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Game of Thrones: The Giant Crab of the Narrow Sea
Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Bastard to Emperor
That light greeting pierced the ambiguous and fragile veil in the room.
Sansa Stark's body stiffened like a stone.
She still maintained the ambiguous posture, sitting on the armrest of Lynn's chair, fingertips almost touching Lynn's lips.
That pretty face, which was just flushed with excitement and anticipation, was now drained of all color, leaving only paleness.
Shame, embarrassment, and the panic of being caught in the act.
She felt like a thief stealing candy who was caught red-handed by the owner.
No, ten thousand times worse than that.
Because the one who caught her was not just anyone.
It was Myrcella Baratheon.
The stag princess who was about to rightfully become Lynn's wife.
And her rival in name.
Sansa's mind was blank; she didn't even dare to look at Myrcella's expression.
She could only stiffly maintain that posture that made her wish the ground would swallow her up, like an ostrich.
And Myrcella seemed not to have seen this awkward scene.
The sweet smile on her face gradually stiffened.
Myrcella had originally come to have a heart-to-heart with Lynn.
She wanted to advise Lynn not to have intimate contact with Cersei anymore.
After all, Cersei's status was special.
Ygritte was one thing; after all, she had received a lot of care from Ygritte in the North and understood her feelings for Lynn.
As for Arya, she had a betrothal long ago; honestly speaking, she herself was actually the third party.
But one or two were fine.
What did it mean now that another Sansa popped up?
How many women did Lynn have exactly!
She was really angry this time!
The kind where she didn't want to forgive Lynn for a lifetime!
Myrcella placed the fruit basket in her hand gently on the table, then elegantly lifted her skirt and curtsied impeccably to the two.
Every movement was as if measured by a ruler, perfect without a single flaw.
"Lady Sansa, are you also here to report on work to Lord Lynn?"
Myrcella's voice was still like a morning stream, cool and pleasant.
But this pleasant voice sounded harsher than the most vicious ridicule in Sansa's ears.
Report on work?
Who sits on the armrest of a man's chair, using fingers to trace his lips, to report on work?
Sansa's body trembled violently.
She stood up abruptly from the armrest, the movement so large she almost knocked the chair over.
"I... I..."
Sansa opened her mouth, wanting to explain something.
But she found her tongue tied in knots, unable to say a complete word.
"I... I suddenly remembered, there is an account I haven't finished checking!"
Finally, Sansa squeezed this sentence out through her teeth almost incoherently.
She didn't even dare look at Lynn again, just grabbed a scroll of irrelevant parchment from the table, as if grabbing a life-saving straw.
Then, she lifted her skirt and fled in panic.
That flustered back was a completely different person from the confident, somewhat girlishly charming appearance when she just entered.
Bang!
The door was slammed shut heavily, also completely shutting out all of Sansa's embarrassment and awkwardness.
Lynn stared blankly at the closed door.
Damn it!
No!
You, Sansa, you were the one testing me first!
In the end, when something happened, you ran away first?
What kind of deal is this!
Done for.
Lynn shifted his gaze somewhat awkwardly.
Silence returned to the room again.
Only Lynn and Myrcella remained.
And the faint scent of lemon cakes still lingering in the air.
The smile on Myrcella's face quietly faded the moment Sansa disappeared behind the door.
She put the fruit basket heavily on the table.
Then, she lifted her skirt and curtsied standardly to Lynn again.
"Lord Lynn."
Myrcella's voice was cold, wearing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Lynn looked at her and tactfully didn't speak.
In fact... caught cheating... he had nothing to say.
Face the storm; this day would come sooner or later...
He had long been mentally prepared.
Lynn could feel that the Myrcella before him was completely different from the princess quietly reading in the glass gardens of Winterfell.
She was still that golden rose, but the edges of her petals had quietly grown fine, sharp ice thorns.
Myrcella straightened up, took a plump peach from the basket.
The peach was perfectly ripe, covered with a layer of fine fuzz, emitting a tempting sweet fragrance.
Then, from the compartment of the fruit basket, she took out a small, sharp silver fruit knife.
The handle was inlaid with fine emeralds, shimmering with a cold light in the candlelight.
That was the tableware customary to House Lannister.
Myrcella didn't sit down.
She just stood in front of Lynn, eyes lowered, and began peeling the peach.
Her movements were slow, steady.
The silver blade pressed against the skin of the peach, cutting a shallow slit.
She wasn't peeling.
She was stripping that fuzzy skin from the plump flesh piece by piece.
Shhh...
The blade slid across the skin, making a slight tearing sound.
Pale pink juice seeped out along the trace of the blade, looking very much like blood freshly flowing from some creature.
The room was quiet.
Only the monotonous sound of cutting fruit skin.
Lynn watched her slender white hands precisely controlling that sharp knife, cutting off only a small strip each time, and staring at him with silent threats after each slice.
He suddenly had an illusion.
That knife didn't seem to be peeling a peach.
But him.
Myrcella never spoke.
There was no expression on her face either.
That beautiful face, usually carrying a trace of melancholy, was now as cold as Ned Stark.
Those hands holding the knife were terrifyingly steady.
She spent a full quarter of an hour peeling one peach.
Heaven knows how she executed a peach for so long.
When the last piece of skin was peeled off completely and fell on the table, the peach had become bloody and horrible to look at.
Myrcella placed the silver knife stained with juice gently on the plate.
Then, holding the "lingchi-ed" (death by a thousand cuts) peach, she handed it to Lynn.
"Lord Lynn,"
Myrcella finally spoke, voice still calm and waveless.
"Please enjoy."
Lynn looked at that peach.
Then looked at Myrcella's hollow green eyes.
Hesitating for a moment, he still reached out and took it.
He actually dared to take it!
Myrcella's eyes became dangerous instantly.
The flesh was cold, sticky.
Lynn took a bite.
Very sweet.
Sweet to the point of being cloying, sweet enough to make one flustered.
"How does it taste?"
Myrcella asked softly.
"Very good."
Lynn answered.
"That's good."
Myrcella nodded.
Then she slowly and methodically washed her fingers in a basin of water nearby, washing away the sticky juice stained on them bit by bit.
"Lord Lynn."
Myrcella washed while looking at her own reflection in the water.
"Our wedding is about to begin."
"I know."
"As your future wife, there are some words I think I should say clearly to your face in advance."
Myrcella dried her hands with a clean linen cloth.
She finally raised her eyes, looking directly at Lynn.
In those green eyes, there was no longer any disguise, only the purest warning.
"What you want to do outside, how many 'good students' like Lady Stark you have, I can't control, nor do I want to."
"After all, I am just a piece House Baratheon uses to exchange for benefits, aren't I?"
Her words were cold and hard.
"But,"
Myrcella took a step forward, that sweet girlish scent mixed with some dangerous pressure rushing over.
"I hope you can remember one thing."
"From now on, until the wedding ends, I don't want to hear any gossip about you that shouldn't exist."
"I don't want to become the biggest joke in King's Landing while becoming the laughingstock of the Seven Kingdoms."
"I don't care if you treat me sincerely, but I care very much about my own dignity and that of House Baratheon."
She looked at Lynn, speaking clearly word by word.
"So, please manage your 'students' and yourself well in the next three days."
"Please don't cause me trouble."
With that, Myrcella didn't bother to stay a second longer.
She lifted her skirt again, executed an impeccable curtsy, then turned and left the room elegantly.
The door was closed gently; the sound was so light it was almost inaudible, completely separating the worlds.
In the room, only Lynn remained, and that "lingchi-ed" peach.
Lynn looked at the mutilated fruit flesh, then at the door panel.
Smiling bitterly, he finally threw the peach into the brazier.
Flames licked the sweet flesh, making a "sizzling" sound; a strange sweet smell like caramel instantly filled the air.
Done for, played too hard this time.
However, this was also his true nature; he didn't intend to hide it forever.
One day they would have to face it sooner or later; it couldn't be avoided...
Better think of a way to coax her.
Myrcella was probably really angry.
---
The corridor back to her room seemed to be the longest path Myrcella had ever walked in her life.
Every corner, every pillar, seemed like silent spectators, examining her with voiceless gazes.
Maids curtsied respectfully when they saw her.
She just nodded slightly, face still wearing the proper and distant smile belonging to a princess.
But no one knew, beneath that smiling mask, was a volcano about to erupt.
Bang!
The door was slammed shut heavily.
The huge noise startled the maid guarding outside.
Inside the room, that perfect mask maintained by a smile finally shattered with a crash at this moment.
Myrcella's chest heaved violently.
"Lynn!"
"You bastard!"
The always gentle Myrcella started cursing!
She walked quickly to the dressing table.
Looking at that pale, beautiful, yet incredibly strange face in the mirror.
Those green eyes looked so much like her mother's.
Thinking of this, the unbearable scenes from last night rushed into her mind again.
The suppressed whimpers, the humiliated posture, the sticky sounds...
And Sansa Stark.
That stupid woman who always pretended to be innocent!
How dare she... how could she!
A tide mixed with disgust, shame, jealousy, and anger instantly drowned Myrcella's last reason.
She grabbed the heavy silver comb inlaid with emeralds given to her by her mother from the dressing table.
Then, using all her strength, smashed it fiercely at herself in the mirror!
Clang——!
An extremely ear-piercing loud noise.
The gorgeous silver-edged carved bronze mirror cracked in response.
But this wasn't enough!
Far from enough!
Myrcella swept everything on the dressing table to the floor like a madwoman!
Crash, bang!
Expensive perfume bottles from Lys, jewelry boxes holding Dornish pearls, ivory statues from Pentos...
All items symbolizing her noble status and exquisite life became sacrifices for her to vent her anger at this moment.
The sound of shattering glass, colliding ceramics, breaking wood, intertwined in the silent room.
"Princess?"
From outside the door came the maid's inquiry, filled with panic and concern.
The sounds in the room stopped abruptly.
Myrcella's movements froze.
She stood in the center of the mess, chest still heaving violently.
In those beautiful green eyes, the flame of madness not yet extinguished burned.