# Scene 1
Midnight in Riverrun is a different creature. Cade knows this before he crosses the bridge—by the way the lanterns are snuffed in staggered succession along the parapet, the deliberate slowness of the night watch making their rounds, the air itself heavy and motionless as a dead thing. He rides at a walk, the horse's hooves muffled with thick felt, and when he reaches the outer gate, he dismounts and lets the mare vanish into the black. The only sound after is the slow draw and release of his own breath. Even the river is silent.
Inside the gatehouse, a woman waits—a servant, one of Lysa's. The hood covers most of her face, but the red curls spill out enough for Cade to know who she is. He nods, and she sets off without a word, her steps perfectly silent on the ancient flagstones.
They pass through three corridors and a service stair, Cade counting the footsteps between torch brackets, mapping the pattern of guards. He doesn't speak; he only watches the woman's movements, how she checks corners before turning them, how she pauses at each shadow and listens with her entire body. By the time they reach the small door on the upper level, he's already decided she's clever enough not to get them killed. He likes that.
The woman taps once, softly, and the door opens on the first try. A draft of perfumed air spills into the hall—jasmine, honey, and something faintly animal.
"Go," the maid hisses, gesturing him through. Her eyes do not meet his. "She's waiting."
Cade slips inside. The door closes behind him with no sound at all.
He's in Lysa's chamber—a grand room even by lordly standards, all pale tapestries and furs and the enormous four-poster bed swaddled in silk. Lysa is already on it, knees tucked under her, naked except for the braid that falls down her back. She has done her hair exactly how he likes it—tight on the crown, loose at the ends, exposing her neck and the clean nape where he once bit her so hard she bled.
For a moment she just looks at him. The fire on the hearth is banked low, and it throws her face in alternating planes of light and shadow. Cade notes the shine on her lips, the way her fingers curl and uncurl on the sheets. He can feel her hunger in the room, pulsing off her like heat.
"Did anyone see you?" she whispers.
"No," he says.
She sits up straighter, chest lifting. "Jon is coming to take me unto the Vale we have until morning. Cat sleeps deep, she always has. But I want you to hurry. I want—"
"Quiet," he says. Its a command, it stops her immediately.
He undresses slowly. Not because he enjoys the effect—it's a calculation. Every piece of clothing discarded is a little more power shifted, a little more tension wound tight. Lysa's eyes follow the process as if she's being threatened and seduced at the same time. She doesn't blink when he bares his chest, doesn't flinch when the breeches come off and his cock hangs hard and ready, heavy enough to bounce as he walks to her.
He stands at the foot of the bed and says nothing. The air between them is charged to breaking.
"You're angry tonight," Lysa says, voice raw.
He lets her words hang, then climbs onto the bed and takes her by the hips. Her skin is flushed, almost fevered; the touch alone makes her shiver.
She tries to grab for him, but he pins her wrists down and flips her face-down onto the sheets. The braid splays across her back like a black snake. Cade runs one hand down the length of her spine, slow, almost clinical. Lysa moans into the bedding.
He parts her legs. She is already dripping, the evidence of it wetting the inside of her thighs.
"Please," she breathes. "Please, I have to leave tomorrow—I need—"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he spreads her cheeks with both hands and slaps her pussy, light but sharp, once, then again. Lysa gasps, her whole body tensing.
Cade presses a thumb into her slit, circling the clit until her breath comes in wet, desperate jerks. When she starts to buck against him, he pulls his hand away and spanks her again—this time just above the cunt, the sound a crisp smack in the quiet room.
Lysa makes a strangled sound, half pain and half gratitude. Cade knows her body better than she does; he pushes two fingers inside, curling them toward the spot that makes her legs shake.
He leans down, mouth to her ear. "You want to come?"
"Yes," she hisses.
He withdraws his fingers and spanks her again. Lysa's moan climbs higher, almost a sob.
Cade puts his face between her ass cheeks and runs his tongue in a slow line from her pussy to the tight little star above it. Lysa cries out, tries to twist away, but he holds her pinned. He circles the rim with the tip of his tongue, flicking it, then spits and pushes his thumb inside to the first knuckle. She nearly lifts off the mattress, back arching so violently it threatens to snap her in two.
He keeps at it, tongue and thumb working together, until Lysa's entire body begins to tremble. When she's seconds away from exploding, he pulls away and leaves her empty, clenching at nothing.
She screams into the bed, then lifts her head, hair wild. "You bastard. If you stop again—"
"You'll what?" he says, tone flat.
She swallows, her lips slick with spit. "I'll die. I swear, I will die if you don't—"
He flips her over, dragging her up by the waist. Lysa's eyes are unfocused, cheeks streaked with tears she probably doesn't remember shedding. Her legs open automatically, wetness running down in clear strings.
Cade positions himself over her, guiding the head of his cock along her slit, back and forth, refusing to enter. When she tries to lift her hips and impale herself, he holds her down with a palm to her chest, just above the breastbone.
He leans in, mouth a breath from hers. "You want to remember this night?" he says.
She nods, once, hard.
"Then listen."
He buries himself inside her in one motion, not rough but absolute. Lysa gasps, the sound raw, her cunt clamping down as if to keep him there forever.
Cade fucks her slow, methodical, each thrust measured to stretch the tension as far as it can go. He watches her face the whole time—how it changes with every movement, how the need in her grows sharper and more animal.
She wraps her arms around his neck, claws at his back, tries to bite his jaw. Cade lets her scratch him, even as blood beads up in tiny red dots under her nails.
He pulls out halfway, slams back in, and at the same moment pinches her nipple hard. Lysa sobs, almost convulses.
She tries to milk his cock, squeezing her inner walls, but Cade is unmoved. He grabs her by the hair, twisting the braid around his wrist, and uses it to angle her head just how he wants it. He fucks her faster now, driving her into the mattress, the sound of flesh on flesh louder than the crackling fire.
Then, suddenly, he stops.
Lysa whimpers, on the edge of hysteria. "Don't, please, I can't—"
Cade releases her hair, lets her fall back onto the bed, and says, "Open your legs. Wider."
She obeys, legs shaking so hard they barely stay apart.
He kneels between them, leans down, and licks her again, slow and thorough. When he pushes three fingers inside, she comes instantly, a gush of clear fluid jetting over his hand and chin.
From the corridor, a faint noise—a door opening.
Cade glances up and sees, in the doorway, a figure. Small, pale, hair loose around her shoulders. Catelyn Stark. Watching.
He keeps his eyes on Cat as he brings Lysa to a second orgasm, this one a scream that must wake half the floor. Catelyn's face is blank—shock, disgust, maybe envy—before she turns and closes the door with deliberate quiet.
He smiles to himself and licks Lysa clean.
When he finally comes, it's in her mouth, holding her head steady as he empties himself onto her tongue. She swallows all of it, eyes shining, cheeks streaked with drying tears and sweat.
Afterward, he stands, dresses, and leaves her sprawled on the ruined sheets, pussy red and raw, a pool of slick on the bed beneath her.
He passes Catelyn in the hallway. She is pressed against the stone, hands shaking, breath short. Cade pauses a foot from her, meets her eyes.
"Did you like watching?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
She stares at him, stunned.
He leaves her there, walks out the way he came, and vanishes into the predawn.
Back in the Blackwood camp, Eli and Henry are still awake, sitting by the fire. They look up when Cade returns, silent as always.
He smells of sweat, sex, and victory.
They do not ask what happened.
They already know.