Jaime Lannister had heard Cersei complain many times, but today her anger was sharper than ever. The moment they halted for the night, she had dragged him away from the camp, her fingers cold, her steps impatient. He knew exactly why. It was the same reason she had been restless since the king's announcement last night.
But Jaime did not want her involved in this matter—not this way, not with this fire in her eyes.
"Cersei," he sighed, "Robert hasn't done anything yet. He hasn't taken the boy into the Red Keep. He hasn't even declared anything before the court. You may be worrying over nothing."
"Nothing?" Cersei's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "You call this nothing?"
Jaime opened his mouth to answer, but Cersei pressed on.
"Robert's sudden 'fatherly affection' will fade soon enough," he argued. "You know him. I know him. Half the women he's sworn eternal love to cannot even remember his name now. He makes bold promises at night and forgets them by morning."
As Robert's Kingsguard, Jaime had witnessed it all firsthand. Countless whores and tavern maids had received some drunken vow from Robert Baratheon, only for the king to forget them by sunrise. Jaime had even paid the gold dragons for some of those escapades himself. Robert was predictable in his weakness. Pleasure would always eclipse responsibility.
"He is not the type to bring a bastard into the court," Jaime insisted. "And he cares for Joffrey. For all the… circumstances… his love for the children isn't false."
Cersei responded with a cold snort.
"Hmph. Listen to you—so righteous, so dutiful." Her lip curled in a smile that held no warmth. "Tell me, Jaime… have you forgotten what you are? Do you need me to remind you? Kingslayer?"
The word—that word—landed like a slap.
Jaime's jaw tightened. "I didn't mean—Cersei, you're twisting—"
"Spare me." She cut him off, taking a step closer. Her eyes were colder than the wind off the Narrow Sea. "Don't insult me with excuses worse than the rags a whore wipes herself with."
Jaime fell silent. She was furious—truly furious. Her chest rose and fell with fast breaths, and behind her anger he sensed fear. Not fear for herself, but fear for their children. Fear for Joffrey.
Ever since Karl Stone—Robert's bastard from the Vale—had arrived in King's Landing, Cersei had treated him like a knife pressed against her throat. Jon Arryn had protected the boy then, and Cersei had been unable to act. But Jon Arryn was dead now. And Robert had, of his own accord, chosen to bring the boy on this journey.
Of course she was terrified.
She would rather swallow poison than let a bastard, Robert's bastard, breathe the same air as her children.
So when she saw Karl riding with the royal party today, safely and comfortably as if he were some long-lost prince, something inside her had snapped. She hadn't even bothered to eat before dragging Jaime into the trees to plan. She could not rest, could not sleep, not while this threat traveled with them. And with every mile they rode north toward Winterfell, her anxiety only sharpened.
Jaime could understand all that. He even sympathized. But sympathy was not the same as agreement.
"Cersei." He spoke quietly. "We should not—"
She cut him off again, voice cold as frost. "If I hadn't stopped it, that bastard would be living under my roof right now. Under my nose. Eating my food. Breathing my air."
Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn't the first time she'd erupted like this. Once, she had argued with Robert so fiercely about the bastard issue that the king had struck her hard enough to knock her to the floor. Jaime had heard the slap from outside the door. Cersei had refused to be seen in public for a week afterward.
Her hatred for Karl Stone went back far earlier than Robert's current whim. The very first day the boy arrived in King's Landing, she had disliked him. And when she learned his mother had given birth to him in the Vale—while Robert was being fostered there as a youth—her fury only sharpened.
Jon Arryn's death had removed one of the few obstacles preventing her from acting.
And now, Robert was planning to go north. To Ned Stark. To the man he trusted more than his own wife. To the man he would rather confide in than the queen he had married.
Cersei's paranoia had only one direction to turn.
Jaime understood that. But understanding did not mean obedience.
He was a knight. A Kingsguard. And even if he had broken some oaths, he still clung to the fragments of honor he had left.
Cersei watched his hesitation with growing irritation. But then, unexpectedly, she softened.
Her expression shifted—from cold contempt to something softer, quieter… dangerous in a different way.
She stepped closer.
"Jaime," she murmured, lifting a hand to brush his cheek. "Do you remember when Joffrey was little? When he found that mother cat?"
She did not have to say more. Jaime remembered. Joffrey, curious and cruel even then, had sliced open the cat's belly with a dagger to see the unborn kittens inside. Robert had beaten the boy until two of his milk teeth fell out.
Cersei's voice lowered to a whisper. "That was the only time Robert ever laid a hand on Joffrey. Our son. Our child."
She cupped his face fully now, drawing his eyes to hers.
"And after punishing him, Robert still had the nerve to want to bring his bastard into the Red Keep. His bastard. The son of some Vale whore. Karl Stone."
Jaime swallowed. Her touch was warm. Her breath warmer.
"Jaime," she continued softly, "the Iron Throne belongs to Joffrey. To our children. No one else. And now Robert suspects us—suspects the Lannisters. Jon Arryn's death has unsettled him. He doesn't trust Father, he doesn't trust me, he barely trusts anyone with golden hair."
Her voice grew icy.
"And now he goes north… to that frozen wasteland… to find his precious Stark."
She paused, green eyes burning like wildfire.
"That is why," she whispered, leaning closer, "we must do what we must do."
Her lips brushed Jaime's ear.
"Tell me, Jaime… you won't let anyone endanger our children, will you?"
The last light of the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Night fell over the Kingsroad, shadows stretching beneath the trees like long, silent witnesses.
Jaime's heart pounded. His thoughts churned—duty, honor, fear, love, guilt—all tangled.
But then Cersei's hands slid down his chest, her fingers deft and familiar. Her breath warmed his neck. And when he tried to speak, she silenced him with a kiss that devoured his hesitation.
In the darkness, her body pressed against his, hungry and demanding. Jaime felt himself falling into the pull he had never been able to resist.
Cersei's lips moved to his throat, her fingers guiding him, undressing him with practiced ease. She whispered his name like a command, like a promise, like a sin they shared and would share again and again.
His resolve broke.
She pushed him back against a tree, her hands exploring, urging, coaxing. Jaime's breath grew ragged, the world narrowing to her touch, her warmth, the scent of her hair, the scrape of her nails across his skin.
She slid a hand lower, guiding him with deliberate slowness, teasing until his body reacted before his mind did. Then she kissed him again—fiercer this time, claiming him.
The sounds of the camp faded into nothing. Only the rustling leaves, the whisper of the wind, and their mingled breathing filled the night.
Cersei straddled him, her dress bunching at her thighs, and Jaime felt her warmth envelop him. Her movements were deliberate—slow at first, then faster, urgent, almost desperate. Jaime held her hips, his breath catching as she drove them both into a frenzy of heat and need.
Her lips brushed his ear.
"For our children," she whispered.
"For us," Jaime murmured back.
Their bodies moved with reckless abandon, the rhythm wild, driven by equal parts desire and fear of the future awaiting them in the North.
As she quickened her pace, Jaime tilted his head back against the tree, eyes closing, breath coming in short gasps. Cersei's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him toward her as she moved harder, faster.
When her climax hit, she muffled her cry against his shoulder, trembling violently. The sensation pushed Jaime over the edge, and he followed moments later, burying his face in her neck as he shuddered with release.
For several heartbeats, they clung to each other, breathless, trembling, the world around them silent.
Finally, Cersei drew back, breathing hard, her forehead resting against his.
"Jaime," she whispered, voice soft, "do you understand now?"
His answer came not with words, but in the way his arms tightened around her.
Above them, the bright moon rose fully, lighting the empty road.
In the distant trees, a few startled birds took flight, their cries echoing sharply in the still night.
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