The figure was tall and slender.
A crimson silk dress clung to her, accentuating her mature, alluring curves.
Her long golden hair was intricately braided and pinned behind her head, with a few stray strands falling softly against her fair neck.
Cersei Lannister.
The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
She was completely different from her image in the show.
Even though this wasn’t the first time Lynn had seen her, he was still captivated.
Up close, that breathtaking beauty was even more pronounced.
Cersei wore no queenly crown.
Yet her innate haughtiness shone brighter than any crown jewels.
The room still bore the lingering scent of leather and sweat from Jaime’s visit.
But Cersei brought with her a rich, sweet floral fragrance reminiscent of a southern garden.
The scent domineeringly filled the cramped room, banishing the Northern ruggedness and cold.
Lynn’s muscles tensed even tighter than when Jaime had stepped inside.
If Jaime was a lion baring its fangs, then Cersei was a venomous snake coiled in the shadows, ready to strike a lethal blow.
“I heard of your heroic deeds,” Cersei began.
Her voice was like fine wine—rich, smooth, with an intoxicating sweetness.
But there was a subtle, mocking smirk on her face.
That bitchy air made Lynn want to tear her apart.
If Sansa was the picture of maidenly propriety, Cersei was pure, unapologetic seduction.
Cersei glided slowly into the room, her crimson skirt rustling silently across the floorboards.
She didn’t look at Lynn at first; instead, her gaze swept over every corner of the room: the crude bed, the solitary chair, and the thin layer of dust on the windowsill.
Her eyes held unhidden disdain, as if her presence alone were an act of charity toward the room.
She reached the bedside and stopped.
Her green eyes finally landed on Lynn.
“A brave man of the Night’s Watch.” A captivating smile curved her lips, though it never reached her eyes.
“You saved the Stark boy.” “Which means you saved His Grace’s honor as well.” “Tell me, how should I reward you?” Lynn said nothing, looking at her quietly—gazing at the beautiful face sung about by bards across the Seven Kingdoms, and seeing the vicious madness hidden beneath that lovely mask.
*What a stunning woman,* he judged privately.
Cersei didn’t seem to mind his silence.
She reached out with an exquisitely manicured hand, nails trimmed round and smooth with a healthy sheen.
Her fingertips lightly brushed Lynn’s covered arm.
Through the rough linen blanket, Lynn could still feel her delicate, cool touch.
“Tell me, what do you desire?” Eager for information, Cersei leaned in slightly, utterly unaware of the impropriety of her posture.
In this medieval clothing, there was nothing blocking the view, exposing everything before Lynn’s eyes.
Those two little white rabbits…
were truly overwhelming.
Lynn didn’t remind her, treating it as a free show from Cersei.
The sweet, cloying fragrance grew heavier.
“Gold?” “Or perhaps a choice position in King’s Landing?” Her voice dropped low, carrying a seductive, corrupting magic.
“Name it, and House Lannister can grant your every desire.” On the surface, it seemed like a simple offer of gratitude.
Anyone else might have jumped at the reward.
But Lynn had a god’s-eye view; he knew Cersei’s true nature all too well.
It was a trap.
If he accepted, he would fall under Lannister control, and once he outlived his usefulness, he would be silenced permanently.
Lynn knew that if Cersei suspected he knew anything, she would eliminate him herself.
She tolerated no uncontrolled variables.
Lynn lowered his eyelids, concealing his thoughts.
“It is my duty to serve House Stark, Your Grace.” “Knowing Bran lives is reward enough for me.” Cersei’s hand paused for a split second.
A tiny ripple flashed in her emerald eyes.
Retracting her hand, her smile remained unchanged.
“A loyal warrior indeed.” “Ned Stark has found himself a fine soldier.” Her tone shifted into a perfectly measured display of concern.
“That poor boy, Bran.” “Such a tragedy.” “I hear he loved to climb even as a small child—a mischievous little boy.” She sounded as though she were talking to herself, or perhaps asking a subtle question.
Lynn’s heart beat steadily in his chest.
“Yes, Your Grace.” “It was a tragic accident.” He repeated her words without adding a single extraneous syllable.
Cersei stared at his face for a long time, searching his calm expression for the slightest flaw.
However, she failed.
Lynn’s face was like Northern permafrost—hard and unyielding.
“You were practicing your swordplay beneath the tower at the time?” she asked casually.
“Yes, Your Grace.” “It was quiet there.” “I heard a scream.” “Then I saw Bran falling.” His answer matched what he had told Catelyn word for word.
Cersei fell silent.
The only sound left in the room was the crackling of firewood in the hearth.
The sweet floral scent began to feel suffocating.
After a long moment, Cersei smiled again, brighter than before.
“Lynn.” “Rest well and recover.” She straightened up, reclaiming her haughty queenly posture, turned, and walked toward the door.
Lynn’s eyes lingered on Cersei’s swaying, voluptuous hips as she walked away.
*A queen, huh?* *I wonder what it feels like to conquer her.* *Pressing her beneath me to writhe in pleasure must be quite thrilling.* *She is the queen, after all, and the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.* *It’d be a shame not to conquer her…* This world was quite open.
Wives didn’t even mind their husbands dallying outside, which was why there were so many bastards.
A man could only have one wife, but there was no rule against how many lovers he could keep.
*I’ll treat her as a little pre-meal dessert…* Cersei vanished behind the door, but her sweet fragrance clung to the air like a ghost.
Lynn knew he wasn’t completely out of danger.
As long as Bran remained unconscious, the secret remained hidden.
“Knock, knock.” Another knock on the door, light and unlike any before.
Lynn frowned.
“Come in.” The door opened a sliver, and a tiny head peeked inside—a thin little face, messy hair, and grey eyes filled with worry and reliance.
It was Arya Stark.
She wasn’t dressed in fancy dresses like Sansa, wearing only a grey tunic and trousers suitable for movement, with a wooden sword strapped to her waist.
Seeing Lynn, her eyes lit up.
Arya pushed the door open, stepped inside, and carefully closed it behind her.
She walked to the bed, looking up at Lynn lying there.
“Are you badly hurt?” Lynn shook his head and ruffled her messy hair.
“They said you saved Bran,” Arya added, her face filled with admiration—the exact same look Sansa wore when looking at Joffrey.
“They said you caught him with your own body.” “They said your bones might be broken.” Her voice was full of wonder.
“You’re so brave.” “Braver than Robb and Jon.” Lynn looked at her—at this girl who would become a Faceless Man in the future.
Right now, she was just a little girl idolizing a hero.
“Thank you,” Lynn said.
Arya pursed her lips, seemingly making a major decision.
She suddenly leaned forward, and before Lynn could react, a soft, cool sensation landed on his cheek.
It was a kiss, carrying the sweet breath of youth.
After kissing him, Arya’s face flushed bright red.
Like a startled rabbit, she sprang back two steps.
“This…
this is your thank-you gift!” she stammered.
With that, Arya turned and bolted, pulling the door open and vanishing down the corridor without looking back.
Though she was young, under her septa’s teachings, she wasn’t entirely clueless; she knew what she had done.
Silence returned to the room.
Lynn raised a hand, gently touching his cheek, where the lingering warmth of the girl remained.
Just then, a long horn blast sounded outside the castle.
The hunting party had returned.