"My apologies, Lord Tyrion." The Kingsguard was Balon Swann, a broad-chested, stocky man with arms like iron.
Seeing it wasn't Joffrey, Tyrion breathed a sigh of relief. If it had been that little bastard, the Kingsguard would have been the Hound. This meant the visitor was his sister.
"The Queen is within and has ordered no outsiders to enter."
"Ser Balon Swann," Tyrion said, harboring little ill will toward him. "This is the Tower of the Hand, not the Great Hall."
The Kingsguard's Adam's apple twitched involuntarily, as if he were swallowing some unspoken emotion. One couldn't help but wonder if, in that moment, the horrifying image of Meryn Trant flashed through his mind. He slowly stepped aside, yielding the doorway.
Tyrion pushed open the bedroom door. Inside, flickering candlelight illuminated a familiar figure—Cersei.
Sansa sat on the edge of the bed, while Arya lay sprawled across it, her head buried beneath the pillow.
Tyrion stared coldly at Cersei. The bitch. She'd told them.
"Dear brother, why that look?" Cersei's smile held malice. "Don't forget you're a Lannister. We are family."
Then she turned to Sansa. "Sansa, tell my brother what you think of Robb Stark's death."
"Queen, my brother was a traitor. He deserved to die..."
"Enough." Tyrion cut her off. "For the gods' sake, sis, shall we discuss this in the study?"
The Queen followed her brother into the study.
"Gods, Cersei, must you torment the girl?" Tyrion frowned. Joffrey's cruelty clearly ran in the family.
"Brother, your different-colored eyes frighten me." Cersei did not answer his question. "Tell me, did you just want to kill me?"
Yes, I could have strangled you, Tyrion thought. Let the prophecy be fulfilled in me.
"Did you know Father is considering marrying her to Lancel?" Tyrion said. "Perhaps she'll become a Lannister someday. I advise you not to be too harsh with her."
"What?" Cersei's brows furrowed tightly. "Father wants to marry her to Lancel? Does Uncle Kevan know about this?"
"That I don't know." Tyrion stared into her eyes. "But I think I know your little secret."
"What?" Cersei tried to hide her embarrassment.
"You're bedding Lancel," Tyrion said with a smirk. "Come now, sister, you've never been any good at lying. Call anyone you like the boy's father—but you're not fooling anyone."
"You're lying!" Cersei's face flushed crimson. "What proof do you have?"
"What proof do I need? Lock us in a room together, and before dinner's over, he'll confess," Tyrion said. "Since I've been back, Lancel has been very well-behaved. That must have been before I came to King's Landing. Ah, back then, Jaime wasn't around, and you wanted a lesser version of your big brother."
"What do you want?"
"What could I possibly want, sis? Family glory matters just as much to me," Tyrion said. "Who you sleep with is none of my business... but spreading your legs for one brother while refusing to do the same for another? That doesn't seem quite fair."
"You bastard!" Cersei lunged as if to strike him. "What do you want?"
"Easy, Cersei. I was just joking. Truth is, compared to you, I'd rather fantasize about my brother getting some action. I really don't understand what Jaime sees in you besides his own reflection."
Tyrion frowned. "Just hope you and your precious son cause less trouble. Otherwise, one day, I might have a little chat with Jaime."
"You..." Cersei trembled with rage, glaring fiercely at her brother before storming out of the study.
Tyrion knew full well this leverage would serve him well for a long time to come.