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"So you're saying Tyrion Lannister was taken from my territory?"
The Hall of Order.
Corleone stood at the window in a dark gray robe, looking out over the lights of Flea Bottom. The Wheel of Order still glowed brightly in the distance, the faint roar of gamblers drifting on the night wind. Farther away, the towers of the Red Keep stood pale under the moon.
He turned.
Bronn stood in front of him, looking uncharacteristically serious.
"Yes, Lord Corleone. I've looked everywhere. No sign of him."
Bronn quickly recounted everything that had happened — the alley, the piss break, the sudden silence, the empty alley with only a few scattered chips left behind.
Corleone listened without interrupting. When Bronn finished, he walked to the desk and stared at the handful of gambling chips lying there.
Who had the balls to snatch someone from right under his nose?
Cersei?
No. The woman was mad and hated Tyrion, but she wasn't stupid enough to do something this obvious.
Tywin?
Even less likely. If Tywin wanted his son dead, he wouldn't play games.
Then who?
Bronn shifted impatiently. "We need to start searching now, my lord. It's been almost two hours."
"How?" Corleone glanced at him. "You said it yourself — he's been gone nearly two hours. King's Landing is a big city. Even if I send out hundreds of men, we won't find him in time. And what if they already put him on a ship? Or killed him and dumped the body?"
Bronn went quiet.
Corleone didn't wait for an answer. He walked to the wall and pulled the bell cord. Footsteps approached quickly.
Rolje entered, still half-asleep.
"My lord?"
"Bring me every report we have on the recent child disappearances in King's Landing. All of them."
"At once."
Rolje left without another word.
Bronn frowned. "Children? Tyrion isn't a child. What does that have to do with anything?"
Corleone didn't answer. He simply stood at the window, watching the night.
A few minutes later Rolje returned with a thick stack of parchment and set it on the desk.
Corleone opened the files and began reading, page by page.
After a while he looked up at Bronn.
"Which alley did Tyrion disappear in?"
Bronn gave him the location.
Corleone walked to the large map on the wall, found the spot, and circled it in red. Then he found the alley where a dwarf boy had gone missing three nights earlier and circled that too.
The two circles were only three streets apart.
"Same method. Same general area. Same people."
Bronn's eyes widened. "You're saying… they were trying to grab a child and took the wrong person?"
Corleone didn't answer. He turned to Rolje instead.
"Who was the Gold Cloak squad captain patrolling that sector during those times?"
Rolje thought for a moment, then his face changed.
"Ser Balman Byrch."
At the same time, in the Red Keep.
Moonlight poured through the high windows of Maegor's Holdfast, turning the stone corridor silver.
Osney Kettleblack moved down the hallway with the light, eager steps of a man who knew he was about to get exactly what he wanted.
The gold cloak captain's uniform caught the light. At his hip hung a decorative sword — a gift from the Queen Regent, its hilt set with a large ruby.
But what he was about to receive tonight was worth far more than any ruby.
He reached the door to the royal bedchamber.
A white-cloaked figure stood guard, face expressionless, hand resting on his sword hilt.
Ser Osmund Kettleblack.
Osney's older brother.
The two men looked at each other. Their faces were eerily similar, except Osmund's was harder and Osney's mouth always seemed to be smiling like a fox that had just found the henhouse.
"Keep watch, dear brother," Osney said cheerfully. "Don't let anyone disturb the Queen Regent and me while we… rest."
Osmund said nothing. He simply stepped aside.
Osney smirked, clapped his brother on the shoulder like he was the king himself, and pushed the door open.
Inside, candlelight flickered.
The air smelled of sweet incense and something more intimate.
On the massive bed, half-hidden behind the curtains, a figure reclined against the pillows.
Cersei Lannister.
The Queen Regent. Once the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.
She wore a nightdress so thin it was almost transparent, the silk catching the light and tracing every curve. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders. She looked like a lazy lioness.
"Osney Kettleblack," she said, voice carrying a hint of displeasure. "You're late."
Osney hurried to the bedside, dropped to one knee three paces away, and gave her his most obsequious smile. In an instant the cocky fox became a fawning dog.
"Your Grace!"
His voice rose an octave, dripping with false humility. "Please forgive your most loyal servant! It was those damn duties. You know how stupid these lowborn gold cloaks are. Without me watching them they can't even follow a patrol route. Today one of the idiots actually asked me whether he should go left or right!"
"I told him, you brainless fools, the Queen Regent's chambers are to the right. Left takes you toward Flea Bottom, full of peasants. Unless you want to go lick Corleone's boots?"
As he spoke he crawled closer on his knees until he was at Cersei's bare feet. He looked up at her like a dog waiting to be petted.
Cersei didn't disappoint him. She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair. Osney closed his eyes in pleasure and actually nuzzled her palm.
"You're much smarter than your brother," she murmured.
Osney's smile widened. "Of course I am. Osmund's been slow since we were children. When we used to steal apples from the orchard, I kept watch, Osmund climbed the tree, and Osney caught them at the bottom. The idiot ate every single one before we got down. Basket was empty."
Cersei actually laughed.
She loved this feeling — men reduced to dogs at her feet.
Pity Corleone wasn't this obedient.
Still, she wasn't going to waste the night. She looked down at him.
"So? What did you bring for your queen tonight?"
Osney reached inside his doublet and pulled something out with a flourish.
"A wig, Your Grace."
It was golden, shoulder-length.
Cersei raised an eyebrow.
Osney put the wig on, straightened his back, wiped the fawning expression from his face, and tried to look arrogant. Then he dropped his voice into a deep, haughty imitation.
"I'm late, sister."
Cersei stared for a second, then burst out laughing so hard she almost fell back against the pillows.
"You— hahahaha — you're doing Jaime!"
Osney grinned, delighted. He kept the arrogant posture and began strutting around the side of the bed, mimicking Jaime's usual swagger.
"Today I defeated ten men in the practice yard. No — twenty! I will be a greater knight than Arthur Dayne himself!"
Cersei laughed until she couldn't breathe.
Osney pulled the wig off and crawled back to her side, voice turning sweet again. "If it pleases Your Grace, next time I can play Robert Baratheon."
"Don't mention him," Cersei snapped, smile vanishing. "You're ruining the mood."
Osney shut up immediately, but his hands were already sliding under the covers.
Cersei didn't stop him. She simply watched him with half-lidded eyes.
They were just getting started when the door to the bedchamber exploded inward with a thunderous crash.
Cersei sat bolt upright, yanking the sheets over herself.
Osney yelped and scrambled for his clothes.
"Who—? Guards! Osmund!"
No answer.
A white-cloaked body was thrown into the room. It hit the floor hard and rolled twice before stopping.
Ser Osmund Kettleblack. Unconscious.
Three figures stepped through the broken doorway.
The first was a tall woman with bronze skin, wearing tight leather armor that left her arms bare. She carried a short spear. Behind her came two more women — one with a curved blade, the other with a dagger. Their eyes swept the room like predators.
"Where is my sister?" the lead woman demanded. Her voice was low, furious, and unmistakably Dornish.
Cersei stared at the three intruders and the unconscious Kingsguard on the floor, mind blank.
"Who the hell are you? How dare you break in here?"
"Where is my sister?"
The woman didn't answer. She simply leveled the spear at Cersei. "Nymeria Sand. Where is she?"
Cersei's brain finally started working again.
Nymeria Sand?
Sand?
Dornish?
"I don't know any fucking Nymeria!" she snapped, clutching the sheets tighter. "You just broke into the Queen Regent's chambers and attacked a Kingsguard. That's treason. Do you understand what that means?"
Obara Sand frowned and glanced at her sisters.
"Tyene, you said she was in the Red Keep."
Tyene scratched her head, looking embarrassed. "She is in the Red Keep! Cor— that guy said Nymeria was locked in the dungeons here."
"Then where the fuck are we?"
Tyene looked around at the luxurious room, the giant bed, and the half-naked golden-haired woman on it.
"Some woman's bedroom, I guess?"
"A woman's bedroom?" Obara's eyes widened. "Why the hell would we come to a woman's bedroom?"
"How should I know? You were leading!"
"I was leading? You're the one who said 'this way'!"
"I said 'maybe this way' leads to the dungeons! Do you know what 'maybe' means?"
Cersei and Osney stared at the three women bickering in the middle of the royal bedchamber like they had walked into the wrong tavern.
What the actual fuck was happening?
Sarella, the youngest, spoke up in a small voice. "Sisters… I think we got the wrong room again."
Obara's face darkened.
She took a deep breath, forced herself to focus, and turned back to Cersei. Her voice was cold.
"We can't leave witnesses. They saw our faces. Kill them both."
"What?!" Osney shrieked, half-dressed. "Are you insane? This is the Queen Regent's chambers! Kill her and you'll never get out of the Red Keep! There are hundreds of Kingsguard and Gold Cloaks outside—"
He didn't get to finish.
All three Sand Snakes suddenly lit up like wolves that had just spotted fresh meat.
"The Queen Regent?" Obara repeated slowly. A dangerous smile spread across her face. "You're Cersei Lannister?"
"Perfect!" Tyene clapped her hands. "Grab her!"
"Yes!" even Sarella looked excited. "We can trade her for Nymeria!"
"What if Tywin doesn't agree?" Obara asked.
"Then we kill her," Tyene said matter-of-factly. "One dead Lannister is still a good trade."
Cersei listened to them casually discussing her kidnapping and possible murder right in front of her and felt something snap.
She had spent her entire life being underestimated, controlled, and threatened by men. She was not about to let three half-wild Dornish women decide her fate while she was half-naked in her own bed.
"Stop. Just stop."
Her voice cut through their argument.
All three Sand Snakes turned to look at her.
Cersei took a breath, forcing her expression into something calm and calculating despite the sheets clutched to her chest and her hair in disarray.
"We're not enemies."
Obara raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"My daughter, Myrcella Baratheon, is betrothed to Prince Trystane Martell."
"So?"
"So…" Cersei forced herself to keep her voice steady. "So we're not enemies. And I am the Queen Regent. I can help you get your sister back."
The Sand Snakes exchanged glances. Tyene still looked suspicious.
"But our father said Tywin Lannister is the enemy of all Dorne."
Cersei's smile turned sharp. "That's my father. Not me."
"You know how he treats me. He tried to marry me off to that shit-stirring Loras Tyrell. He wants to strip me of power. He wants to turn my son into a puppet. I am not on his side."
The three women looked at each other again. Some of the hostility had faded.
Cersei pressed the advantage.
"Your sister Nymeria was taken by my father, wasn't she? I can help you. We can work together."
Obara's voice stayed cold. "Why should we trust you?"
Cersei looked straight at her.
"Because right now you're stumbling around the Red Keep with no plan, breaking into random bedrooms. I, on the other hand…"
She let the sentence hang for a beat, then smiled — small, sharp, and full of sudden confidence.
"I have a better idea."