Chapter 4

Cersei Lannister stormed into the small council room with the fury of a true Baratheon Queen. "Out!" she yelled as the doors banged open. "All of you, out! Now!"

I smiled. People acting the way I expect them to always gives me a good, warm feeling.

I was crowned and anointed the King of the Seven Kingdoms not three days ago, and I'd seen my mother and my potential bride, Margaery Tyrell, talking in the upper gallery after the ceremony. Margaery came to me that night, just like in the show, and there had been no Ser Pounce to interfere this time. She had also come every night since, and the whispers afterward were as soft and subtle as I'd expect from the granddaughter of Olenna Tyrell. It was only a matter of saying a few words to certain maids and servants, and here was Cersei.

The usual suspects scurried out of the room in the face of my raging mother. Varys tittered behind his hands; Pycelle hobbled; Mace blustered and sweated, but stayed behind precisely as long as Oberyn Martell did—who lazily picked up his cup of dornish red and smirked his way out of the room—as a supposed show of importance.

Tywin Lannister was, of course, unmoved and unamused by his daughter. He was sitting to my right—a fitting place for the Hand of the King—but to anyone present in the room it had been clear who was leading the meeting. I'd been silent most of the time, taking the measure of a real small council gathering, listening and learning from what was categorically the best and worst of the Seven Kingdoms.

Before I left my grandfather for the day, however, I would see the flow of power changed. Tywin Lannister would no longer be in full control of the Kingdoms, even if I doubted I'd escape his ever-reaching influence as easily as I planned. Cersei's interruption was just a poor entertainment before the main feast.

As the doors closed behind the bumbling Mace Tyrell, the Queen Mother glared at me from across the council table. "I will not be sent away like a dying horse for its final ride, do you hear me? I am the Queen."

"But mother," I started, putting on my best innocent look. "I thought you would like to visit Casterly Rock again. I know how hard Joffrey's death has been to you. To all of us. Perhaps you should—"

"It was that little flower bitch, wasn't it?" Cersei's beautiful face contorted into a nasty snarl. Her true colors always came out in times like these. "What has that tart been hissing to you, Tommen? What does she whisper in your ear when she milks your cock at night?"

Many, many things, I wanted to say. Instead, I just faked a groan. "Mother, please…"

"What is the meaning of this, Cersei?" asked Tywin in a clipped tone.

She turned on her father. "That Tyrel whore has been visiting your golden little grandson every night since his coronation. And now, suddenly, he wants to send me to Casterly Rock on some made up charity mission for the Faith."

"Margaery always tells me she misses Highgarden," I explained, "and she says the simple thought of it always soothes her heartaches. I thought, perhaps, it would be good for you to visit your childhood home."

"Don't you see what she's doing," Cersei snapped. She rushed around the table, holding her flowing red and gold dress with both hands to her sides. She stopped next to my arm and crouched, looking me in the eyes with an almost crazed expression. "She wants to separate us, Tommen. She knows I'm here to protect you, and she wants me away so she can get her claws in you."

Tywin stood silent by my side, observing. I gave him a confused look, then turned back to her. "Mother… I don't think—"

"Of course you don't!" She grabbed my forearm so hard I thought she would rip the sleeves of my Baratheon-gold doublet. "I spent too much time with Joffrey, but I see now that I need to work on you as well. You must understand how these things work. How the game works."

"Enough, Cersei," said Tywin, slapping his hands on the council table. His growling voice brooked no arguments. "I will not have you ruin another piece of my legacy." He waved his wine goblet in the direction of the doors. "Leave. I will have words with my grandson."

Cersei fumed where she crouched for a moment, calculating whether it was worth bandying words with her father. In the end, she must have arrived at the intelligent answer, for she turned to leave. "We'll talk later, Tommen."