as she softly breathed in her sleep made Joffrey feel something.

A desire—A desire to protect, to keep. A desire to punish those who dared inflict their will upon him forcefully.

With a sigh, he quickly removed all his garbs except for the smallclothes and joined Sansa in the bed under the quilt. Immediately, she noticed him, shifted closer to his body, and hugged him, resting her face on his chest and hugging his waist.

He also hugged her tight and rested his chin above her head before closing his eyes. But clearly, sleep was something he wasn't going to be blessed with that night.

Cersei, that fucking whore! And that bastard Tywin—I'll have your blood soon. Nobody gets to take away what's mine—nobody!

His eyes, which had turned blue months ago, suddenly flashed red with wrath.

___________________

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