Red Keep, Maegor's Garden.
Queen Cersei, adorned in lavish garments, sat with regal grace, her expression soft as she watched Princess Myrcella play with Prince Tommen beneath the sun-dappled trees.
Prince Joffrey was seated beside her, his face taut with barely concealed impatience.
Not far away, Ser Jaime stood sentinel, clad in his white cloak and silver armor, sword at his side.
Lancel hovered nervously beside him, flinching now and then under Joffrey's lingering gaze.
It was then that Lord Grenn and Lord Tyrion entered the garden, their steps light as they approached the two knights.
Grenn came to stand at Jaime's side, while Tyrion, smiling as ever, wordlessly pulled the flustered Lancel away to the other side.
Jaime glanced toward Cersei, then lowered his voice.
"Well, Little Lord—what did the old lion have to say?"
Unconsciously, the name had changed. Jaime no longer called him "the little wildling," but Little Lord.
Grenn replied, "He offered me the governorship of Crackclaw Point… in exchange for a certain task."
Without reservation, Grenn recounted all that had occurred, especially the concealed chamber discovered in the Hand's study.
Jaime's voice dripped with derision. "So the Hand's chambers are full of holes, and the old fool never noticed a thing."
Grenn nodded in agreement.
When their talk ended, an awkward silence settled between them. Though they had grown familiar, something in their nature refused to align. Beyond matters of war or duty, there was little to say.
Seeking to ease the mood, Grenn cast a glance at the children.
Perhaps a compliment would do?
He cleared his throat. "Princess Myrcella is… very sweet."
Jaime gave him only a cool, sideways glance.
Grenn, ever perceptive, sensed something shift.
Tyrion, watching from the side, missed nothing. His face betrayed no reaction, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.
Before Grenn could dwell further, one of Queen Cersei's handmaidens approached with deliberate grace.
"Good day, Lord Grenn. Her Grace the Queen requests your presence."
Grenn exchanged a glance with Jaime, then followed.
Cersei inclined her head as Grenn bowed before her.
"Lord Grenn," she said. "This is my eldest son, Joffrey Baratheon, heir to the Iron Throne."
Joffrey raised his chin ever so slightly. The curl of his lips mirrored his mother's almost perfectly.
No wonder she favors him so—he is truly her reflection.
Grenn placed a hand to his chest. "Good day, Your Highness."
Joffrey was pleased with the address.
His younger brother, the sniveling one, was always called Prince Tommen. Why should he—Joffrey, heir to the throne—be lumped in with the same title? No, he alone should carry the name Prince.
Grenn's choice of words had struck true.
"I've heard of you," Joffrey said, his mood lifting. "Your courage is most admirable."
Cersei blinked in faint surprise. It was rare for her proud son to offer kindness to any stranger.
But inwardly, she nodded, satisfied. He sees value with but a glance. Truly, he is my son.
In good spirits, she summoned Myrcella and Tommen.
"Good day, Prince Tommen. Good day, Princess Myrcella," Grenn greeted them warmly.
His use of the title Prince for Tommen pleased Joffrey all the more.
"Mother, I want to reward Lord Grenn," he announced.
Grenn's ears perked up, and suddenly his back didn't ache quite so much.
He's learning, Cersei thought with pride. Reward those who serve, and they'll serve even better. Just like me.
Cersei gave Joffrey a gentle smile. "Very well, my prince. I shall see to it."
"Tommen, Myrcella—wipe your brows. It's time for rest."
She turned to Grenn, lifting one hand with effortless poise.
"Walk with me, Lord Grenn."
He moved quickly, offering his arm to the Queen as she rose, light as silk on his support.
From a distance, Jaime and Tyrion watched them walk into the garden's heart.
Tyrion smirked. "Brother, it seems your little plan didn't work on dear sister."
Jaime looked away, awkward and defeated.
Tyrion patted his thigh. "Don't worry, Jaime. It's not as dire as we feared. Judging from her mood, our sister isn't angry at all. That's a good sign—you haven't failed yet."
The garden at Maegor's Holdfast was a haven of greenery and birdsong, but the moment shifted as Cersei came to a stop by a bed of deep-red blooms.
Her voice grew cool.
"Lord Grenn, when were you planning to tell me what that old wretch wanted of you?"
So. There were no secrets in the Red Keep. He should have known better than to trust Jaime with discretion—he was better at swinging steel than subtlety.
Grenn's eyes narrowed slightly. "He tried to tempt me into crossing the Narrow Sea, to hunt the Targaryens' two young dragons."
Cersei gave a short, derisive laugh. "A coward's errand."
She glanced at him. "And what, exactly, was the bribe?"
"If I succeeded," Grenn said bitterly, "he promised to name me governor of Crackclaw Point—Warden of the region."
"You don't seem eager."
Grenn nodded. "Your Grace, I've heard the stories. For years, the Red Keep has sent assassins across the sea to slay those dragons. None have succeeded. Now he wants me to try? No. His motives aren't pure."
"And what do you believe his true motive to be?"
Grenn paused. "He wants me gone. Removed from your side. He fears that my sword in your hand cuts too sharply for his liking."
Cersei turned toward him, meeting his gaze. Her chin rose just a little, the line of her jaw proud and sculpted. A faint smile touched her lips.
"Exactly what I thought," she said. "You're of an age with Joffrey, Lord Grenn. And I see great things ahead of you."
Grenn's voice was tight with emotion. "Your Grace, the Clyburn family shall never forget your kindness."
She stepped closer, so near now that her breath touched his cheek.
Cersei's gaze turned soft. She reached up and brushed his face with a delicate hand.
"Such a good boy…"
Then she began to adjust his collar, fingers slow and deliberate.
She felt the flutter of his breath, the tightening of his throat.
Cersei smiled faintly.
Her hand touched his cheek again, lingered.
"That old fool dares to work around me. To direct my best officer as if I were not here. He's never once shown me true respect."Her voice dropped lower."Your queen is very angry. And we must do something about it… or else I won't be able to swallow this insult."
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯
The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥
Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.
🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN
Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.