The wedding feast began.
King Robert's roars, the nobles' fake laughter, and the clinking of wine glasses mingled together.
Sansa Stark held a glass of untouched Arbor gold wine.
She stood quietly in the shadows of the hall, lifeless.
She watched the man surrounded by everyone in the center.
Her Lynn.
He was smiling, dealing with the nobles who came to toast him.
His smile was proper and impeccable.
But that smile pierced Sansa's heart precisely.
He was now Myrcella Baratheon's husband.
This realization made every breath she took burn.
That kiss in the sept.
That kiss, full of possession and declaration.
Like an indelible brand, it replayed repeatedly in her mind.
Myrcella won.
She won this silent war in an almost humiliating way.
Sansa felt her throat tighten.
The murky air in the hall, a mix of roasted meat, perfume, and sweat, made her feel nauseous.
She couldn't stay here for another moment.
She put down her wine glass, lifted her skirt, and silently moved through the noisy crowd, heading towards the terrace that led to the garden.
The cool night breeze carried a faint scent of roses, brushing against her flushed cheeks.
This cleared her muddled thoughts slightly.
She leaned on the cold stone railing, looking down at the brightly lit King's Landing.
She only lost once.
It didn't matter.
But she couldn't fall.
She was Sansa Stark.
A Direwolf from the North!
And the master of coin personally trained by Lord Lynn!
She still had her power, her wisdom.
As long as she remained in this position, she still had a chance to turn the tables!
She firmly believed this!
"The night wind is still too cold, Miss Stark."
A sweet yet slightly chilling voice sounded not far behind her.
The familiar voice made Sansa's body stiffen sharply.
She slowly turned around.
Myrcella Baratheon.
No, she should be called Myrcella Lynn now.
She stood in the moonlight.
She wore a moon-white silk gown, her golden hair casually draped over her shoulders.
She held a snow-white poodle in her arms, and with her other hand, she gently stroked the dog's soft fur.
Myrcella's face bore the same smile as in the sept.
That smile looked sweet and innocent.
Yet it carried a hint of boastfulness that angered Sansa.
"Your Highness."
Sansa curtsied slightly, her voice so calm that no ripple could be detected.
"Are you also out for some air?"
"Yes."
Myrcella smiled.
"Oh, and please don't call me Your Highness."
"Please call me Lady Lynn."
Myrcella slowly walked to Sansa's side, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, both looking down at King's Landing below them.
The puppy in her arms seemed a bit shy, whimpering and shrinking into her embrace.
"Oh?"
"How strange."
"Snowball has a very good temperament, why is he scared of you?"
"These little animals are the most perceptive; they can tell good people from bad people..."
"Oh, Miss Sansa, I'm not targeting you. These are just things I've heard from others, so they don't count."
"Snowball, be good, don't be afraid."
Myrcella lowered her head, intimately rubbing her cheek against the puppy's head, her voice so gentle it could drip with sweetness.
"This is Miss Stark, she's my business partner in the soap venture, not a bad person."
Snowball.
What a cute name.
Sansa looked at the puppy; it had wet black eyes and looked very adorable.
"A very cute dog."
Sansa forced a stiff smile onto her face.
"Yes, it's a wedding gift from my husband. He personally picked out the puppy."
Myrcella looked up, her gaze falling on Sansa's face.
Her beautiful green eyes sparkled with undisguised triumph.
"He said he knew I would love it."
"What a thoughtful man; he even gave me a lute."
Myrcella continued, seemingly completely unaware of Sansa's increasingly rigid expression.
"He said he likes to hear me play "the last kiss."
"It reminds him of the sunset over the Summer Isles."
Sansa's mind went blank.
the last kiss?
What was that?
Lord Lynn... liked to hear her play the lute?
Didn't he... didn't he hate those boring pastimes of Southern noble ladies!?
"It seems Lord Lynn has many secrets you don't know, Miss Stark."
Seeing Sansa's bewildered expression, Myrcella's smile grew even sweeter.
But her words were like poisoned knives, stabbing directly into Sansa's heart.
"But it's understandable. You have so many complicated accounts to handle every day, so you probably don't have time to learn about these things."
Myrcella sighed softly, her tone carrying a hint of condescending pity.
"You've worked so hard."
"For Lynn, for this kingdom, you've truly given so much."
"Unlike me, I can't help him with anything, I can only play the lute and sing for him when he's tired, so he can have a good night's sleep."
Sansa's nails almost dug into her palms!
She looked at the girl in front of her, smiling charmingly, at her pretentious and boastful manner.
Her business partner had changed!
Where had the delicate Myrcella gone?
Sansa suddenly understood.
Myrcella wasn't here to show off to her!
She was here to declare war on her!
She wanted to tell her.
She, Myrcella, was the woman who understood Lynn best, the one who could truly reach his heart.
And she, Sansa, was nothing more than an outsider who managed ledgers, or rather, a tool!
"Lady, you jest."
Sansa took a deep breath.
She forcibly suppressed the surging bitterness and anger in her heart, and put on the unflappable mask of the master of coin again.
"It is my honor to share Lord Lynn's burdens."
"As for playing the lute and singing, those trivial matters,"
Sansa's lips curved into a mocking arc.
"The The Red Keep has plenty of professional musicians and singers, who I'm sure are much better than an amateur like me."
"Moreover, dabbling in those low-brow things, in my opinion, is neglecting one's proper duties."
"What I'm more concerned about is the arsenal's budget for the next quarter, and the overdue taxes from the Westerlands."
"These, I'm afraid, are not matters you can get involved in, Lady."
This was Sansa's counterattack.
It was a naked declaration to Myrcella: you may have his favor, but I control his purse strings.
In the game of power, this was far more important than vague, ethereal love!
Her importance in Lynn's heart was equally irreplaceable!
Myrcella's smile faltered slightly.
But only for a moment.
She immediately smiled again, even more brightly than before.
"Miss Stark, you are right."
"Golden dragons are indeed very important."
"After all, they can buy armor, food, and the loyalty of soldiers."
Myrcella put down the puppy she was holding, letting it frolic at her feet.
Then, she looked around, seemingly unnoticed.
She took a step forward, leaned close to Sansa's ear, and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear.
"But, golden dragons... can they buy a man's heart?"
"Can they buy those sweet nothings he whispers only to you in the dead of night?"
"Can they buy those... private marks he leaves on you, unique to you?"
Sansa's body trembled violently, and her face instantly turned pale.
"You..."
"Miss Stark, you are a clever woman, you should understand."
Myrcella straightened up, elegantly adjusting her skirt.
The smile on her lips held a hint of cruel satisfaction.
"You manage my husband's purse strings, and that's good."
"But I manage his person."
"From the tips of his hair to his toes."
"Completely and entirely, he belongs to me."
After speaking, Myrcella no longer looked at Sansa's bloodless face.
She bent down, picked up the puppy, and turned to leave.
As she brushed past Sansa, Myrcella paused.
"Oh, by the way."
"It's getting late, I should go back too."
Her voice carried a lazy, blush-inducing hint.
"After all, spring nights are short."
"I can't keep my husband waiting too long."
"Tonight, I still have a lot of... my husband's exclusive affection to enjoy."
"Today must be a wild night, I need to catch up on sleep... after all, the night is long, isn't it..."
"Especially for you, Miss Sansa..."
"Goodbye..."
With that, Myrcella lingered no longer. She held the puppy and, with light steps, disappeared at the end of the terrace.
Her figure swayed gracefully, full of a victor's pride and charm.
Sansa stood alone in the night wind, her body rigid.
Enjoy... affection... those few words, laden with desire, branded themselves fiercely into her heart.
She could almost see what kind of enchanting and wild scene was about to unfold in the wedding chamber belonging to Myrcella and Lynn.
Flames of jealousy mixed with boundless humiliation instantly consumed her!
Sansa bit her lip so hard until she tasted a salty, metallic hint of blood!
Myrcella... you bitch!
You just wait.
I won't lose.
Never!
...Lynn was not anxiously waiting for his bride in the wedding chamber as Myrcella had imagined.
As soon as he escaped the boisterous wedding feast, he was stopped by an unexpected person.
Ned Stark.
The Warden of the North's face no longer held the stiffness and humiliation from the sept, only a concern befitting an elder.
"Lynn."
"Can we talk?"
Lynn nodded and led Ned into an unoccupied study nearby.
"Sit."
Lynn poured him a glass of water, not wine.
Ned took the water glass but didn't drink.
He just stared blankly at the swirling water in the cup.
"Today... you were wronged, my lord."
Lynn spoke first.
He knew how agonizing it was for Ned, a man with such a strong sense of honor from the North, to personally hand Myrcella over to him.
Ned probably wanted to kill Robert right now.
"It's not your fault."
Ned shook his head.
He looked up, his grey eyes filled with weariness.
"It was the King's command."
"I just... I just feel bad for Sansa and Arya."
He sighed.
"Especially Sansa."
"That child, since she was little, always wanted to be a queen, to marry a handsome prince."
"Seeing Myrcella marry you, she must be feeling terrible..."
"She has lost too much."
Lynn said calmly.
"She is now the master of coin."
"What she possesses is far more than an empty title of queen."
"I hope so."
Ned gave a bitter smile.
He was silent for a moment, seemingly organizing his thoughts.
"Actually, when you first suggested Sansa as master of coin, I refused."
"But Sansa's soap business is doing very well."
"She can even turn three silver stags into one golden dragon."
"I eventually agreed and didn't stop her."
"It wasn't just because of these things, but more because I trust you, Lynn."
"You are like a child to me."
"I also hope you can take good care of Sansa."
"That child seems to have a good temper, but in fact, like me, she is also a stubborn person."
Just as Lynn was pondering how to respond.
The study door was gently pushed open with a soft "creak" from outside.
A person wearing a grey monk's robe, corpulent, with hands tucked into his sleeves, silently glided in from outside the door.
It was The Spider, Varys.
His face wore his perpetually unctuous smile.
"Lord Hand, Earl Lynn."
"I apologize for interrupting your pleasant conversation, especially on this joyous day."
Varys bowed slightly.
His eyes, hidden in the shadows, darted back and forth between the two men.
"However, my lovely little birds have just brought me some not-so-good news from The Eyrie."
His voice was very low.
"Lady Lysa Arryn of the Vale..."
"She has gone mad."
"She is gathering all the forces of the Vale."
"In the name of the deceased Lord Arryn, she has declared Lord Lynn, who caused Petyr's death, a traitor."
"And she is calling on all vassals loyal to House Arryn to march north."
"She says..."
Varys's face showed a perfectly timed expression of concern.
"She wants justice for her deceased Petyr from Lord Lynn."
Lynn was also stunned.
Robert was the one who killed Petyr.
This crazy woman didn't dare to attack Robert, but instead wanted to attack him?
Indeed, directly attacking Robert would inevitably cause turmoil.
It would even invite attacks from everyone.
Taking Lynn's Gift and staying away from the Seven Kingdoms was her only way to survive!
And he, this upstart with no real foundation, would be an easier target to appease her wrath.
Lynn also gave a cold smile.
His wildlings' equipment was currently poor, but they weren't something a single Lysa could easily handle!
Just then, a golden figure in gilded armor walked in.
Jaime Lannister.
As soon as he entered, he looked at Lynn.
His gaze held a hint of... complexity?
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